Chapter 11
Jess
Charles fell asleep on the couch while I cleaned up. My hands shook as I discarded all the evidence of his injury — my blood-soaked scarf, the gloves coated in more blood, the gauze and rags, and all of it. I did a good job of keeping myself together when Charles needed me, but now that I had stitched him up and he was sleeping, I could feel a breakdown coming on.
I collapsed on the floor beside him and tried to stay quiet. He needed rest, but I needed to be near him, to feel him, to see him breathing. When he cried out in pain and collapsed, I thought the worst. All I could think was how I couldn’t lose him, not again.
“What?” Charles asked. Confusion and pain turned his voice ragged. “What are you talking about?”
Tears were coming down on my face, heavy and hot, and I couldn’t seem to stop them. I barely got the words out, but I was so sure they needed to be said.
“I can’t be with you,” I said again. “I’m breaking up with you.”
“Why?” He demanded. “What did I do? I’ll fix it. Whatever it is.” Tears were falling from his eyes now. Charles never cried. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him close.
“I’m sorry.” It was too much. I turned and tried to walk away.
Charles fell to his knees and grabbed my legs as I moved. “Please, just talk to me. Whatever it is, we can work it out.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t do this. “Please, let me go.” My voice was so small that I wasn’t sure he would hear it. He did, though. The last time Charles had ever touched me, it was with betrayal and pain in his eyes.
Charles grunted out in pain. The only pain medicine I could find in this place was my migraine medicine and tylenol. I gave him the max I thought would be safe, but it wasn’t enough. I pulled out my phone and started searching for a signal again. There had to be something, somewhere. One bar, that was all I needed. Just to enough to call emergency services.
The snow had started up again, just as heavy as before. Even if I could get a signal, there would be no way for emergency crews to get here. I considered hopping in my car and driving through the snow, but I was sure I wouldn’t make it five feet before sliding off the road, and then we would both be injured and in trouble.
“Stop pacing,” Charles said from his spot on the couch when he woke up. He looked ok. If I hadn’t stitched him up myself, then I would have assumed nothing was wrong. “I’m fine. Come here,” he said with a note of command in his voice. That tone sent shivers down my spine, and I obeyed.
He pulled me into his lap, his leg still propped up on the coffee table, and I worried about the weight of him hurting him more. His hands were firm on my hips, though, anchoring me to him. “You were amazing.” He brought one hand up to my disheveled hair and smoothed down a piece I had been tugging on. “You didn’t even hesitate when I needed help.” His hand moved down my face to cup my jaw and I wanted to squirm away at the intimacy. Maybe I wanted to curl into him. I definitely wanted to move. He looked down at my lips a second before he leaned in and kissed me. He moved slow and gentle, like he wanted to savor me, like I was the one that was injured and needed soft kisses and soft touches.
When his tongue traced my bottom lip, I moaned and opened for him. I wanted to taste him, to know he was ok. I lost myself in the feel of him, the warmth of his kiss, the taste that was just this.
We rested our foreheads against each other when we had drank our fill, our breaths mingling, both of us unwilling to move. He had released my hip and brought both his hands up to cup my jaw and angle my head back to him. He gave me one last sweet kiss before pulling me into his embrace. I tucked my head against his neck and just breathed him in. Being in his arms felt achingly familiar and somehow new all at the same time. It felt like home.
I must have fallen asleep in that position because the next thing I knew, weak light was streaming through the open window.
“Morning, angel.” Charles’ voice rumbled through me and I realized I was still plastered to him.
“Oh, no. I’ve been on you all night. That must be uncomfortable.” I moved off him and his hands lingered on me until I was out of his reach, like he didn’t want to let me go.
“Not at all, but I need some help walking to the little boy’s room, if you wouldn’t mind.” Charles moved his legs and set it gently on the ground. I jumped to help him stand.
“I’m only helping you to it. The rest it up to you.”
“Shame,” he said and chuckled.
I helped him to his feet and let him lean on me as we made our way to the bathroom. The oddest feeling of pride welled up in me at the fact that I could help him this way. I’d wanted to be small for as long as I could remember, but even a smaller version of me would struggle under his considerable height and weight. This was the version of me that was best suited to help him, and I loved myself for it.
He pulled me in tight when I helped him stand, and I reveled in the feel of his arms around me. “You just wanted to cop a feel,” I accused while I buried my head in his chest and hugged him back.
“You’ve discovered my evil plan.” His smile was as wide as the snow was deep.
“You’re ridiculous.” My answering smile was almost as wide as his.
Charles tried to hide it, but I knew his injuries were hurting him. As the day wore on, his smiles and banter became less and less until he fell into another fitful sleep. I paced the cabin, unsure of what more I could do to help him. Every time I came to the window, more snow had piled up.
Charles groaned just as hopelessness sank in. I walked back over to him and he looked more pale than he had before. Shit. His forehead was hot and dry. Double shit.
I peeled back the wrappings on his leg and one of his wounds was red and swollen. I missed something.
“Dammit, Charles,” I said to the quiet room. “Why did you have to step on that stupid bear trap?”
I needed to clean the wound out better. The only thing available to flush it was water. I went over a boiled a large pot of it and found the biggest container we had to catch the run-off when I flushed the wound. I dug around the cabinets until I found a baking tray and sanitized it with bleach I had found under the sink. Hopefully, bleach didn’t go bad. It would have to be good enough.
I carefully set up my supplies, laying the small scalpel included in the kit and what I would need to stitch him back up on the baking sheet, and laid it on the small coffee table.
My hands were shaking as I put the gloves on. Charles wasn’t awake to walk me through anything this time, and I hadn’t gotten it right even when I had his help. I took some deep breaths and tried to clear my head.
“Remove the old bandage, remove the stitches, reopen the wound, flush it out, re-stitch, re-bandage, try to get Charles to drink something and if he’s alert enough at some point, give him some more Tylenol to keep his fever from getting dangerously high.” I recited all this like it was a prayer, or a mediation, to keep myself focused.
Puss welled up out of the wound when I cut it open and I swallowed down some bile at the sight. I could do this. I could help him.
Working slowly, but methodically, I cleaned his wound, all the while wishing for something stronger to give him to keep him from pain, but I might as well wish for IV antibiotics since they were just as out of reach for me here.
When I had finished and cleaned up, I tried to wake Charles for some water. He groggily accepted the drink before falling back into a fitful sleep. I settled on the rug in front of the couch and tried not to dwell on the cruelty of the situation. Maybe fate didn’t want us together. Maybe we were defying the god by trying to love.
“I want you to close your eyes,” my therapist said. “Good. Now, I want you to picture your pain and anxiety. What do you see?”
I did what she asked and pulled up an image of my anxiety.
“Oh, it’s me, but like little me.” She was small and wearing a tutu and ballet slippers, and she was hiding in a closet.
“What would you say to her if you could? What does she need right now?”
I walked over to the girl in the closet and she just stared up at me. Her eyes were red and swollen and her hair disheveled. She clung to her bear, the one that smelled like grandma. I bent down and gathered her in my arms and let her cry with me.
“It isn’t your fault,” I said to myself. “I love you. Adult problems are their own.” I brushed her hair back from her face and cupped her jaw. “You didn’t cause this and you can’t fix it, but it doesn’t matter because I love you and I will always love you. You are strong and you deserve to be happy.”
The little girl crawled into my lap and squeezed me so tight that we became one.
When I opened my eyes, the pain and anxiety were gone and the only thing left was relief.