15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
I ’m generally a fan of silence, but the tension sitting over the three of us as we head to the hospital is unbearable. I’d almost prefer it if one of them was scolding me for something. I feel like that’s generally what happens when I get pulled into someone else’s car—either a scolding or a sympathetic ‘maybe we can help’ speech that’s fucking useless.
I would take it. Anything other than this silence. Because all I’m thinking about right now is how this could possibly end for us.
Eamon finally kills me. Gunnar gets sick of me, so I go back to the Banna and Eamon, or something identical. Eamon kills Gunnar and then me. Lola dies alone, because I’m too busy dealing with this clusterfuck to take care of her like I’m supposed to.
My mind spits out dozens of scenarios, but none of them have a happy ending. It’s not feasible. Wherever I go, whatever I do, Eamon will hunt me. He gets too much pleasure out of it, and there’s no downside for him. I come back; he wins. I run; he still gets to chase me, so he wins.
He always wins in the end.
Even though there’s not a single rational part of me that wants to go back to him… The thought that it might be better for everyone else if we just cut to the chase is lingering on the periphery of my awareness.
Part of me thinks it’s the pessimism talking, but part of me thinks it’s realism. And if getting the messy, horrible ending over with now instead of later saves Gunnar some grief or potentially keeps him out of danger, isn’t it worth it?
I’m selfish. I want this time with him. I still barely know him, but the feeling of being around him is intense in a way I never knew was possible. I want to crack him open and examine all the parts inside, knowing the whole time that he’ll stay quiet and still and patient as I peel back his layers, one by one. Knowing that he’ll not only allow me to really look at him, he’ll want me to.
It’s exhilarating.
I want one stupid, selfish thing in my sad little life. Just for a little while. I’m aware that it probably makes me even more pathetic. I should be holding onto hope. Having faith in my inner strength or the value of my existence or the potential for a future I could have.
But I’m so fucking tired. From before I was even born, my existence was a problem for people. Filling up that void with my own positivity has been an uphill fucking battle. I’ve tried. I have. It’s just a lot. In the midst of all this chaos, I feel like I deserve to be weak for a little while and hang that feeling on someone else.
If caring about Gunnar makes it easier for me to also care about whether I live or die, then fuck it.
I’m doing my best.
This is the inner monologue that runs on a loop the whole thirty-minute drive to the hospital. Maybe I’m really trying to distract myself from thinking about Lola.
She’s been sick for a while. This isn’t news. But lately it’s felt like she’s in the hospital more often than she’s out of it, and I don’t know what else I can do. I started working for the Banna so I could get the money to pay for her insulin, and she still ended up having to ration it. Only now I’m on the fucking lam and can’t even be there to take care of her.
If I’d been there instead of lying around Gunnar’s apartment having butterflies and trading hand jobs, maybe this never would have happened.
Or maybe Eamon would have killed us both already.
I swear, I can feel my brain thrumming like a tuning fork that’s been struck, desperate to halt these chaotic, painful thoughts for a little while. As if on cue, Gunnar turns around in the passenger seat and looks at me, that hangdog expression on his face.
“If you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to do this now. We can go home. Make a plan and then come back tomorrow. Maybe during the day when there are more people around.”
I look out the window for a minute, seeing nothing but trees that look gray under the headlights and black, black emptiness beyond it.
“It wouldn’t make a difference,” I say with a shrug. “I need to see her. The longer we wait, the more likely it is one of his contacts will tell him she’s been admitted, and he’ll start skulking around.” I shake my head from side to side, trying to put something into words that’s almost impossible to express. “I mean… He’s going to find me. If he wants to bad enough, he’ll find me in the end. He has all the power here. The only thing I can do is wait and hope he gets bored in the meantime, but the chances of that happening are pretty fucking slim.”
Well, that successfully increased the already intolerable level of tension in the car. Tristan’s driving with both hands on the wheel and his arms locked, not saying anything but obviously locked into what we’re saying. And Gunnar looks like he’s about to turn this car around, whether I want to or not.
He manages to restrain himself. I’m sure it’s not easy, but he keeps quiet for the rest of the drive. By the time we get to the hospital, it’s sooner than I expected, and a sudden rush of nerves hits me.
The parking lot is dark and quiet, only illuminated by evenly spaced streetlamps. There are a few cars sleeping peacefully, but no people standing around as far as I can see.
One ambulance is sitting by the ER loading bay, but that’s the only real movement. Everything else is as silent and still as the woods we drove through to get here.
It doesn’t help my nervousness. In fact, it makes it worse. Realistically, I know that if Eamon comes for me, it won’t make a difference if people are around or not. He’ll take what he wants. But Gunnar’s earlier offer to come back in the light of day is more and more tempting.
The process of getting inside all passes by in a blur. Tristan seems to know this place inside and out, which makes sense. I let myself numb out to everything, following along in his wake as he nods to nurses and turns down a gazillion different corridors. Gunnar is by my side the whole time.
He times his steps to match mine, like he’s pacing me so we can never be more than an inch apart. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s always close enough that I can feel the warmth coming from his body. I could stretch out my pinkie finger and touch his skin if I needed to. And he doesn’t watch me. He looks around us, his demeanor calm but his serious eyes everywhere, taking in every face and dark corner as if assessing for a threat.
It makes an emotion swell inside me. Something powerful and turbulent that I can’t possibly put a name to.
I catch his eye for just a second, and in that moment, I know he feels it too.
By the time we reach her room, I feel a little better. Tristan cracks open the door for me, but a thought crosses my mind.
“Are we even allowed to be here?” My voice is a stage whisper.
It’s not silent inside the hospital. Nurses and other staff are still walking up and down the halls, bustling to do their jobs, and there are some patients walking back and forth. But I had forgotten just how late it was until this moment.
Tristan shakes his head at me. “Not all hospitals have official visiting hours. This one I think it’s only labor and delivery. Maybe the ICU? Whatever. It’s fine. Just don’t cause a ruckus. I know how loud and outgoing you can be.”
Uncalled for. I don’t bother with a comeback, though, instead giving him the derisive look he deserves while I push past him into the room.
It’s dark inside. There’s a computer monitor glowing in one corner and a whiteboard with some notes on it reflecting the glare. I was worried I would find her surrounded by tubes and wires and beeping machines, but it’s not as bad as I expected. She has an IV, and the pump blinks softly in the darkness. There are a few wires surrounding her, some of which attach to a little gray box lying beside her in the bed.
It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad.
Gunnar and Tristan both follow me into the room but hang back as I approach her. For a minute, I think she’s unconscious. Her eyes flutter open though as soon as I get close.
“Apo,” she says, reaching for my hand.
Her expression is laden with more emotion than I ever want to see her burdened with. She’s happy to see me, but underneath that I can see all the hurt and worry that I’m sure has gone hand in hand with my abrupt absence.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m so sorry I had to leave. How do you feel?”
She lets out a long, weary sigh. “It’s okay. It’s just more of the same. I had my handsome medic there to save me again.” She smiles at Tristan where he leans against the far wall, and he grins back at her.
They’ve always had a weird kind of friendship. I don’t get it, but I’ll take it. She needs all the friends she can get to make up for her shitty, neglectful grandson.
Then she cocks her head to the side, and I realize she must have noticed Gunnar in the room.
“And who’s this?”
Gunnar moves forward until he’s standing close enough to the bed that she can get a good look at him. He looks so calm. I’m almost jealous. I’ve thrust him into a weird, uncomfortable situation and he’s just standing there, giving her a warm smile and introducing himself.
“My name is Gunnar, ma’am. I’m Tobias’s friend.”
There’s a beat of silence while she seems to evaluate that. I’m not sure what she’s thinking. Maybe she’s wondering if he’s one of the people she knows I probably work for but shouldn’t. I wish I could spill everything right now. I want to tell her how Gunnar is the closest thing to a real person in my life, outside of her, that I’ve ever had. I want to tell her how much she’d love him and how I’m desperate to make him a permanent part of my existence.
But now isn’t the time.
I’m about to ask her about her health when there’s a sharp knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, a woman in scrubs lets herself in and takes in the sight of the three of us.
She’s older than most of the nurses I saw in the hallways, with the kind of tanned, weathered skin you get from decades of cigarette smoke and too much sunbathing in the eighties. Her blonde hair also looks damaged, and it’s pulled back into a severe bun. Everything about her gives the impression of sharp, harsh angles and it sets me on edge for no particular reason.
“Are you the grandson?”
She looks directly at me as she asks, but her tone implies that she couldn’t possibly care less. I nod, and then she tosses her head in the direction of the hallway.
“Perfect. Doc wants to speak to you about her case. I’ll take you to him.”
“He can’t come here?” Tristan interjects, but the nurse is unfazed.
“We’re slammed tonight. He’s got too many unstable patients in ICU to come over here right now. We’re shuffling some things around. It’s easier if we go to him. It’ll only take a minute.”
Gunnar looks at me, drowning out the noise in my head with his stare. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I think about it. There’s a tingle of fear running through me, like always, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I can’t only exist with Gunnar as my shadow for the rest of my life.
And like I said before—if Eamon really wants to take me, he’ll take me. Gunnar can’t stop him. He’ll only get hurt trying.
I’m about to tell him I’m fine when the nurse interrupts.
“Sorry, sir. HIPAA. You can wait here.”
Gunnar turns a baleful glare on her, matched by Tristan’s expression behind him, but she doesn’t back down. She’s not wrong. And thank fuck Lola made me her medical proxy months ago for exactly this situation.
“It’s no big deal,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
I lean down, telling Lola the same thing and kissing her on the cheek before following the nurse toward the door. Gunnar’s fingers graze the small of my back as I walk past him, but I don’t let myself look. The more I give into this feeling that every step I take is a step toward my funeral, the more it sinks its claws into me.
The nurse moves down the hallways at a brisk clip, unconcerned about whether I’m keeping up. I’ve been here so many times since I moved back, but I still can’t keep it all straight. Especially at night when the patient hallways and nurses’ stations are all dimly lit. Before I know it, I’m completely turned around.
Is this the ICU? I don’t think she’s ever been in the ICU, so maybe I’ve never been here before. It’s all kind of a blur. Wait, what’s the CVICU? Was that where she went last time?
I have no idea why I’m on internal ramble mode. Maybe to keep my thoughts from straying down the darker paths. Turn off and do as I’m told. Follow the nurse. She badges open a random door for me and indicates for me to go through, still looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than helping me.
I thank her anyway, but my attention is so far away from the present. It takes me a good fifteen seconds to realize that once the door clicks shut behind me, also with that little black box that means you need a badge to open it, I’m not in a room.
I’m in a stairwell. A dark, empty stairwell.
Well, empty except for the one person standing a few feet away from me, leaning casually against the railing.
My stomach drops out, but it feels like a physiological reaction. The adrenaline, the fear, the fight-or-flight. All of that is there in an instant, like it always is.
But my mind is calm this time. I’m not sure why. Maybe enough of me was expecting this, that I was genuinely prepared. Or maybe I’ve worried over it and tossed and turned so much that I don’t care anymore.
“Hello, lover,” Eamon says as he slinks toward me. “I thought I might find you here.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I wait and I think and I keep myself as unobtrusive as possible, already conserving my energy for whatever is about to come next.
Eamon sidles up next to me before running his fingers through the longest part of my hair.
“This little vacation is over, pet. We have work to do. And you have a lot of things to be punished for. Understood?”
I don’t answer straight away, because my vocal cords feel as frozen as the rest of my body. When he doesn’t get an answer, he tightens his grip on my hair and yanks my head back.
“Understood?”
His voice is low and his breath is hot in my ear. I thought I might feel an extra kind of repulsion to have his hands on me after all the softness of Gunnar’s touch, but I don’t. It’s the same as it ever was. Blankness. My body is suspended in time as it waits.
“Yes, sir.”
They’re the only words I can choke out, but it does the trick. He lets go of my hair and gives me a small shove to get me walking down the stairs.
I wonder how far away Gunnar and Tristan are right now? How far had I just walked? Would they hear me if I screamed?
Then I shove the thought away. Like I thought before, there’s no point. He was always going to find me in the end. At least this way, nobody gets hurt but me.