A Tempest of All Storms
Vera
The past few days were a blur of shadows, voices, and cramping pain compensated with drugs. I woke up in a light-blue gown on a hospital bed on the first day after my assault. I call it an assault because what happened to me was an act of physical harm.
“Where am I? What have you done to me?” I croaked, seeing Holly’s figure. My throat felt dry and sore from dehydration.
“I’ve just taken the intravenous drip off you,” she said. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”
I was nauseous from the smell of sweet cherries that lingered in the air when she left the room. I was too intoxicated to respond with anything coherent. All the strength had left my drugged and tampered body.
“You’re going to be okay,” she assured me. She combed my unkempt hair with her fingers, getting rid of the knots.
Agonizing pain came from my abdomen. When I lifted my gown, I gasped at the horror of the ugly, jagged stitches from incisions.
“What have you done?” I rasped, then drifted into sleep.
On day two, I woke up in my apartment bedroom, dizzy and disoriented.
I had been in and out of consciousness because of the drugs and felt weak like a worm.
I glanced at Holly standing at the doorway and smelled her sickening cherry scent.
“I’m sorry, Vera. You have an enemy, and I had to do this for her,” she confessed.
“Who did you do this for?” I demanded.
“A woman of wealth. That’s all I’ll say.”
“What have you done to me?”
“I performed a tubal ligation. It’s also known as having your tubes tied.”
“What? Are you fucking nuts?” I shouted hoarsely, feeling a dry itch in the back of my throat. I glared at the mad doctor. “You are supposed to help people, not hurt them. What did you do to me?”
“I had to sterilize you.”
“You fucking psycho,” I cried, feeling the shock and pain collide, causing me to scream in agony.
“The fallopian tubes are occluded. No hormonal changes will take place, and your menstrual cycle should be preserved going forward.”
“Speak in English to me. What does that mean?”
“Your tubes are closed because I tied them,” Holly explained. There was no expression on her face. Her soul had left her eyes.
“You’re evil,” I hissed. If I had all the energy and no compunction in the world, I would have ripped her throat.
“Here, you need to take these twice a day for the next week or so,” Holly said, handing me a packet of pills and a glass of water. “They have morphine in them. The pain will subside, and you’ll live a normal and healthy life.”
I took the pills and water from the bitch. “You piece of shit. Why did you do this?”
“I had to do it because my family comes first. Do you remember what I told you about my sister Libby?”
“Yes. Is she still rotting in jail in Mexico for smuggling drugs?”
“Libby’s in a small prison in northern Brazil, not Mexico.
The only way I can free her is with the money from the woman who promised to help me in exchange for this,” Holly said as her eyes glanced at my abdomen.
“The money covers the price that the prison officials asked for. I need to get my sister out of that hellhole, and that woman has connections there.”
“Who is this woman? Who sold me to you, you fucking bitch?” I snarled.
“I can’t tell you. She wanted me to pass on a message. Keep away from Alistair Scott.”
“SCREW YOU!” I screamed, feeling my body shake.
“Honey, I had no choice. Please understand that Libby would die in that prison if I chose you over her.”
“Don’t ‘honey’ me, you fucking psycho. You messed with my reproductive rights. I hate you.”
“Vera, I’ve left a pamphlet with information on life after the surgery. You’re a healthy woman, so I think you’ll recover soon.”
“How can you call yourself a doctor, huh?”
Holly began to back away, shuffling toward the door. “I’m leaving the country to find my sister and get her out of jail, Vera.”
“Who paid you? How long have you pretended to be my friend and lover?” I slurred, slowly drifting into drowsiness.
Holly shook her head, refusing to reveal my enemy’s name. “My flight leaves this afternoon, so I’m going to leave you. I’m sorry, Vera.”
Sorry was not enough. It meant nothing to me.
Someone wanted me to live and suffer rather than die a quick death.
If I were dead, I wouldn’t feel a thing, but being alive meant I would feel pain and loss.
The woman who bought Holly’s soul was a vile and dangerous human being who committed a remorseless and ruthless crime.
It had to be either Saira Quinn or Erin Everton-Scott.
I saw Saira once at the party where Jules was under her spell.
I never forgot her tall, commanding frame and her pristine, ash-blonde hair.
What scared me most was her soulless gray eyes, lacking any compassion.
She had ears and eyes throughout the city, and I believed she knew I was the reason Alistair protected Julian.
As for Erin, she was a possessive bitch who wanted Alistair to herself. They shared a child, and her marriage to Oliver was fake. Maybe of all the women he’d slept with, she saw the emotional bond between us. She would do anything to eliminate her biggest threat… me.
Both women had power and money. Erin was the devil, and Saira liked to play God.
I made a full recovery under the care of Doctor Cheryl Cohen, a top obstetrician-gynecologist at Saint John’s Hospital. “I’m sorry to say this, but whoever performed the surgery on you did a botched job,” Doctor Cohen said.
“Am I going to be okay?” I asked, feeling doomed anxiety in my heart.
“You probably won’t be able to have children, Vera.”
“Ever?” I asked, feeling an explosion of emotions erupt from my gut to my throat.
“I want to promise you something more positive, but I can’t. I’m sorry. We may be able to look into possibilities later. Perhaps in vitro fertilization may be an option, but I can’t say IVF will work because there’s a lot of damage.”
My heart dropped to a new level of loss and depression, and my knees began to shake.
“Vera, you are a fit and healthy woman, and your body is making a remarkable recovery. There are no signs of infections.”
I was speechless. Not a word came out of my mouth as I stared out the window behind Doctor Cohen.
“We have an excellent psychologist and a support group at the hospital. They’re here to assist women who deal with infertility. Would you like me to refer you to them?”
“Yes, please,” I answered. I couldn’t get through this alone, and I needed help. The waves of helplessness crawled at my feet, soaking me with depression and anxiety. Feeling frail, I took some time off work to recover.
I wanted to know who did this to me, and I needed someone to support me. Saph was dealing with her own mental health issues, and although she wouldn’t admit it, I knew she couldn’t handle more problems. Nobody in my family understood my hell either.
I wanted justice—but I was scared for my life.
I wanted to go to the police, but Saira, and possibly Erin, because of her position as a Scott, had some control over the police department.
There was only one person in the world whom I could trust. He had power in a society that could buy people.
I took Alistair’s business card from my writing desk drawer, remembering I kept it there even after deleting his number.
I needed him. Biting the bullet, I called him and waited for him to pick up. It rang out, so I sent a message.
I’m sorry for the past. Can you please call me? I need your help because you’re the only one I can trust.
I waited for fifteen minutes and rang again, but he didn’t take the call.
About an hour later, I called for the third time.
I wish I could say he took the call and came straight away.
That he canceled his flight to wherever he planned to fly for his next trip, to be at my side.
Alistair never answered his phone. He never responded to my messages.
I checked his social media profile and saw a photo of him on a cruise ship with another woman. He wore a tuxedo, and she looked flawless in a backless gown. The photo caption twisted a knife in my heart.
Alistair Scott has found his match. Beautiful actress Rebecca Ross has stolen his heart in the Caribbean. #couplegoals #lovecruise
I put my phone down and felt an overwhelming tidal wave rise in my throat. Kneeling on the floor, I felt sick with nausea and a blinding migraine. I was merely a toy in a rich boy’s playground, only to be tossed aside for something shinier and new.
I learned one thing: when you’re at your lowest point, you’re often alone.
It was time to rise as a survivor and not remain a victim.
I had done it after my ex Ace beat the shit out of me, punching blows into my gut and painfully ripping hair from my head.
People tried to hurt my body, but they could not murder my spirit.
Feeling the flames of anger and determination fire up inside me, I stood up.
Rise, I heard the voice of hope whisper into my ear.
Get up and rise above this tempest of all storms.