17. NINEAH
NINEAH
EVEN SITTING, Abraham towered like a high rise as I struggled not to fall completely apart.
My hands numb from curling tight, my stomach sour from the weight of my circumstances, I didn’t look at him for fear I might’ve actually devolved into every worst case scenario I’d been avoiding over the last few days.
After a few more invasive and honestly, frightening exams, my doctor had confirmed my injuries weren’t consistent with sexual or physical assault, but it didn’t stop the icy sensation from sliding under my skin whenever I thought too long about the blip.
That was what I called it, now. Because it wasn’t a gap or a void—those words made four years sound so vast. This was the equivalent to waking from a nap, only to find out you’d time traveled to an older, weirder version of your own life.
Except in this one, someone had tried to permanently silence me and how long would it be before they realized they’d failed?
Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare fucking cry.
I looked up at him.
There was stoic and then there was downright impenetrable, and Abraham was definitely the latter.
Watching me, assessing me like I was a target to be interrogated and not someone he had married and supposedly shared a life with, he slipped.
Only for a second, but I saw it and I knew right away, pity wasn’t the worst thing you could find in someone’s gaze. Fear was.
If a man like this could be afraid, what hope did I have?
Humor would only serve as a shield for so long and I knew better than to go toe to toe with him like this, but I did it anyway, because as long as we were arguing, I could hold the floodgates at bay while my emotions battered at them like a breaching ram.
“Who walked me down the aisle?” I demanded.
“Matthias.”
“And my shoes?”
Abraham frowned, but it wasn’t a, you’re-fucking-insane frown. It was an endearing, I’m-a-man-why-are-you-asking-me-this? frown and it sent me over the edge before I even heard his answer.
Like an undertow, my new reality collected me, trapping me under its current, and I succumbed.
Aching, fearful, regretful sobs I hadn’t felt since I was a lonely kid, ripped through my chest. Forcing myself to draw in oxygen before I started to hyperventilate, I cried for no real reason at all because there were simply too many of them.
What was I going to do?
Where was I going to live?
Was I safe?
Was I going to die?
Oh God, please don’t let me die.
I vaguely registered a nurse rushing into the room, the tiny little kiss of a needle. Then with a comforting softness, darkness carried me away from the panic like my own personal hero.
THE NEXT TIME I WOKE, it was to a pounding headache and a full body pain that made me want to cry again.
I’d apparently lost the crutch of my beautiful drugs and had been left to contend with the state of my utterly fucked body.
My back and shoulders so stiff that moving them felt like a felonious crime, the bass of my skull thumping to the beat of my heart, I couldn’t believe I’d been allowed to walk myself to the bathroom, let alone wander the hospital out of boredom.
The pain emanating from my hip was so intense, I almost wanted to ask Dr. Kaz if she was sure I was cleared to leave.
I glanced at the chair Abraham had vacated and noted a white Jimmy Choo leather weekender bag I recognized because it’d been my first big girl purchase with my sign on bonus from FX.
Just then, the door opened and Dr. Kaz stepped inside, smiling.
“Young lady, you have given this hospital more to discuss in a week than we’ve had in a few decades. ”
I might’ve joked in response, but I was too exhausted to manage even that, so I just nodded. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Of course. I have written you a prescription for your pain medication. Please take as directed and when you return to your home country, you will want to follow up with your physician regarding any physical therapy or pain management needs. Your husband is having his lunch now, but I will let him know you are awake. Then once you are ready, I will find you a wheelchair.”
Dr. Kaz had the grace not to bring up my panic attack and I accepted it for the parting gift it was, but there was still something I’d meant to ask, but hadn’t had a moment alone without a nurse or Abraham nearby. “Hey, when I was brought in, was I wearing a ring?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, I do not remember, but your husband has a bag of your personal affects. It may be there.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure, Nineah. Truly,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Please.”
I didn’t miss the warning in her professionally polite tone. Surprisingly, I appreciated that more than I expected.
Once I was alone again, I forced myself, no matter how painful it was, to a sitting position.
My head swimming, I ignored the sudden wave of nausea and kicked my legs over to get out of bed.
Using the arm of the chair for balance, I braced against it with one hand, then used the other to rummage through the Jimmy Choo bag.
Inside was a weeks’ worth of clothing—mostly athleisure with the tags still on—including bras, underwear, socks, a bag of toiletries, a makeup bag, a pill case full of meds, and a Ziploc that contained a U.S.
passport I assumed was mine, a Prada Saffiano card holder I didn’t remember purchasing, a gold key ring binding two small keys and a fob sporting a Mercedes logo, as well as a pair of knock off Dior sunglasses and a sleek black cell phone.
I realized these must’ve been the contents from my purse and shivered.
There was something sinister about seeing my belongings like this—recognizable brands and styles, things I’d have obviously owned, but didn’t remember picking out.
I was an invasive feeling. Like I was sifting through another woman’s things.
I shoved everything aside, checking all of the pockets and compartments, but there was no sign of the evidence bag, nor of the ring I’d worn up until very recently. I reached for the bag to set it on the floor and plopped into the chair at the exact moment Abraham barged into the room.
His gaze tracking the rumpled sheets to me sitting in his chair, he frowned but intelligently kept his mouth shut.
“Thank you,” I said, not making eye contact. “For having me sedated, I mean. That was nuts of me. I’m sorry.”
Either I’d exhausted our familiarity for the day or Abraham was in another world because all he said was, “A nurse is bringing you a chair. I’m going to pull the car around.” And just like that, he disappeared from the room.
Several minutes later, the light haired nurse who’d helped me shower this morning, rolled a wheelchair into the room.
She patiently waited while I dressed at the world’s slowest pace, then when I was finished, she helped me into the chair.
I hugged my bag as she rolled me into the hospital lobby where Abraham was waiting in front of a parked SUV.
He took my bag from me and tossed it into the trunk before helping me stand up.
I swallowed my reaction as every muscle in my body screamed.
I knew he was being gentle, but without the buffer of the morphine, basic tasks like existing were exhausting.
I let him lift me into the front where he reclined my seat slightly and buckled my seatbelt before rounding the vehicle to the driver’s side.
I waved to the nurse but she’d already headed back into the hospital to continue her shift.
I didn’t know when I’d fallen asleep, but I was startled awake by Abraham who was standing inside the passenger door. Wearing the same stony expression he had at the hospital, he gestured for me to hold onto him so he could carry me. Seeing as I was too exhausted to argue, I let him.
He’d clearly driven a distance because it’d been daylight when we left the hospital and we were now submerged in the pitch black of night. The cicadas sang here like they did back home, but unlike home, I could see the stars in a truly dark sky.
My body bounced as Abraham approached what appeared to be some kind of brightly colored townhome and I gritted my teeth as he unlocked the door.
Once inside, he carried me to a room with a large, inviting bed with a fluffy, if not sterile looking comforter that’d already been pulled back, and set me down.
My things had also already been set by the door, including a plastic bag with a seal I noted hadn’t been disturbed.
“You need food so you can take your pills. Do you have a preference?”
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Latvia. We’ll be flying out of Riga airport as soon as you’re cleared.”
Before this week, I wouldn’t have been able to point any of these places out on a map, let alone be able to tell you what the cultural food situation was. Suddenly more mentally overwhelmed than I wanted to admit, I appreciated Abraham’s prioritization skills.
“Whatever they have is fine, I guess. As long as there’s no pineapple.”
Abraham went to my weekender on the floor and retrieved my cell phone and charger, and set both on the nightstand. “This for emergencies only, don’t turn that on unless you absolutely have to. Doors stay locked. Don’t answer them for any reason.” Before I could so much as nod, he was gone.
Lying in bed, I waited for the door to slam and the tires to roll out of the driveway before I was on my feet. Flipping the bedside lamp on, I saw my intended target on the floor next to my bag and froze.
Through the clear plastic, I saw what I assumed was my shorn, dirty clothing inside.
A ruined single New Balance sneaker poked out from under the dingy strips of denim fabric and a knit sweater that looked like it used to be yellow.
I swallowed, afraid to look at the evidence, but I went to it anyway.
Picking up the bag, its weight surprisingly light, I brought it to the bed and sat it on my knees.
I lifted my pinkie under the flap of the seal, using my thumb to rip the bag open and was instantly struck by the smell.
Briny, mildewy, and carrying the unmistakable musk of fear, I paused in case the scent triggered a memory, but nothing happened.
Immediately, I grabbed the stiff scraps of my clothing and tossed them onto the floor, along with the New Balance, but aside from a destroyed pair of silk underwear and a matching bralette, there was nothing else in the bag. No engagement or wedding rings. No jewelry of any kind.
I stuffed everything back inside, folded the top over, and put it back. Catching an idea, I went to the cell phone.
Abraham had warned me not to turn it on, but he never said anything about taking it apart.