23
23
BENZOS & CHAMPS
W ith the turn of the key, Ranger instantly transformed from good-humored groom to glowering grump. I’d entered the elevator with one man, and exited with the opposite. Just like our wedding theme—black and white.
I staggered, unassisted, into our spacious, multi-room suite, grabbing ahold of the first chair I could get my hands on. I was unable to really take in much of the décor, only noting it was modern and tasteful. Everything was turning fuzzy around the edges. My ears were still clogged up, and the sweat was back, only cold this time, not hot. I stood swaying there a moment trying to get my equilibrium. Besides the sparkling city outside our window, something immediately caught my attention. I reached down to yank off my stilettos, and then lurched for it. It was a small silver-wrapped box with a tag attached, perched prettily upon the dining room table. Showcased next to it was a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne popped on top, mocking me. My stomach roiled.
I was going to question my husband about the gift, but the man of the hour had already slammed into the next room. I heard a loud stream of liquid hitting the pot. Even his pee sounded angry—amplified and ricocheting off marble. The brusque sound of the toilet flushing was followed by a faucet running.
Something about that box intrigued me, so I picked it up and fell to the floor in a heap of expensive fabric. The tag read: To my beautiful wife . . . something old. A flutter stirred up something old in my chest. Simple and sweet. It’s all part of the charade , I reminded myself. I knew about his ulterior motives, not to mention his extra-curricular activities. Straight from the horse’s mouth—ass’s mouth, I auto-corrected.
Maybe it’s an “I’m sorry I’m such an ass gift?”
But whatever was in there, I knew I would love it. I held it in my lap and shook it. That’s when the door slammed back open. Ranger caught me with the box in my hands and something passed between us before he iced me out.
“You got me somethin’?” My voice sounded high and far away.
He shrugged his shoulders dismissively, but I saw the bitter twist to his mouth. He stalked over and plucked it from my hands.
“But . . . I didn’t get you anything.” This trailed him as he stalked to a closet, bleeped in some numbers, and tossed it into a safe. He slammed the door before turning around to face off with me. He shrugged again, his lips drawing into a tight line. “I didn’t expect you to.” He said this in a way that made me sound like I was a selfish kind of a person.
I flung my arms out. “’snot like I have any money or opportunity to do so.”
“You know you can have anything you want . . . all you have to do is ask for it. And you had the same opportunity to do it today as me. Instead, you chose to frolic in the pool all day with Townsend.”
“Were you spyin’ on me?” How dare he act like I was doing something illicit on the side ! “I spent the day with my brothers! One of which I only get to see twice a year!” I flashed a violent peace sign.
“I wasn’t spying . I was informed. I was too busy arranging a last-minute addition for my wife, so she could dance to the music she likes on her wedding night!” His anger finally exploded. “Only turns out, she got so wasted, she almost had to be carried out.”
I had no comeback. Couldn’t really do much more than try to sit up. Could hardly breathe. Gah! My dress felt like an overwrapped bandage. I couldn’t even move to remove it.
“How much did you have to drink tonight?” he demanded, long legs splayed out, hands fisted on his hips.
It was my turn to shrug a shoulder, but it was a lot of work. I felt like doing nothing but crawling into bed, however, I was too afraid to move to that location so just laid out on the floor. Felt perfectly comfortable, to tell you the truth.
“I’m going to fucking kill André!” blasted from my husband, who obviously needed an outlet for his boiling anger. “I specifically told him no alcohol for you.”
“’snot his fault. ‘snot the alcohol.” I pressed my cheek against the cool wood floor.
“What do you mean?”
My eyes were already closed. His rant couldn’t quite penetrate my narcotic nap. I was long overdue. I felt a hard shake rattle my teeth. I cracked an eye to view his blazing blues boring into mine.
“What do you mean it’s not the alcohol?” he hissed.
I let my eye droop closed. I wanted him at the far end of the telescope again. I was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of feeling sad and mad. I just wanted to peace out. A few blissful seconds of silence was interrupted by more distant slamming. I’m telling you, I wasn’t concerned about anything right now. Couldn’t have scraped myself off that floor for a million dollars. And, apparently, I could have anything I wanted anyway, so it wasn’t much of an incentive in my current state.
Those were my last thoughts before rough hands plucked me off the floor. I was deposited onto the bed with a springy bounce. No better. No worse. I heard more sounds, as if from far away—rummaging, rough zipping and unzipping. Finally, an explosive curse. He stormed back in and shook me one hard shake. I didn’t do more than slit my eyes.
“Fucking Benzos? !” He rattled the bottle at me.
I opened my eyes, but could barely focus.
“Are you crazy? Or just stupid?” He gripped my arms and half my body lifted up.
Gah! Why can’t he just let me sleep?
“Come on. Get up,” he ordered. He sat me up, and I blinked at him a couple of times, trying to focus.
“What were you thinking ? Mixing Benzos and alcohol! Do you know how dangerous that is?” He seemed genuinely upset. And scared.
And then I remembered: I’m a gifted. Oh. I nodded while trying to unfasten the tiny locks hidden beneath the black restraint that was inhibiting my ribs from expanding properly when I breathed. “Can’t damage The Academy’s ini-inillectual property,” I slurred.
Ranger looked like he had a sudden urge to slap me. I couldn’t even brace for it I was so spun out. He backed away from me as though afraid he might do it if he stayed within range. I uselessly plucked at my waist while he ran his hands over his face a couple of times.
“Fuck!” He examined the bottle again before pouring out the remaining pills into his palm. “So, you only took one?”
I wobbled my head. “Ranger . . . please. Yell at me t’morrow. Jus’ lemme go . . . sleep.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” he spat.
Oh man . I’d almost forgot—his master plan. It was our wedding night. I sighed heavily. “Jus’ do whatjagottado, so I can go t’sleep.”
Ranger looked, and I’m not exaggerating here, like a monster just erupted out the top of his head, scary movie style. His face turned so dark it was almost purple. A throbbing vein manifested upon his temple, and his jaw slammed shut so tightly I thought he might crack teeth. I actually moved myself back a little on the bed. A moment of watching him work his jaw back and forth later, and he unclamped it enough to speak. “I’m not sure I can allow you to sleep because I’m afraid you might not wake up.” He spoke succinctly between clenched teeth.
“Oh.”
“So, again . . . for the record. This is important. You only took the one Benzo. Right?” He scanned the bottle again. “It says a week’s supply and there are six left. But I need to know the truth.”
I nodded my head.
“Words, Connelly. I need words.”
“Y-yes. Just one.”
He breathed in deeply through his nostrils and nodded. I closed my eyes and face-planted on the bed. I felt the bed shift and move beneath his weight. He leaned over and flipped me over before putting his ear to my chest—nothing sexual about it. He picked up my limp wrist and took my pulse, then he got off the bed. The next thing I heard was ice tinkling from the other part of the suite. He returned to the bed, helped me sit up, and instructed me to drink.
“Nothing but the one Benzo and some champagne, right?” he clarified again.
I nodded, but a guilty little flicker must’ve flitted across my face because he leaned closer.
“ Right?”
“Um, I’m sorry, but I also took a birth control pill.” My voice wobbled around a bit.
He exhaled. “Drink,” he ordered before leaving me.
I took a couple of sips and set the glass down on the floating square that doubled as a nightstand. It appeared to be stuck to the wall with no legs. I was still trying to figure out this architectural marvel when my eyes fluttered closed. I was just about to start a deep dive into blissful sleep, when I heard anxious murmuring coming from the other room. And, anyway, Ranger came back in after a few and shook me again. I grumbled but complied and sat up. So wanted to get out of this dadgum dress anyway.
“Did you sneak any alcohol while you were away?”
“Away? Away where?”
“In the bathroom. At the reception,” he answered.
I shook my head.
“You promise?”
I nodded.
“Words. Use your words.”
“I promise,” I mumbled.
He nodded. “Okay. I’m not going to make you throw up. It’s already been in your system for a few hours and incorporated itself into your bloodstream. You didn’t overdose, but you were close . . . And you were lucky I took your champs away, young lady, or we could be spending our wedding night in an emergency room.”
I nodded solemnly at him.
He coaxed the cold bottle back into my hand. “Drink that.”
After I drained every last drop, he helped me up. I slumped on the side of the bed while he removed the veil from my hair and tossed it onto a low-slung chair in the corner. He stood me up and unzipped my dress as far as my waist, where it got caught on the belt. He fiddled with the fastens for a second before removing it. I immediately released some relief from my lungs, feeling like I could at least breathe a little better. He took a second to finger the indention marks in my side, looking down on me with a softer expression before getting back to the business of undressing me. He held onto my arm while I stepped away from my dress. I covered my naked chest with my hands, but I needn’t have bothered because he tossed the dress onto the same chair and faced the same way.
“Go do what you can to get ready for bed,” he directed. “Call me if you need help.”
I nodded, but he couldn’t see me because he was staring out the window at the skyscrapers dominating the financial district. I managed to go to the bathroom, wash my face with some hotel bar soap, and run a toothbrush around my mouth for about half a minute before nearly dropping to the floor.
I came back out to find the bedroom empty. I heard more rummaging sounds coming from the bar. I thought how superfluous a living and dining room were for a one-night stay. We were flying to Puerto Vallarta tomorrow morning at ten. At least we were. I collapsed onto the bed and was already drifting when he came back in.
He leaned over me. “Still breathing, Mrs. Nealson?”
I lifted half a lip and nodded. He gave a half-smile in return, winking a dimple at me.
“Good. Go ahead and sleep it off, but tomorrow, we’re talking about this,” he warned.
I nodded heavily, so glad to be able to sleep in peace.
“And just so you know, I’ll be checking on you through the night.”
“’kay,” I think I said. Then fell asleep, remembering a former elite cadet who’d done the exact same thing.