Chapter 31
31
DULCE
I wake up sore all over in the most delicious way. My skin tingles. Butterflies float low in my stomach. Worried about morning breath, I look over but find his side empty. The closet is open on the other side, and then there is a door that must be the bathroom.
I slide naked out from between the sheets and walk inside. There’s a freestanding tub, like something out of a magazine. Smiling with anticipation, I turn on the water, checking the temperature as the tub fills. On the side table are sundries like a shower cap, face bar, body wash, and lotion. After opening a few and inhaling their delicious scents, I move over to the sink, where I find a toothbrush and paste to help me get rid of that morning breath.
When the tub is about halfway, I step inside and almost groan at how relaxing the water feels on my sore muscles. I lean back, closing my eyes for a few seconds.
My hand slides lower over my stomach until my fingers find my swollen clit. I wince and then sit up. Suddenly, I’m in my bathtub at home.
A scream clogs my throat. There is blood everywhere, but I feel no pain. I raise my arms and see the red rivulets of water drip over my skin. It smells like rust. The water in the tub is bright red and is slowly rising.
I stand, panic gripping my throat. No, no, no, no! Not again.
I run my hand over my stomach, and it’s still flat. The swollen flesh I remember is long gone. It’s not there, Dulce. It died.
What’s happening? I look around, screaming Ford’s name, but nothing comes out. I’m met with silence. I try again and nothing.
I reach between my legs. Surrounded by a glob of blood is a tiny baby. An alien creature with huge round eyes like a bee.
It blinks. “Mommy,” it says in a little voice echoing in my head.
“Dulce!” Ford calls out.
My eyes pop open, and I take in a lungful of air, trying not to suffocate. I blink repeatedly and tuck my knees under my chin, shaking my head.
He’s holding me in his strong arms. Safe. Comforting. Attentive. I look around, and I’m shaking on the bed.
“You were dreaming,” he whispers.
I turn toward him, taking in his wide eyes. He’s shirtless, and the light from the morning sun shines through the edge of the curtains.
It was a nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. My heart pounds inside my chest, hating that I ruined the most beautiful night.
“There is nothing to be sorry about,” he says, gently caressing my cheek with the back of his fingers. What did you dream about?”
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing. It happens sometimes,” I lie. It happens all the time but admitting that to him would be opening the door to the past.
“How often does it happen?”
I shrug. “A few times a week. It’s no big deal.”
“If this happens that many times, I think you need to talk to someone.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because doctors cost money.”
I’ve googled my symptoms. It’s some type of PTSD from trauma. Therapy is recommended, but that isn’t an option. I don’t have the money for a therapist, and the ones in town can’t be trusted, but I don’t tell him that.
There is a knock on the door.
He grabs a shirt and pants off the chair on the corner and gets dressed. He moves to his bag, digs inside, and hands me a T-shirt. “Here, put this on.”
I pinch my brows. “Who is it?”
“I called my manager and told him to call the doctor assigned to my team to come check on you.”
“Why?”
“The truth? I was scared when I heard you thrashing in the tub, and you wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t know what to do.”
I should be mad at him, but he was worried. I can see the worry etched in his face. Only one person in this world worries about me, so it’s nice that someone else does. I slide my legs down, place my feet on the plush carpet, take the T-shirt, and put it on.
When I’m done, he moves to the door and opens it.
A man in his late fifties walks in with a bag. “Hi, I’m Dr. Long,” he says, shaking hands with Ford. “Derek said you needed me to see someone in your room.”
“Yes,” Ford says and gestures to me. “This is Dulce. She was in the bath having a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake her. I didn’t know what to do,” Ford says helplessly. “She was screaming for me, but I couldn’t get her to wake up,”
I feel my cheeks flush. I can’t make eye contact with Ford. He gives me the best first time, and I screw it up by having a nightmare and freaking him out. I have the worst luck in all of humanity. I try to make myself look smaller by sinking my butt into the mattress.
Dr. Long asks me basic questions, and I answer until he gets to the more personal ones, like if I have any ongoing conditions he should know about. Been to the emergency room. I glance at Ford, sitting in the accent chair near the window.
Dr. Long pauses. He glances at Ford and then at me. “If you would prefer…”
“He can stay.”
“Alright. I’ll make this part quick. Last time you’ve seen a doctor? Are you on any medications? Do you suffer from panic attacks?”
I tear my gaze from Ford and look out the window at the bright blue sky. “The last time I saw a doctor was in the emergency room.”
“For?”
It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. While the doctor enters information on his tablet, I feel Ford’s gaze on me and hear him shift in his seat.
All the air leaves from my lungs. I haven’t been asked that question since I was placed on birth control during the follow-up with my gynecologist to avoid getting pregnant.
Seconds tick by.
Ford’s eyes are glued to my mouth. He’s waiting for me to answer. So is Dr. Long, who’s watching me with a raised brow. The glow from the tablet reflects off his reading spectacles.
“Miss Webster?”
My heart rate slows, and I let out a deep breath.
I clear my throat and cross my arms. “I had a miscarriage at home when I was in the shower. There was a lot of blood, and no one could drive me to the hospital. My grandmother’s nurse called the ambulance, and I was treated at the ER. ”
He nods, taking notes on his iPad. I can feel the heat of Ford’s stare on the side of my face.
“How long ago was that?”
I look down at my hands. “Almost four years ago.”
“Have you been diagnosed with PTSD or having panic attacks?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Medications or pills you take daily?”
“Just birth control,” I reply, avoiding Ford’s gaze.
The doctor’s finger hovers over the screen. “Did the nightmares or panic attacks start after the miscarriage?”
“Something like that,” I reply, feeling a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. It’s not the only reason. My mind races, playing what happened over and over.
“I see,” he says, but he doesn’t see because that isn’t the whole story.
Dr. Long places the tablet on the side table. He reaches inside his bag for his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, then walks over to take my vitals.
I glance at Ford. His jaw is set. A hostile stare aimed at the wall. I’m wondering what is going through his head. Is he disgusted? Does he regret sleeping with me?
The sound of the Velcro as the blood pressure cuff comes off my arm pulls my attention back to Dr. Long.
“Have you seen a therapist or a doctor about the episodes?”
“No.”
“Alright,” Dr. Long says, “I’m going to give you a prescription for a medication to help you sleep. I sent the script to the nearest pharmacy. If you are interested in therapy sessions, I will leave a number of a good one with Ford. I recommend you call and make an appointment. Do you have any questions for me?”
“No, thank you.”
He probably thinks I’m stupid for not getting help, but Chris’s and Trent’s lawyers warned me not to. They told me not to speak to anyone.
Ford gets up. “Is there anything you need from me?” he asks Dr. Long.
“No. I’m done here.” Dr. Long turns to me, handing me his card. “Call my office. The appointments for refills can be done virtually.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
Ford waits until Dr. Long leaves the room before facing me as he scrolls through his phone. “Your medication will be delivered shortly,” he says like he didn’t just hear another part of my fucked-up life. Like he doesn’t see how I’m breaking inside.
He waits, watching me with an unreadable expression.
Tears clog my throat, making it impossible to speak. I know this changes everything between us. There is no way it couldn’t. There must be a ton of questions running through his mind. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to hear the truth.
I lie in bed while he scrolls through his phone. His fingers fly across the screen, and we sit in silence. The tension in the air stretches like a rubber band.
When the sun rises across the horizon, there is a knock on the door.
Ford quickly gets up and opens the door. “I have a package for Dulce Webster,” the man says.
“Yes,” Ford replies. I hear the door close.
Ford walks to my side of the bed and hands me a small paper bag containing the medication the doctor prescribed with a bottle of water.
I take the medication, hoping we could talk before the medication kicks in to help me sleep. His phone rings, and the moment to talk vanishes as he walks into the bathroom to take the call. After fifteen minutes, my eyes start to get heavy. The last thing I remember is Ford saying hello behind the bathroom door.
I look out the window, watch people moving on with their lives while mine is constantly breaking at the seams as tears stream down my cheeks.
When I wake up six hours later, Ford is gone. There is no point in calling him. If he wanted to talk, he would have stayed. He would have called.
My hands tremble when I place the phone on my ear, listening to it ring. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Katie asks in a worried tone.
I sniff and wipe my face. “Can you come and get me, Katie?”
“Oh, no…Let me guess, he left.”
I nod like she can see me. “Yeah.”
“You said he would.”
Deep down, I knew there was no future. One night was all I would have with him.
“I did. It’s what he does.”
I hear her grab her keys in the background. “I’m walking out the door. Was it worth it?”
I glance at the rumpled white sheets and then at the red heels at the foot of the bed and smile. “Yeah, I finally know what it’s like to forget and feel something for once.”
“It’s his loss, Dulce. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“I got the address to the hotel you sent me last night.”
I look out the window at the tiny café. People walk in and out. Cars turn into the hotel. “I’ll meet you across the street. There is a little café.”
“I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Thank you, and drive safe.”
I walk over to the desk and grab the notepad and pen. I write him a note. I grab the red heels and dress, placing them neatly on the bed.
I close my eyes, and a memory of last night comes rushing back. My eyes lift when he finally pushes inside me. I see myself in the reflection of his gaze. He doesn’t move for a fraction of a second, and at that moment I’m his, and he’s mine. One fleeting moment when all is forgotten, and there is nothing but us in the room. There is no past. No future. Just the moment when we fit perfectly for the first time even though I knew it would never happen again. Not with him. Not for a girl like me.
I place the note on top of the black dress where he can see it.
I’m sorry about last night. I should’ve never stayed.
Dulce