Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted (27 page)

Chapter
Thirty

Day nine

The decision was
in.

Ben was never
coming back.

At eight o’clock
tonight the doctor – or nurses, or who the fuck ever – would make sure of that.
Brooke waited for Irene to leave the room before letting her eyes run from the
respirator to the plug in the wall. They would have to get past her first. That
decision was in as well. And she would not go quietly. She had accepted the
fact the decision was not hers to make, but that didn’t change a damn thing.
They would not just hear her protests again. This time, they would see them.

She leaned back
into the chair, her butt resting numbly on the edge of the seat.

The respirator
sucked in a wheezing breath that deflated Ben’s chest and then exhaled a burst
of oxygen that pumped his upper body up again. Up and down. Up and down.

After a few
minutes of listening to that fucking noise - the one she had somehow become
used to - she worked up her courage to glance at the clock on her phone. Three
thirty-five. She did the math in her head. Less than four and a half hours.

She threw the
cell against the wall where it shattered into pieces around a small dresser
with three drawers. “Fuck!” Brooke buried her face in her hands and cried
harder than ever before, a helplessness washing over her with demoralizing
results. It was over. Her prayers had fallen on deaf ears and she would never
forget it. If only she had told him how she felt, this might have been easier
to take. But she hadn’t. And now, instead of living with him, she would live
with that for the rest of her miserable life.

Her hands wiped
at the tears but they just kept coming like an army of marching ants that goes
on forever. Over the last twenty-four hours the flashes of Ben in a wheelchair
had turned to those of him in a coffin. She shuddered at the color of his gray skin,
his body stuffed into a pressed suit she knew he would not be pleased with. The
best way, she had found, to dispel the gruesome images back to where they came
from was to let anger take their place.

Detective
Diamond and associates had nabbed the white guy in a puffy coat along with his
pit-bull buddy yesterday and it was easier to think about what Brooke would
like to do to them now. Especially the short guy with the bat. Her eyes glazed
over as she pictured him tied to a filthy bed in some candlelit basement with
stone walls where no one could hear him scream. He struggled for escape, his
pathetic pleas music to her ears. She tightened her grip on the aluminum
baseball bat in her hands and he struggled even harder, bringing a smile to her
face.

“Where am I?”

She could only
laugh at the absurdity of a question like that. It was obvious where he was. He
was in her world now and the only real question was: should she start with his
knees or with his balls?

“Where am I?”

Her heart rate
spiked along with her adrenaline, giving her a head rush. She pulled her face
from her hands, the evil vision dissipating into nothingness. Brooke clawed at
the tears clouding her vision so she could see if Ben was really blinking his
eyes or not. His head lolled on his shoulders until his barely cracked lids found
her in their sights.

She wanted to
spring to his side but could not move, let alone talk. It had to be another
dream. Another mental trick played on her by her subconscious’ unforgiving
sense of humor.

Ben pulled the
mask from his face and Brooke finally sprang into action, flying from the chair
in a blur.

“You have to
keep this on,” she said, covering his mouth with the mask again.

He fought her
like a child who doesn’t want to eat his vegetables.

“Ben! You’ve
been in a coma for nine days and you’ll die without it!”

He pushed the
mask away just the same. “Nine days?” His voice was a dry whisper. He tried to
sit up and slipped into a coughing fit instead. “What happened?”

“Stop fighting
me!” Brooke stretched the mask’s loopy bands around his head. “It’s breathing
for you.”

He resisted
again, pushing the mask to the side. “I’m breathing for me.”

She studied him
through bulging eyes. His chest continued to rise and fall without the mask so
she dropped it to the side of the bed and hugged him tight, careful not to bump
his bandaged head. “Oh my God,” she cried. “I knew you’d come back to me. I
knew it!” Tears blazed slick paths down her cheeks and she let them. When she
noticed he wasn’t returning her hug she pulled away. The confusion blanketing
his face drew her next words out slowly. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

He tried to lick
his lips. “Who are you?”

She stood
frozen, the respirator still breathing in and out. In and out. In and out.
“What?”

His eyes left
her to roam the room. “What happened? Are you my nurse?”

She covered her
mouth like she had just witnessed a fatal traffic accident in the light of day.

He tried to sit
up again but grimaced with pain and sank back into the pillow, releasing a
pent-up breath along the way. “Who are you?”

“I’m your
girlfriend.”

“
Girlfriend
?”

The color left
Brooke’s face.

“I’ve never seen
you before in my life.”

The floor
dropped out beneath her. She was freefalling. Blood pounded thickly in her
temples. Amnesia had never even crossed her mind and she couldn’t recall Doctor
Goldstein ever broaching the subject.

“What happened?”
he asked again.

She stared into
his dilated eyes. “You seriously don’t…recognize me?”

He shook his
head, his interest now in the wires connected to his arms and chest.

 
“We were walking home,” she said, pausing to
relive that night all over again, “and you were hit over the head by some thug.”

He looked up. “Thug?”

“You really don’t
remember me?”

He looked into
her eyes, trying to blink away the fog of a nine day coma, and gently shook his
head.

She staggered
backwards with the heavy handed blow and bumped into the chair. Its legs scraped
loudly against the tiled floor. Her mind reeled.

“I’m sorry, but
I don’t.”

Tears slipped
through the fingers covering her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk.
Couldn’t stand it.

“How long had we
been dating? A while?”

She managed a
slight nod. It was the best she could do.

“Were we in
love?”

Her breath came
in shallow spurts, barely making a dent in appeasing her thundering pulse. She
nodded a little harder this time.

“We were?”

Brooke stared at
him through watery eyes, her mind conjuring up all kinds of new and improved
images now. “Very much so.”

Ben snapped his
fingers and pointed at her. “I knew it.”

She blinked out
more tears, bewilderment morphing her ashen complexion into something twisted.
“What?”

“I knew you
loved me. I knew it!”

She inhaled a
sharply and slapped a hand over her heart to stop it from bursting through her
chest.

His laughter
quickly turned into more coughing. “Too bad it only took a nine day coma for
you to admit it.” Ben shook his head in disgust. “You should be ashamed of
yourself. I could’ve died.”

A mixture of
emotions tore at Brooke’s heart, beginning with rage and ending with relief. Extreme
relief. She rushed to his side and took his warm hand. This time it squeezed
her back and felt like nothing she had ever felt before.

“You are such an
asshole,” she whispered, kissing his lips and sprinkling his cheeks with salty drops.
She ran her fingers over the five o’clock shadow covering his cheeks. “But I
love you anyway.”

He smiled
weakly. “I know.”

She made him
drink some water, slowly at first.

He spilled some
down his cheeks. “Was I really in a coma for that long?”

She answered him
with a tearful nod. “I thought I had lost you.”

“You’ll never
lose me. I promise.”

Brooke looked to
the foot of the bed. “Can you move your legs?”

His eyes
followed hers to the blanket.

“And do not joke
about this!” Her heart stutter stepped when he wiggled his toes. The movement
was weak but there nonetheless. Her hand shot back to her mouth, tears
cascading down her face. But this time, they were tears of joy.

Ben clenched his
teeth and brought his knees up. He lowered them before checking his arms and
hands. Other than lacking strength, everything seemed to be functioning
properly.

His face turned
grave.

“What’s wrong,
sweetie?” she asked, her ear-to-ear grin crumbling a little around the edges.

“What if my…ya
know, doesn’t work?”

Her gaze
followed his eyes to his lap. “Don’t say that?”

“What if it doesn’t?
Would you still love me?”

“Of course I
would.”

He started to
pull the wires from the inside of his arm and she stopped him, so he pulled
down the blanket instead. They stared at the flimsy hospital gown that was just
long enough to cover his privates.

“I can’t feel
anything,” he whispered.

“What do you
mean?”

He swallowed
hard. “I can’t feel anything…down there.”

She glanced at
the door and sighed, slipping a hand under his gown and grasping the fire hose
beneath. Even when it was limp it was still a handful. Relief washed over her
when he responded almost immediately, inflating in her hand like a balloon.
“Thank God.” She pulled up the gown for a good look with her own two eyes, the
Hulk tattoo bringing a smile to her face.

Ben shut his
eyes and pushed his head back into the pillow.

Brooke took her
hand back and his eyes popped back open.

“What’re you
doing?”

She dug her cell
from her purse. “I have to call your mom and tell her you’re okay.”

“Well, don’t
stop now! It was just getting good.”

“I am not doing
that in here!”

“Why not?”

“Because you
just came out of a coma!”

“I feel fine!”
He started coughing again and she tilted her head at him. “Don’t start
something you can’t finish.”

Brooke ignored
him and tapped at the screen.

Ben sat up and
grimaced with a wave of pain. “Who are you calling?”

“Your mom,” she
said, tapping at the screen and putting the phone to her ear.

He studied his gown.
“Where are my jeans?”

“Irene, he’s
awake and he’s fine!” She turned to Ben and nodded, covering her mouth and
releasing the dam all over again whether she wanted to or not. Tears flooded
her cheeks. “He can move his arms and legs. He is talking perfectly fine.
Everything is fine.” Her words were nearly unintelligible with her racing pulse
so she repeated them again, this time with a deep breath and more slowly. She
nodded rapidly as if Irene could see her. “Uh-huh, I know!” She nodded some
more. “Okay, bye.”

Brooke hung up
and stared at the screen, the many messages (voice and text) not even close to registering
on her Richter scale. She composed herself and dropped the phone back into the
chair. “She’s on her way.”

Ben glanced at
the pillow and blanket crumpled in the chair next to his bed. “Were you here
the whole time?”

She wiped away
more tears, her face red and raw from all of the rubbing over the last nine
days. “Not the whole time. I do have a life to live, ya know.” A warm smile
shaped her wet lips. “But not without you?”

He stared into
her eyes, peering deep into her soul, a silent understanding passing between
them. “Will you marry me?”

Her smile
dropped and her knees went weak. “Are you using your injury to take advantage
of me right now?”

Ben lowered his
brow as he thought it over. “Yes.”

Her blank
expression remained unchanged, the respirator still wheezing in their ears. “In
that case, of course I will marry you, you big lug.”

He pulled her to
him and kissed her softly. They parted and he dove into her glassy green pools.
“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”
She smiled, stroking his face. “I will always love you.”

His face began
to turn red.

Concern gripped
her features. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re on my
tube.”

“Huh?”

“You’re leaning
on my tube and I’m starting to get dizzy.”

She looked down
and saw her elbow was pinching off one of the tubes running into the soft spot
in his arm. Brooke jumped back. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, sweetie.”