Page 3 of Love Sick

Alanna wets her lips and slowly removes my gown. As one of my wrists is still tied, she maneuvers the gown so it gathers by my hand. I’m naked underneath the sheet which rests just below my navel. Alanna inhales sharply as her eyes descend my chest.

She reaches out and toys with the crucifix around my throat. The gesture is personal—too personal. “I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“Why not?”

“I guess you seem more like the practical type,” she settles for after mulling over my question. “You were hardly accepting of when I told you about the heart memory transfer theory. You looked at me like I had lost my mind.”

Been there, done that, but I simply nod, remembering the greater good.

She releases the crucifix and reaches for the sponge in the bowl. The smell of lavender has me almost gagging as she wrings it out. She commences washing my chest. The warm water feels good against my skin.

We’re quiet, the only thing filling the small space between us is her breathing which seems to heighten with each touch.

“She likes you.”

Luna’s voice is like a salve to a burn, and I can’t help but soften and harden at the same time. Alanna, however, believes the reaction is because of her. Is that what Luna wanted?

“Tell me about Jonathan.”

Alanna pauses. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me how you met.”

Alanna’s eyes narrow, as if attempting to decode whether there is some ulterior motive to my request. But in the end, her need to talk about her dead fiancé prevails.

“We met when I was in college,” she says in a faraway voice. “He was playing at a recital. La Campanella. I fell in love the first moment I saw him. The moment we met, I knew I was going to marry him. Over the years, our love was tested. But no one was going to ruin what Jonathan and I shared.”

A slanted grin plays on her lips and the image has me wondering what lengths Alanna went to, to ensure no one ruined her happily ever after.

“Jonathan’s dream was playing music. He worked odd jobs, but his life was music. I wanted to do everything I could to support him, which is why I got into medicine. I had the brains and the stomach for it. I worked so hard for our future.”

Being an artist isn’t easy. I know firsthand how tough it can be. Making a career out of your passion almost always means you’re struggling to pay the bills. Or skipping meals so you can make ends meet. I was one of the fortunate ones because Juilliard changed my life.

I was sought out to play at many events—weddings, funerals, and everything in between. Word spread about my playing, and I was making more than enough to live comfortably. But for me, being able to play music was the greatest reward of all, which is why not being able to play has been a death sentence for me.

“And Jonathan was okay with that?”

Alanna’s lips instantly turn downward. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Most men are proud, alpha dickheads, that’s why, and they want to be the main breadwinner in the family. Alanna’s social standing and the money she makes might have made him feel less of a “man.” And when that happens, some men have to prove their masculinity in another woman’s arms.

I don’t get it and it’s as fucking stupid as it sounds, but it happens. I suddenly wonder how Jonathan died.

“You’re a strong, independent woman,” I casually reply. “Most men would be intimidated by someone as beautiful and smart as you.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes, I do.” That may be the truth, but that doesn’t mean I intend to go easy on her when I get the fuck out of here.

She clears her throat before dipping the sponge into the water to continue bathing me. She lifts my arm and washes me thoroughly. When she descends to my ribs, I notice her fingers trembling. I hate what I have to do.

“I can’t clean myself. I need you to do it for it me.” I leave out the fact that I can’t clean myself because I’m her prisoner. My hopes are if she feels needed, she’ll eventually lower her guard and trust me.

She appears apprehensive.

“Please,” I add, needing this to work.

She looks over her shoulder at Jonathan, and I wonder why. But she eventually concedes. She repositions the sheet so it covers just enough, but all I would have to do is shift slightly and she’d see it all.