Chapter 9
Sasha
A scream followed by a thud jolted me awake. Vuitton came flying into the room, jumping onto the bed, whining and shaking.
What the hell? It took me a few seconds to get my bearings, blinking rapidly against the sunlight as I cradled my dog, who’d apparently
been startled by something.
An angry stream of “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” filtered up from downstairs.
That was Courtney.
Wait . . . wait, that was Courtney. “Courtney!”
I sat Vuitton down then quickly scrambled out of bed, only to sway and fall back onto it from the sudden movement. A wave
of nausea rolled through me, and the low throb in my head made me pause until her pained groans forced me back into action.
Courtney was here. Why was she here? It didn’t matter—she was here. At the bottom of the landing sat my wife, resting her
head against the wall and holding her arm to her chest.
Oh no. No. No. No. Please no.
“Courtney, wha . . . what happened? Did you fall? How did you fall?” I asked as I slowly made my way to her.
She glanced up at me, her face skewed in a mix of anger and pain. Her gaze moved past me, and I turned to follow her line of sight. Vuitton sat at the top of the stairs, still shaking, ears back, and doing a low whine.
Oh shit! Oh shit! He had a habit of being a tripping hazard. I’d nearly wiped out plenty of times when he’d been super excited about something.
My head throbbed as fractured memories from last night flashed and the need to vomit bubbled in my gut, but I fought it back,
putting all my focus into helping Courtney.
“Let’s get you up.”
Courtney put her good arm around my neck. It was a bit of a struggle to get her to her feet since I was still unsteady on
mine, but I managed. We got over to the couch and fell down with a soft oof.
“What do you need? You need something. Ice. You need ice,” I determined before she could answer.
I hurried over to the kitchen, pulling open the freezer and looking for the ice pack. Once I found it, I wrapped it in a dish
towel and brought it back over to her. “Put this on your wrist so it doesn’t swell. What else hurts? Anything else hurt? Let
me know. Do you need me to do anything else for you?”
As I talked, I picked up one of the throw pillows and gent-ly laid her arm on it before placing the ice pack on top. She winced
and I instantly started apologizing. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you more?”
She shook her head.
I stood in front of her, wringing my hands. Courtney was the strong one. The one who took care of everything. She took care
of me—that was why she was even here. I’d been too drunk to drive home so she’d come to get me. I called and she came. She’d
left me, but I called, and she came. But now she was hurt.
Seeing her injured, even if not seriously—I hoped it wasn’t serious—had a nervous energy of fear and worry coursing through me, which only added to the nausea sloshing around my stomach. “Does anything else hurt? Tell me what else hurts.”
She craned her neck from side to side and arched her back. “Everything’s a little sore right now. Probably will be worse tomorrow.
I hit the stairs pretty fuckin’ hard.” She frowned as she spoke while readjusting herself on the sofa. The strained expression
prompted me to move so I could fluff the cushions behind her, doing what I could to ease her discomfort.
She wrapped her fingers around my wrist, looking up at me. “I’m okay,” she said, trying to comfort me when she was the one
in pain.
Vuitton still hadn’t come down, and I knew I probably needed to let him out or feed him. Do whatever it was she was gonna
be doing for me since I’d been sleeping it off. But he’d have to wait. Making sure all was well with Courtney was top priority.
“Tell me what you need. Do I need to call Khadijah so that she can come check you out?”
Courtney shook her head again. “No, it should be fine. I think I just fell wrong, and it should be okay. Probably just a sprain.
It hurts right now, but it’ll ease up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. No need to call anybody. I should be fine.”
I looked at her, skeptical. She had to be joking.
My head was still foggy, but I remembered they had a whole list of activities they were supposed to avoid to cut down on risk of injury, and I was pretty damn sure taking a tumble down the stairs would be on the list. “I think, for my peace of mind, I’m gonna call her anyway.
Or at least send her a text message. So she can get it when she wakes up and that way she can come over if she thinks she needs to because like you fell.
I heard you fall. That’s how loud it was.
You fell, Courtney, down the stairs. You need to be checked out. ”
“Fine,” she relented with a heavy sigh. “Send her a text, but I think you’re overreacting.” However, as soon as she tried
to rotate her wrist, she winced and groaned out a low “Fuck.”
She dropped her head back to rest it on the couch and blew out a long breath while covering her eyes with her other arm. I
gnawed on the corner of my lip with a sinking feeling that her injury was not the simple sprain she was trying to sell me
on.
“Um . . . I’ll be right back.” I spoke softly, as if the sound of my voice would somehow upset her more.
Back in the room, Vuitton was sitting by my side of the bed, curled up, trying to make himself as small as possible. “Bad
boy, bad, bad boy,” I said, while wagging my finger at him.
He whimpered again, which made me feel guilty since I hardly ever fussed at him. I was the “nice” parent. Reaching down, I
scooped him up and gave him cuddles. I didn’t want to think of him as a consolation prize since Courtney had done research
and made a big deal about surprising me with him. But he was a stand-in at the same time, something to keep me occupied so
I stopped bringing up asking about having children. And asking about having her around so much. Regardless, I loved him, and
he was my heart, kept me company, and loved me unconditionally. I was his whole world.
“I’m sorry, I know you’re not really bad. You just get excited, but you hurt Mommy. You, you hurt her and now she’s . . .”
I let the words die as I rubbed his ears, calming both of us.
“I know you’re probably a hungry boy. But I don’t think she wants to see you right now.
I’ll see if I can sneak you downstairs later.
But I don’t . . . You have to stay up here and be good and quiet.
Just for a little while, and then I promise you, I’ll take care of you.
” I gave him a kiss on the top of his head.
After setting him on the bed, I quickly scanned the room, looking for my purse. It was sitting in the chair in the corner.
Rummaging through it, I found my phone and was happy to see that the battery hadn’t died since it hadn’t been plugged in last
night.
I paced in small circles, rubbing at my temples. There was a battle of drumlines going on in my head and my stomach bubbled
with unease. I had to fight back the urge to vomit again. I needed to brush my teeth. Maybe if I got the stale cotton taste
out of my mouth it would help keep me from upchucking.
As I brushed, more fragmented memories from the previous night came back. I’d been wasted. So very wasted. And lonely. That
was why she’d been here. She’d come because I’d called her. She’d come even though she was mad at me.
And now she was hurt. She was downstairs, and she was hurt because I’d called her.
My stomach lurched and bile burned my throat. Oh god, was this my fault? This was my fault. No . . . if she hadn’t left in the first place . . . I blew out a hard exhale. “Focus, Sasha,” I harshly whispered
to myself. I’d kept it together downstairs; I needed to dig deep and keep that energy. Courtney needed me. This was my chance
to be there for her, to take care of her.
I rinsed my mouth out then picked up my phone. Looking after Courtney was my top priority right now. This wasn’t transactional.
This was because she was my wife, and I cared about her. I loved her. And she was hurt, and I needed her to be not hurt, especially
because she was hurt because of me. I scrolled through my messages until I got to Khadijah’s number and quickly fired off
a text: 911! Courtney hurt. I rubbed Vuitton’s head then kissed him, promising to bring his breakfast up before I made my way back downstairs.
My phone started ringing before I even got to the bottom.
“Hey—”
Khadijah cut me off and started with questions. “What do you mean she’s hurt? What happened?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know for sure. I was asleep then I heard it. A thud and a yell. She . . . she fell on the stairs.”
“What! She fell down the stairs? Like all of the stairs? How far down the stairs? What is hurting? Tell me everything.”
There was an urgency that popped into her voice, which increased my anxiety but also made me feel better. She was just as
concerned about Courtney’s well-being as I was, and I needed that right now. I needed someone else to care. Not that I expected
her not to, but I needed the confirmation, the support.
I told her what little bit I could with Courtney hollering in the background that it wasn’t a big deal and not to worry about
it. Khadijah said something low, which I assumed was her relaying information to Shae.
“We’ll be there shortly,” she said, then disconnected the call.
I tentatively sat back down next to my wife, noticing how she tried not to wince when she attempted to resituate herself.
“They’re coming over.”
Courtney rolled her eyes. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal.”
Her comment set off a spark of annoyance. “Damn it, Courtney, can you stop being so damn stubborn? You keep sayin’ it’s not
a big deal, but you can’t even move your wrist right now. What if . . . what if it’s more than a sprain? You need to at least
have it checked out. And you should be glad I called Khadijah instead of takin’ yo ass to the ER.”
“I’m surpr . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “You know what, you’re right. Thank you for callin’ Doc.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at her. “Were you ’bout to say you’re surprised I care? Really, Courtney? Really? If anyone should be surprised by someone carin’ or not, it’s me. Cuz only one of us walked out on our spouse. And it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, fuckin’ seriously. You left me, Courtney! The fuck! You. Left.”
She barked out a harsh laugh and shook her head. “Typical. You’re right. I’m the villain in this scenario like every other
fuckin’ time. I’m tired. I’m hurt. And I don’t wanna do this right now. Go put some clothes on before they get here.”
I stared at her. The sloshing of nausea seemed to intensify in my stomach and the drumline in my head amped up, making my
eyes ache and my ears hot. I couldn’t believe she’d imply I wouldn’t care about her and then play the victim when I called
her out on it. Now she was dismissing me because she was done with the conversation. She didn’t want to deal with it . . .
deal with me anymore, so I’d been fucking dismissed. I thought her coming last night when I needed her, and this morning I
was trying to step up . . . I fought back the prickle of tears and blew out a shaky breath. Courtney was hurt. We needed to
get her taken care of.
Without another word, I stood and went to put on something more appropriate than the tank top and panties I currently wore.