Chapter 40 - Charlie
Where’s My Love - SYML?
“C harlie? You need to go shower. There's nothing you can do now. We just have to wait.”
Dimi’s calm voice rings out and reverberates through me but I can't move. It feels like I'm wading through mud trying to make sense of everything.
What is he saying?
I can't clean up while Porter’s fighting for his life. How could he even suggest a thing? If I stay exactly as I am, everything will be alright, Porter will be alright.
Please be alright .
I don't think I can manage life without him now.
“No,” I bark, almost wincing at how harsh I sound. How could he ask that of me?
I'm going to wait here until they come and tell me it was an easy fix. If I leave, something could happen. They could miss something. I could miss something.
“Charlie?” Dimi growls.
“No, I’M NOT FUCKING LEAVING.” I scream at him so loudly one of his guards stationed just outside the door to the hospital room pops his head in to check the situation.
Taking the full glass of water next to me, I pick it up and throw it as hard as I can at his head, quickly darting back as it smashes. Water and glass spray across the wall and floor as Dimi stalks towards me.
He comes at me one step at a time until I'm forced to back away, hitting the window behind me. I'm not ready for any of this. Not ready for the reality of the situation.
“No,” I whimper, a single tear falling down my cheek as I try to hold it together.
I'm strong.
I won't break.
“I can't leave. What if something happens?”
My voice cracks as I stand determined in my foothold, until Dimi steps before me, worry etched on his brow.
“You're covered in blood, Charlie. You need to shower so you're ready for him when he gets out of surgery.”
His voice is controlled but I can hear the concern as he tries to remain staunch. He forgets that I know him. I can see through this facade where others may not. He's just as scared as I am and we’re both hanging on by a thread.
“There’s a change of clothes in the bathroom. I'm not asking you to leave the room. You just need to go and shower,” he pleads.
Taking a second to process, I know he's right. I don't want him to be but he is. I'll just clean the blood off me and be right back out. The doctor said they would come and get us once they were done but I know, I know they are going to be several hours yet.
His body looked beyond repair and I’m sure Tristan would be disappointed to know he probably saved his life with that shot of adrenaline. That worthless piece of shit did one good thing in his final moments before Dimi unloaded his gun into him. It kept his heart beating just long enough for me to try and save him.
Slinking past Dimi, I leave the door to the bathroom open so I can keep an eye on who comes and goes from the room. He stands out of sight as I peel off the bloodied clothes one by one.
Porter's blood is all over me and I feel like I'm drowning in it. Drowning in the loss of never having him again. So I reluctantly step into the shower and wash his blood from my skin, a part of me wondering if this is the last time a bit of him will touch me.
The swirl of crimson water washes down the drain and the uncertainty of not knowing if I’ll ever feel the strong touch of his hands again, ever have his body wrapped around mine as I sleep, ever hearing the words I love you come from his mouth, leaves me hollow inside.
Cleaning my body quickly and thoroughly, I don’t want to risk still being in the shower when he comes back. I need to be ready to look after him, ready to shoulder more of the load as we navigate his recovery.
In what is basically a hospital suite fit for royalty, we wait. Food arrives, goes cold and then is cleared. The sun dips in the sky and still we wait. Dimi and I sit on two recliners in the private suite barely talking, barely interacting, facing the door just waiting. I doze off for a while, angry at myself when I wake for doing so. Food arrives and is cleared. The sun dips and still we wait.
He was broken, his body so damaged that I’m doubting if he can survive, if anyone could survive. But he has to, he has no choice … I need him.
I stare at the wall clock, having not realised that my phone and keys made the trip with me. One of the many medical people back at the bar placed it in a clear bag and had it waiting in the room when we arrived. It was only because of the incessant vibrating that I even registered it was there. Message after message, missed call after missed call lighting up the screen but I didn't want any of it. To have to put on a brave face for everyone else to feel comfortable. I wasn't going to stand there with no information, struggling to keep it together when the world continues to spin as my own comes crashing down all around me.
So I turned it off.
I heard Dimi make some phone calls and I trust that he told whoever he needed to what had happened. I'm sure Dante and Ace's contacts would have heard something too.
I should feel bad the way I’ve left everyone hanging by a thread but I don't have the capacity to take on their emotions when I'm struggling to stay afloat, smothered by every possible outcome but the one in which he stays alive.
The clock says 3 a.m. when we hear low voices from outside the room, the door pushing open with a tired surgeon walking through. The devil's hour is here and it's come to claim another soldier into the pits of Hell. Stepping forward, I’m full of anticipation, full of hope, knowing the look I've seen so many times before.
“He's stable.”
He’s alive.
The doctor's words come in and out of focus as I try to make sense of what he's saying, crumbling to the floor sobbing as I finally let my emotions run free. He's alive and I can finally breathe.
△△△
They wheeled him into the suite not long after the doctor told us he survived. He had been in recovery for observation and they wanted to be sure his vitals didn't fluctuate before moving him. Dimi insisted on a full intensive care set up in the room, just in case they needed it. So we were surrounded by different machines as they beeped and hummed, but I barely even heard them because they were all working together to keep him stable.
The doctors intend for him to be in an induced coma for at least ten days while they get a jump start on his healing. Each and every day I stay by his side, with one of Dimi’s men bringing me anything I need when I ask; and on the tenth day of sitting next to him we wait eagerly for the medical staff to start reducing the medication that keeps him asleep. Doctors and nurses surround us monitoring his vitals, ready to step in as they slowly remove the various tubes keeping him alive as his body starts to take over.
And I wait.
Wait for his mouth to part on its own.
Wait for his eyes to open and find me among a sea of people.
Wait for him to tell me he loves me.
But he doesn't, and my heart breaks for every moment of it.
△△△
Twenty days pass and still nothing. He is stable and completely off life support, but he doesn't wake up. I want to scream at him, cry over him, beg him to make me whole again but he continues to sleep and I hate and love him for it.
△△△
Thirty days and nothing has changed. Mel is struggling with the bar. Mila is thirty five weeks along, her hyperemesis is extremely manageable now that it's just a shell of what it was. Despite still vomiting, she can almost eat and drink normally.
I can feel my identity slip away every day I sit here with him. I’m so consumed with the idea of him never waking up that I think I died alongside him that day back at the bar.
We’re both floating in this abyss of nothingness while life continues to move outside of this room and I feel guilty for wanting to be a part of it again. So I start to write. My thoughts, feelings and ideas all go in journal after journal. Nothing is off limits. Fantasies, intrusive thoughts, questions. Anything to get out the words that repeat over and over in my head.