Chapter 25
Forty-two minutes. That's the amount of time I stare at the office wall clock of The Right Place and curse in every way I know how. First Colin, then my father, and finally, Jimmy and Craig, the scums that forced me to be locked in here in the first place. If I hadn't promised Colin, I would have left long ago. I also abandoned my shopping cart at the supermarket and I still need groceries, and to pick up Viv from daycare. Although there are a few more hours, at this rate who knows how long it will take?
Just as I'm about to break my promise, the door opens, and I jump out of the chair to Colin, who is toddling inside. My instincts come into play, and before I know what I'm doing, I’m supporting him with all his weight, getting under his armpit and letting him lean against me, letting out a juicy curse.
Henry gets up from the chair quickly and grabs Colin's other side. I manage to pull the chair I was sitting on over with my foot to sit the badly bruised faced idiot, and Henry runs out of the office.
"What the hell is this supposed to be?"
"I've dealt with the problem, but the room is spinning," he mutters with a sigh. I can't stop him from gliding to the floor where he chooses to lie down. I lean over beside him and Henry appears in the doorway with a wet cloth in his hand.
"I think you'll need this." He reaches his hand to me and gives a weary look to the man who groans loudly.
"I'm calling an ambulance." I take the cloth and turn to my bag to pull out my phone, but Colin closes his fingers on my forearm.
"No police." He closes his eyes.
"Colin . . ."
"No police, Liz." I decide to postpone the argument, put the bag down and lean over to his bloody face. Gently, I put the cloth on his forehead and wipe the running blood out of the corner of his puffy eye.
"I can do it on my own."
"I know." I move his hair to the side and wipe the cloth over his cheek. "You're such a fool."
"I had to let 'em feel good about themselves, before I took 'em out." I swear that a small smile rises at the corner of his mouth, but the movement brings him pain that erases the smile immediately.
"Do you think it's funny?" I shake my head in frustration. "We'll see how much you laugh when you can't see your daughter until your face heals."
"I'll talk to her on the phone," he whispers, his eyes still closed. "And I'll tell her what happens to people who threaten my girls."
"You won't tell her a thing, Superman." With one hand I gently stroke his untouched cheek, and with the other I remove blood from the tip of his mouth and his injured lip.
"I love that name." He tries to smile again. Didn't he learn that it wasn't a good idea?
"I think you have a concussion." All I can do is stroke his hair and curse his recklessness.
"Just a few blows," he seems to be in control of the situation, "I've been through worse."
"You should go home," I whisper to the idiot, "I don't think you’ll be of any use to your business."
"Can't drive." He doesn't bother getting up, instead remaining lying beside me, his body limp.
"I'll drive you," I suggest without thinking. "But you have to stand by yourself."
"'I'm cozy." He smiles for a third time. Seriously?
"I'm happy to hear that." I just can't get my hands off him. They're attracted to him like a magnet, insisting on stroking his face, calming him down, comforting him every second.
"Let's stay here."
"Not going to happen," I say with half a smile. The two of us are probably just as crazy. I'm supposed to be hysterical, Colin is supposed to go to the hospital, and we're smiling like two idiots.
"We'll take your car." He accepts the fact that he won't be staying on the floor. "Danielle will bring the jeep later."
"Can you stand?" I sit up to make room for him to straighten.
"No problem." He takes a deep breath and sits much more easily than I thought he would. Is he really used to this? Because every other person in his condition would lose consciousness.
"First stage executed successfully." I pick up my bag, stand up and give Colin my hand.
"Mrs. Young, you don't give me enough credit." He chuckles and makes my heart flutter in my chest. A slip of the tongue I'm not sure he meant, but I heard it as if he shouted it out loud. Mrs. Young. I keep silent, watching him rise to tower above me, and in one moment he is too close, too swaying, and I go under his armpit again.
"I won't fall," he grumbles.
"I'm not taking the risk." I walk him slowly to the door, leaving the cloth on the floor behind us.
"You're supposed to lean on me." His frustration is evident.
"Save your machismo for another day, stud." I open the office door and help him through the shop and out into the blinding sun, leaving Danielle and her unhappy face in the shop. Colin cautiously hobbles over to my car and gets in. I close the door behind him and hurry to sit behind the wheel.
"You know I'm just putting on a show, right?" He leans his head back on the seat and closes his eyes again.
"Sure," I chuckle, "a good show. Now give me your address, and don't faint, or you'll find yourself in the hospital."
"Take me home, Liz." He slowly turns his head toward me, "I'm fine."
"The address, Colin." I remind him I'm waiting. He mumbles the address quietly, I start the car and back out of the parking lot, thinking about the chances of getting to his house before I turn and lead us straight to the emergency room. In his condition? There is no telling. Fifty fifty. If he manages not to faint, we'll be fine. More or less.
"You live here?" I stare out the window, wide-eyed, at the huge stone house opposite of which I stopped.
"Get closer to the door." He points to the double driveway and unfastens the seat belt.
"Is this really your house?" My eyes scan the impressive facade. The wooden door is carved, the glass windows are huge and shiny, and on either side of the driveway is a wide lawn. If that's what it looks like from the outside, how amazing is the inside?
"This is my house." He tries to straighten his hair back as I slide the car into the parking spot near the door.
"I'm afraid to ask how much rent you’re paying."
"I'm not." He waits for me to turn off the engine and open the door. "Renting is a waste of money."
"You bought it?" I blurt out.
"I took a mortgage, Elizabeth." He leans over and manages to crawl out slowly. "One hell of a mortgage, but the house is worth every cent."
I'm sure. I hurry after him, lock the car and wait for him to open the door with the keys he takes out of his pocket awkwardly.
"Need help?"
"No." He manages to put the key in the keyhole. "Just let me handle the alarm."
He has an alarm, of course. Colin enters first, taps the code, stumbles to the massive black sofa and crashes on it.
My eyes begin to examine everything from the moment I enter. The huge kitchen on the corner of the house, the impressive dining table, the hallway that seems to lead to the bedrooms. Even my parents' house is not this big. I don't think I’ve ever been in a house like this.
"Do you have Tylenol?" I put my handbag on the stylized, wooden table by the door.
"In the bathroom," he raises his hand and gestures toward the hallway, "the first door on the left."
"Don't faint till I come back." I shake my head as I walk past him and find the shiny bathroom.
He must have a cleaner. There is no way he cleans the house or arranges it. Not like this, anyway. The monstrous bathtub fills most of the room, with a marble bench next to it, and the walls are beautifully covered with white and gray ceramic tiles. I try not to linger, opening the cabinet behind the mirror and finding his Tylenol. When I close the cabinet, I decide that even the sink is big. Everything in this house is too big. Everything seems expensive.
I go back to the kitchen and find the glasses in one of the cupboards. From the refrigerator I take out a bottle of mineral water and pour it into a tall glass. When I finish I return to the living room, where Colin lies, awake and smiling.
"Hey," he looks up at me as I hand him the pill.
"Be a good boy, and don't make a fuss." I slide the pill into his palm.
"Don't call me a boy," he throws it into his mouth, turns to his side and holds out his free hand to the glass of water. "It's not sexy."
"Do you think your face is sexy right now?"
"Evidence of my undisputed heroism." He sips and puts the glass on the floor.
"Your stupid heroism, Sir Young." The adrenalin begins to fade from my body. Colin seems less out of it than I thought he would be.
"I had to establish my rule," he lays back on his back, "and now everyone in all the seven kingdoms knows who controls King's Landing."
"What are you talking about?" I twist my face.
"The Iron Throne is mine," he mumbles as his eyes close.
"I'm calling the ambulance," I say again, but he grabs my hand and stops me.
"Games of Thrones, Lizzie," he whispers, "it was a joke."
"I don't watch that series."
"Don't say that!" He laughs loudly, and a second later he sighs in pain. I hasten to sit on the soft carpet near his head and, without thinking, I gently brush my hand into his hair.
"You're such a fool," I whisper, my eyes examining his wounded face. His eye socket is purple, his cheek swollen and his lip cut.
"Craig begged like a child," he mumbles to me, "swore that he didn't lay a finger on you, so I spared him, more or less. Can’t say the same for Jimmy."
"He'll look for revenge," I mutter anxiously.
"It'll take him at least six weeks to get out of the wheelchair," he says in a voice filled with disgust, "and he should be grateful I left his hands intact so he can wipe his own ass."
"It's not funny, Colin."
"No, Elizabeth, it's not funny at all."
"You shouldn’t beat people up." I'm really not happy with his solution.
"They don't know any other language. They're not afraid of the police, so they have to be afraid of me. I have to instill fear in them so that the next time they see you, they will flee to the other side of the road." He doesn't apologize.
"You're so sure of yourself." I lean my head beside him.
"I know who they work for, and their boss won't be happy to hear about the supermarket incident." He turns his head toward me and opens his blue eyes. "In their world there is little respect, but once I paid the debt, the order was to let me be. Jimmy broke the order. He should be glad I'm the one who took care of him and not someone else."
"Don't do it again." I reach for his face, my fingers finding the corner of his mouth, the one that wasn’t hurt, and I let them wander about it without restraint.
"If I could, I'd kiss you," he whispers. "I'm still debating how much it'll hurt."
"Quite a bit," I swallow, running my tongue over my lips at the thought of his kiss.
"Don't do that," he sighs with a smile. "It kind of turns me on, and I'm kind of miserable in my situation."
"You brought it upon yourself," I smile at him.
"It was worth it," he lets his head sink close to mine, "so worth it."
"Just so I'll take care of you?"
He raises his hand with a sigh, finds my hand and pulls it to his chest, placing it with my fingers spread over his heart.
"So I'll feel alive again," he whispers almost without a sound. "I still love you."
"I know." I'm addicted to the sensation of his heart beating under my touch.
"You should pick up Viv."
"Not yet." I put my forehead against his, our lips a quarter inch apart, and his familiar smell clouds my senses.
"Stay with me." He closes his eyes, his breath and my breath almost becoming one.
"I'm here." I lean over and close the tiny distance between us, my lips fluttering over his, barely touching.
"Promise?" He mutters, as I pull away again.
"Don't fall asleep." I close my eyes, unable to promise him anything. Unable to absorb the emotions that take hold of me, tying me back to him.
"I'll just nap."
"You have to stay awake." If he has a concussion, the last thing he needs is to fall asleep.
"Talk to me."
"What about?"
"Anything." We both open our eyes and they lock. Closer than we'd been for years, more connected than we ever were. Neither of us makes a move, dares not move harm the delicate texture of the energy that envelops us like an aura.
"How many bedrooms do you have in your house?" I softly throw out the first question that comes to mind.
"Three," he replies immediately.
"When did you buy it?"
"Elizabeth," he smiles, a motion that seems to cost him a lot of effort. "We're not talking about my house."
"Do you want to talk about the other women you had?" I mumble as I feel the pang of jealousy climbing up my stomach to my chest.
"Do you want to talk about them?" He's not afraid of the hot topic I raised.
"Was Anna one of them?" I decide to know whom I'm dealing with, and the one he brought to our daughter's birthday party is a good place to start.
"We are just friends." His tone is indifferent.
"With benefits?" I don't spare the investigation.
"No, Liz, not with benefits." He sighs, and I breathe in relief.
"What about Danielle?" I pray with all my might that the blonde didn't spend time in his bed.
"Danielle is dating your friend," he chuckles in response to my question.
"I've heard." What I didn't hear was a clear answer, if before she trapped my friend she celebrated with the man lying on the sofa in front of me.
"I didn't sleep with her."
"She's probably not your taste." Where did that come from? What do I know about Colin's taste in women?
"She's not who you think she is." He closes his fingers on my hand, which still rests on his heart.
"Are you trying to say that she is your taste?" I try to gently pull my hand away from him, but he doesn't let me.
"I'm just saying you never gave her a chance."
"You know something," I close my eyes to hide my pain, "you're right, I don't want to talk about it."
"There was no one serious." He releases my hand, turns on his side with a loud sigh and sends his fingers trailing down my face, my cheek, my lips.
"I don't want to talk about them, Colin." I refuse to open my eyes.
"No one serious," he insists. "I love you, I've always loved you. It was hell, and no one else could have changed the fact that I only wanted you. Please believe me. You do not know what I went through to come back."
"I hate crying in front of you," I feel the suffocation closing on my throat, "I hate being weak."
"I wanted to die." His words freeze my blood, and my eyes open by themselves to the most tormented look I have ever seen.
"Don't talk like that," I whisper in horror. No matter what he did, he mustn't say it.
"When I was in the army," he keeps stroking my cheek, creating an incomprehensible contrast between his delicate touch and the harsh words that come out of his mouth, "there were times when I wanted to die. It seemed like the perfect solution. You would get money, our daughter would get a heroic father, and you'd never find out what your father did."
"Do you think that would have solved the problem?" I ask in shock. "Do you think your daughter would want a folded flag instead of a father?"
"Some nights it seemed like the simplest way to deal with the problem."
"Leaving me to live a lie for the rest of my life?" The tears choke my throat.
"It was easier than dealing with the fact that you wouldn't love me again."
"So you prefer to die?" I can't internalize the thought, the words and the meaning they bring with them.
"I'm fighting a losing battle" his eyes sparkle, "a war I lost years ago, we both know that, Lizzie."
My heart breaks into a thousand pieces and more, and I can't stop the soft tears from beginning to trickle down my cheeks. War, and another war, struggle and then another, lies on lies, and for a moment nothing is clear and nothing matters, because we are both defeated. We both lost the life we could have had, the life Colin wants to give me now, the life he had to leave behind.
"I would give anything for you to have come to me," I murmur through my tears. "I would have run away with you to the end of the world if you had asked."
"I know," he wipes the tears from my cheek, "but I don't need you to run away with me, I don't need you to hide, I just need you to love me."
"I love you." I sob, when the truth escapes me, and I can't take it back. "I'm just not sure it's enough."
"Of course it's enough." He leans forward and puts his lips to my forehead. I know he's in pain, but he doesn't seem to care. "It's more than enough, Mrs. Young."
Now I'm sure it's not a slip of the tongue. Now I feel it in my stomach, my bones and my veins, that he meant every syllable.
"I'm not your wife," I whisper to make it clear I haven't missed his statement.
"Yet," he whispers back, putting another kiss on my forehead.
"You have a concussion," I mutter as a smile creeps up the corner of my mouth.
"For nine good years," he replies with a smile. "I believe the first symptoms appeared in the high school cafeteria, and ever since . . ."
"You're a real moron." I close my eyes and let my head sink into the corner of the couch.
"I thought I shouldn't fall asleep," he laughs quietly.
"You're fine."
"Sure?"
"Go to sleep. I guarantee that when you wake up you'll feel like shit." The blows he took will hurt and, if I have to guess, they'll hurt like hell.
"When I wake," he puts his head to my side, "I'll feel just fine because you'll be here."
Sleep engulfs him, his breaths slow down on their own. I listen to them, breathe them with him, bringing him back to life.