Day One
Liz
I’m living in a nightmare.
I hate it all. The sterile smell of the hospital, the pitying looks I receive, and the grief I’m experiencing.
Maybe it’s because this is Mark. Mark, who’s so tall, so untouchable, so invincible.
Maybe because less than fourteen hours ago, his body was joined to mine and before he separated himself from me, he whispered that I was his beautiful, crazy girl and he couldn’t imagine his life without me.
Or maybe it’s because this is my worst fucking nightmare come to pass, and it feels like my heart is slowly shriveling up. I try to bargain with God. I promise I’ll go to confession every week. I promise I’ll be nicer to Bertha.
He can’t take Mark, and I mentally run through the litany of reasons why this is so.
I don’t know what I expect, but my one-sided conversation doesn’t get me very far.
At the hospital, the minute I see Bertha and Charlotte in the waiting room, I lose it. Thin, wiry arms wrap around my body, and I realize it’s Bertha holding onto me. “Our boy’s gonna be okay, you’ll see,” she says, hugging me tighter as my sobs rack my body.
Brant, Mark’s brother, shows up too. I haven’t seen him since we were kids, and as an adult he looks a lot like Mark except his hair is nearly black and his eyes are green. He pulls me into a tight hug. “When Grams told me, I couldn’t believe it. I was the one that had to share the bathroom with him after your special brownies, you know. It wasn’t pretty,” he jokes. A watery laugh bubbles out of me, and he ruffles my hair. “Mark’s gotten out of worse scrapes. He’ll be okay, you’ll see.”
Huh? What worse scrapes?
I don’t get the chance to ask him to elaborate because right then Dad goes into full blown Chief mode, guiding us over to the seats in the waiting area and getting as much information about Mark’s condition as he can.
When he returns, he pulls me aside privately and tells me Mark was shot in the line of duty. He says he can’t tell me any more information because it could compromise their case. As much as I love my father, I want to scream because I need to know what happened.
I need to know what’s going to happen.
I get even angrier when they won’t let me see him. Family only, they tell me.
Bertha, thank God for Bertha, tells them she’s his grandmother, and I’m family, and she threatens to start waving her cane around and beating people if they don’t let me in to see him.
Thankfully, they do.
Once I’m in his hospital room, I’m uneasy.
He doesn’t belong here.
He’s too large, too vibrant, and too real to be in this sterile, cold room and the thought that’s been on fucking repeat goes through my head once more.
This isn’t happening.
And for once, it’s not about me. It’s about him.
It’s about this beautiful, glorious man full of strength and character. A good man who deserves to live. A man who I love.
I sit gingerly in the chair next to his bed and I scoot it closer so I can take his hand. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know,” I whisper.
My only response is the steady beep from the monitor measuring his oxygen and heart rate. “We’re supposed to be at the ball, dancing. I’m supposed to make corny jokes and you’re supposed to laugh at them. In around an hour, I’d be getting a little too tipsy which would have been your cue to get me home and take me to bed. And after that, I was going to tell you that I love you.”
I’m crying again, and it’s not pretty. My sobs feel like each one is torn from my soul, and I can’t fucking bear it.
I can’t.
“I love you, you know,” I cried. “You made me love you Mark fucking Daniels, and you cannot leave me. You cannot leave me like this. You cannot take my heart and leave me because if you do, I know I’ll never get it back. Please Mark, please, don’t. Don’t, don’t, don’t.”
My beautiful, blush pink chiffon dress is ruined with mascara stained tears, but I don’t care. A dress can be replaced.
He can’t.
Gently, I twine my fingers through his hands. They feel cold to the touch, and I do my best to mold my warmer skin to his to help warm him up.
I stare at our meshed fingers like I can will the life flowing through my veins into his, but he still doesn’t open his eyes, so I try a different tactic.
“You know,” I say conversationally, “your grandmother even hugged me. You need to wake up and come back to us because you’re disrupting the natural order of things.”
A watery laugh sounds from the doorway, and my head jerks in its direction.
Bertha’s standing there, a sad smile on her face. She starts to walk closer, and she moves slower than usual. Without releasing his hand, I stand so she can sit in the chair.
“I just spoke with the doctors. He was hit by two bullets in his chest, but they both, praise the Lord, missed his lungs and any major arteries.” As the meaning of her words sink in, relief floods through my body, swift and sweet. “He’s strong, he’s young, and he’s got you to wake up to in the mornings,” she says. “I always knew he needed someone special, that an ordinary girl wouldn’t do. And you, Elizabeth, you’re anything but ordinary.”
I’m quiet. I don’t know what to say or how to respond because it feels like my entire world is off its axis, and I’m unable to make heads or tails of anything.
She finally makes it to the chair and sinks down. “Thank you for your seat, Mary Elizabeth.”
Normally, I’d make a joke about hell freezing over, but I’m still mute.
“You remind me of me, you know.”
Huh?
“You look surprised,” she laughs. “I wasn’t always an old biddy, you know. I had a wonderful youth, and it was even better when I met Mark’s grandfather. I suppose it’s because you remind me of me that I was always so tough on you, but I have to tell you young lady, I wasn’t surprised at all when you caught Mark’s eye.”
I look at her suspiciously. “Have you had anything to drink?”
Now when she laughs, it’s not watery or sad. It’s hearty, so much so that she starts to cough and rasp. When I move to help her, she waves me away. “Jesus, I needed that.”
“Did you just take Jesus’s name in vain?”
Her face sours at my question. “Lizzie, I’m a good Catholic but I am not a saint.”
Even though Mark’s in a hospital bed, and we’re not sure what’s going to happen, the complete and utter oddity of my present circumstances is not lost on me.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. It’s sincere, but my apology is punctuated by a hiccup, the likely result from my crying jag.
“Do you really love him?” she asks softly.
I nod jerkily, scared of what’s about to come.
“Well, that’s certainly one way to tell a man. Using the F word and all, while he’s lying unconscious in a hospital bed and he can’t hear you.” She might seem a little relaxed, and some of that is probably due to the stress of the situation, but I can still hear the note of censure in her voice. It makes me smile.
And at that moment, I’m so glad some things will never change.
Day Two
Liz
I know it’s weird, but I don’t want to take my dress off until he wakes up. Somewhere in my brain, I tell myself that as long as I keep the dress on, the day isn’t over. The minutes aren’t ticking by and maybe this will all end up being a horrible dream.
The doctors tell us they are optimistic that Mark will make a full recovery and be as good as new in no time at all. This time right now, they say is important rest time given the shock and trauma he’s been through.
He’d damn well better wake up, because if he doesn’t, I’m jumping into his fucking grave and wrapping my hands around his throat.
After that less than gracious thought crosses my mind, I sneak a glance at Mark. His chest rises and falls steadily in a strange concert with the
beeps of his monitors.
Bertha and Charlotte take shifts visiting, but I haven't left since I got there. Neither has Brant, but he’s kind enough to give me plenty of alone time with him. My parents, brothers, even Mark's family have all tried to get me to go home to rest, but I can't do it.
Even though they’ve told me he’s going to be fine, it's impossible to sleep until I see him with both of my eyes.
I’m not able to eat either. My parents, my sweet, sweet parents even bring Carmine who comes to see how Mark is doing and feed me lunch. I can’t eat it because it reminds me too much of the first night he brought me my favorites from Vittorio’s. After they all leave, I go back to talking to Mark.
“Do you know Carmine personally came to bring me food? He keeps telling me we’ll have gorgeous babies. I don’t know if we’ll ever make it that far, but I’m telling you Mark, if we ever have sons that look like you, we’re going to be in big trouble…although we might be able to retire early if we capitalize off of their dashing good looks.”
Even though he's pale and barely moving, he's still so damned handsome.
His lips are beautifully curved, eyelashes ridiculously long for a man, and his large frame dominates the bed. It's weird to see him in a hospital gown though. I'm so used to either seeing him in uniform or a tee and his jeans. I'd been looking forward to seeing him dressed in his tux for the ball.
The news plays on the small monitor hanging in his room. I can hear them talking about some huge drug and human trafficking bust, but I'm not able to pay attention.
I just stare at Mark, and let my thoughts run on a continuous loop.
If he’s okay, I know in my heart that if I stay with him, every single time he walks out of the door, I'm going to wonder if he'll be walking back through it to return to me.
If the day comes where he doesn't come back to me, I know the way I felt when I got the call from Dad yesterday is going to feel like child's play. It's painful to think about leaving him, especially as I look at his beautiful face.
Especially because my heart feels like it's too full, and while the feeling is sweet, it also stings at the same time.
But, if I leave, I stand a chance of getting over him. If I leave, and it's on my terms, then I have some hope.
If I stay, and I lose him, I might never recover. Images of my future play in front of me like a film reel. Me in New York City, practicing law, wearing fancy suits and going on endless dates. Finding someone normal and safe to settle down with eventually.
Or...
Me with Mark. Us in a home, together. Me practicing law somewhere close to home so I can see him and our babies as often as I can. I’ve never really thought about having kids too much before, but since Mark, I can't deny it crosses my mind more often than not. A little boy with whisky eyes is my favorite vision, playing catch with his dad in the front yard. A little girl with my blue eyes and his smile giggling, as he puts on a circus for her.
It hurts, it hurts so much to think of ending things so early, before we've even begun, but I know if I don't do it now, if I don't rip the proverbial band aid the fuck off, it's going to infect my heart.
Even if I don't lose him, I'm always going to live with the worry and fear.
I'm going to turn into someone other than me. It's going to change me, and he's going to resent me.
Another solution crosses my mind. A way I can still have him and eradicate my fears.
But I could never ask him to leave the department. Not when he's so clearly meant for it. He's a protector at heart. It's why he takes care of his grandmother, his cousin...
It's why he takes care of me.
I hate this conflicted feeling that has my heart in a painful grip for most of the day.
And then he wakes up, five minutes after I come to my decision.
The coincidence of our timing is so great that I’m convinced it’s the right thing for me to do, despite the huge lump in my throat.
Day Three
Mark
“This is for the best Princess.” My voice is raspy, hoarse.
“You’re breaking up with me while you’re in a hospital bed? After you nearly died?” she whispers. Her gorgeous face is flushed with color, and there’s moisture gathered at her bottom eyelids. For obvious reasons, I can’t go to her, but even if I could, I still wouldn’t.
This needs to be done.
Brant, Charlotte, and Grams have all told me that she’s barely left my side. That she held hands with Grams during that first agonizing twenty-four hours. I know that she’s standing next to my hospital bed in the same dress she wore when she first arrived at the hospital three days ago.
The same dress she should have worn for the fucking policeman’s ball. She should look grimy and tired, but with her princess dress on, dark brown hair floating around her face, and sweet, sexy face, she looks like perfection.
I keep my expression as controlled as possible. “We always knew this was nothing. We were exclusive for a while, but you yourself said you wanted to enjoy yourself and play the field for a while.” At the word ‘nothing’, she flinches like I’ve hit her, and my guilt is triple fold.
“You’re in the hospital, Mark,” she says softly. “Didn’t you think there was a better time and a place for this? Was this really one of the first things you had to do when you woke up?”
I wish I could tell her the truth. I wish I could tell her that I’m weak as hell, but I can’t tell her that the only thing giving me willpower is the fact that I’m laid up in that hospital bed. It’s serves as a fantastic fucking reminder of everything that can go wrong in life, and I refuse to let it happen to her.
My brain is telling me this is the right thing to do, even as my heart fights it. Everything inside of me wants to reach out to her, grab her, and hold her tight in my arms… but if I do that, if I don’t do this…
We’re both just going to fall deeper into in.
But now, I know she’s hurt, and I’d rather see something else written on her face. I can’t take the guilt that comes with her hurt. She needs to hate me.
“You know since the sex was so good, maybe after I’m healed, we can have a session or two if you’re still available? We don’t have to do the monogamy thing either, so it’s no strings attached.”
Her mouth falls open in shock. She blinks fast, and then she swipes the back of her hand against her eyes angrily. I’m half-relieved when she starts walking to the hospital door, but then she turn around. “You’re a fucking idiot and a coward. I don’t know what it is you’re trying to pull, but I know you, Mark. If you let me walk through that door, I promise you it’s the last time you’ll ever see my face.”
I look at her like she’s the crazy one. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic for a summer fling? Come on, Princess.” I say this half-teasingly, nonchalantly like it doesn’t matter.
She closes her eyes, and a glossy bead of moisture trails down her cheek. She’s not my feisty, crazy, brilliant Princess right now. She’s a girl I’ve hurt terribly and the knowledge that I’m the one that did that feels like poison seeping into my veins. “Liz—,” I start, but she interrupts me.
She opens her eyes and looks me straight in the eye when she says it. “I can’t believe I was so wrong about you.”
Her words pierce my heart. Even if the gig is up, if I talk to her about what’s going on, she’s just going to try to rationalize that it’s all going to be okay. Right now I’m so weak, I know it won’t take much to make me cave, but I need to do this for her.
“I was wrong too. I thought you could be a big girl about this and handle it.”
Her face turns red then, and her tiny hands clench tightly into fists. She looks at me one last time before she turns around.
And then she walks out of my life.
Liz
A few days later, I’m laying listless
ly on the couch listening to Nine Inch Nails blare through the apartment. I don’t even like Nine Inch Nails, but the sounds coming from the speakers echo my feelings perfectly.
Love, I’ve determined, is a parasite. It fools you into thinking you’re happy while it sucks the life out of you. Then when you lose it, whatever little bit of life you had left completely drains out. You don’t get it back, at least not for a while.
You have to re-build.
But Mark Daniels is a drug I fear will never leave my system, so I need to be strategic about all of this. This is exactly why there’s a box on the round coffee table next to me, which contains the following items:
Hello Kitty underwear (all five pair I own)
My favorite white pajamas with the cherries sprinkled all over them. The irony of these pajamas is not lost on me.
Lingerie.
A keychain he’d given me that says “Oh smack!”
A plush fish he won for me at the carnival.
My plan is to look at these things every day for a week.
The following week, I’ll wean myself down to every other day.
And so on and so forth until one day, I’m no longer looking at anything that reminds me of Mark. I read an article on willpower and the influence of our subconscious that basically said the more you visualize and repeat your end goal to yourself, the closer you get to achieving it. When I finish reading it, I change my passwords for my email account and student login to forgetassholemark.
I look away from the box to check the time on the cable receiver. I sigh when I see it’s only three p.m and look at the bottle of wine sitting on the table longingly. I might be a degenerate in some things, but one thing I am not is an early drunk. Even though the saying is “It’s always five o’clock somewhere”, until it’s five o’clock in my time zone, I am staying away from the grape juice.