Page 15 of Bang
I shudder from his tone, so measured and controlled even though I’m not. We’re not. The world’s not. Sparkles fill my vision, and I clench my eyes shut to clear them. A definite mistake when I feel like I’m floating too. Losing my grip when another realization slams into me. “I saw you with her! She’s why you had the vasectomy. You weren’t trying to protect me. You don’t want any more children with me. You don’t want Louis.”
The final burst of energy fades, and I slide down to the carpet. Giving up the last of my fight knowing he doesn’t love me or our son. Doesn’t want our babies. Doesn’t want our family.
“Jesus Christ Eden. She’s a fucking party planner. I was talking to her about Louis’s birthday.”
I’m suddenly in his arms and feel safe. Even though I shouldn’t after what I’ve done. But I’m so exhausted and scared and confused. I don’t know what else to do but let him hold me.
“Tell Ford to get a fucking doctor down here now.”
Patrick startles from my scream, so engrossed in her meltdown, he doesn’t react like he normally would when my wife hits the ground. He nods and races up the steps while I hold her tight. Brushing her wild hair off her sweet face. Trying to make sense of her delirium. Clammy and cold, she spasms against me while her eyes roll up in her head. Still fighting. Me, herself, and whatever demons have possessed her. “It’s okay, wisp. We’ll get this figured out. We’ll get you well.”
Her anguished murmurs kill me with her professing her love for me and confusion as to why I don’t love her anymore. What the fucking hell? I don’t know what the fuck happened after I fucked her. Just a quick call to Mrs. Bryant to ensure everything else was okay at home after we checked on Louis in his bed, and then grabbing the business card from—fuck I don’t even know her name just her occupation—to see what ideas she could come up with for Louis’s celebration. Never expecting my entire existence to implode in less than five fucking minutes. “Please Eden. Hold on. Just hold on for me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I hear them before I see them, and it better fucking be help or many, many people will die tonight. Thank fuck Doc Sampson flies double time down the steps, trailed by Patrick and Ford, and races directly to us. Kneeling down on one knee, he flips over her freezing hand and checks her pulse.
“What happened?”
That’s what the fuck I’d like to know. “She was acting irrational, talking crazy bullshit. Not herself at all until she collapsed.”
“Does she have any medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Is she allergic to anything?”
My mind scans through the past six years. Even with the healthy weird squirrel food she eats, all that quinoa and kale bullshit, she’s never had any reactions to anything or from any medications she’s taken. “No, not that I know of.”
“Did she drink any alcohol? More than normal?”
Despite my terror, I’m eerily calm for my world crashing around me. I fucking have to be so she’ll be okay. “Yeah, she usually just has a glass or two of wine with dinner. Tonight it was those fucking snow cone margaritas and a bunch of tequila shots.”
He nods and lifts her eyelids twitching from the intrusion. “How long since she’s eaten?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Lunch I think, around noon.”
The old man glances at his watch. “Almost eight hours ago. I think it’s low blood sugar exacerbated by the alcohol.”
He turns back to my brother. “She needs sugar and protein. Get her some orange juice and cheese to start.”
I’ve never seen Ford race so fast. Well aware what she means to me. Cognizant of what will happen if I lose her.
Never in my life have I been helpless. Always able to control everyone and everything. I don’t tolerate well this feeling of powerlessness and grasp her tighter to me, pressing my lips against her damp forehead until Ford dashes back down the stairs with the OJ sloshing over the side of the glass.
I accept the cup from him and hold the rim to her trembling lips. “Drink Eden. Take a sip.”
Nothing except her head wobbling against my bicep. “Come on, you’ve got to drink. If not for me then do it for Louis.”
The mention of our son’s name stirs her, and she puckers for me. I pour in the cold liquid and get most of the fluid in her mouth, pulsing like a pansy bitch when she swallows. After two more long drinks, her eyes flutter open and some of the grogginess fades as she finds me in her sights.
“Beck?”
I fucking hate how terrified she sounds. The need for her to feel safe is just as important as her being safe. Especially when I’m holding her.
“Here Mrs. Mancini, try this.”
Sampson swipes a few of the cheddar cubes from Patrick’s plate and hands them to me. Following doctor’s orders, she opens her mouth and lets me slide the square inside. Chewing slowly, she nods as she finishes and accepts two more. Seemingly indifferent to the three of us watching her like psychos.
“How do you feel?”
She blinks and looks around. Lines cross her face in confusion from the realization of being on the floor and the center of our attention.
“Okay I guess, but I think I’m drunk.”
This earns a chuckle from the physician. “I think you are too Mrs. Mancini. You’re probably going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, but you’re going to be just fine.”
Motherfucker. My own emotions kick in, and the need to beat or mutilate or shoot someone consumes me with no way to dispel the adrenaline. Because that would mean leaving her, and that’s not fucking happening ever again. This is the last fucking time I fail her.