Fair Play (62 page)

Chapter 2

Sleep. It’s something so easy for most people but it eludes me every time I slip between the sheets. Even though I’m exhausted I have to medicate myself to avoid the night terrors that accompany the rest my body needs.

My past haunts me when I close my eyes. During the day I’m able to press the memories of the attack down deep below the surface. But at night the vulnerability of sleep enables the horrific experience to return and torture me all over again. Posttraumatic stress syndrome feasts on my fears and anxiety like a three-course meal.

My friends and family are my life. They have been my rock and I wouldn’t be alive if not for their support over the years. They don’t judge me for not dating and my mother has never once pushed me to do something I’m not ready for.

Those who don’t know my secret however are always bringing it to my attention.
You’re such a pretty girl why don’t you date?
You’re so smart Imani when are you going to settle down?

I get so sick of it sometimes I want to yell at them
I don’t want a fucking husband
so they will shut up and leave me alone. I even considered passing myself off as a lesbian until I realized that it would only change the gender of the dates my friends try to set me up on.

Being an Aunt fulfills my maternal needs and living on my own isn’t so bad. At least when I set my toothbrush down I always know where it’s at and the remote is mine for the controlling. 

With a past like mine I never expected to have a serious relationship. I’ve always known my mind and body would deny the ache in my heart for that kind of love, the all-encompassing powerful forever kind of love.

But I’m alive, independent, educated, employed and most of all loved by my family.  I make it a point to remind myself how lucky I am to be alive every day.

I swallow my pills and snuggle up with the only two things I’ve slept with for ten long years, my pillows. It isn’t long before I drift into a dreamless drug induced sleep. My last thoughts are of Marcus, and if I
could
dream pleasant dreams instead of nightmares I would dream about him.

I have three nights off in a row after my four-night stretch and Marcus is never far from my thoughts. This obsession I have with my latest patient is making me crazy.
Thanks a lot Courtney.

I trudge through my days with the constant sensation that I should be somewhere else. It’s all I can do not to stop at the hospital and check on him. I called a few co-workers and used lame excuses to try and find out if Marcus had regained consciousness but he hasn’t.

I did learn however that his sister arrived and she has been sitting with him every day. Knowing he isn’t alone helps ease the unexplainable tension in my chest that I’ve had since my last night of work.

Three days later when I’m a mile from the hospital a sense of calm takes ahold and I let my foot off the gas and relax. When I’m back on my unit I head straight to the charting station outside Marcus’s room. When I see him still lying in his bed I breathe a sigh of relief.

A beautiful woman who is his sister assume, is at his bedside holding one of his large hands and reading from an ipad.

She has a glow about her, a pure angelic aura that is opposite her brothers dark troubled one. Her long silky dark brown hair is gathered in a low ponytail that hangs to her waist and she’s dressed in jeans and a cream-colored cashmere sweater that shrugs off one shoulder.

When I walk past the open door to his room I glance inside. Her long legs are crossed and one foot is swaying back and forth as she flips electronic pages with her thumb.

I have been gone for three nights. This woman could very well be his wife or his girlfriend although I can’t imagine a wife or girlfriend taking so long to show up. My friend and co-worker Monica told me when I called being nosy that it took her two days to arrive.

   No, his information said he had no other family and they look too much alike not to be blood related. They share the same beautiful bronze skin, dark hair and long legs.

I turn and make my way to the locker room to change into scrubs and lock up my purse. As I undress I chastise myself for caring about who is or isn’t sitting with Mr. Castillo. It’s none of my business. I’m here to make sure he recovers from a car accident not monitor his visitors or worry about his personal life.

When I’m dressed I swipe my badge through the time clock and find the day nurse to take report from. She speeds through the information as nothing much has changed. Some of the swelling has gone down in his brain, he’s still in traction, and of course he is still Roman Gladiator gorgeous.

I introduce myself to his sister while ticking things off of my assessment list in my head.

“Hi, I’m Imani, I’ll be taking care of, your brother is it?” I ask praying that she answers yes.  She lays her iPad down on Marcus’s bed and extends her hand with a smile.

“Yes, yes, I’m Elena, nice to meet you.” I shake her hand. Up close I see just how much she looks like Marcus. It’s uncanny how much a woman and a man can resemble each other. Marcus and Elena have go to be twins.

“Nice to meet you Elena, how’s he doing today?” 

“The same I suppose, he’s so still. I’ve never seen him like this. Marcus is usually in perpetual motion, he always has been. We’re twins, we haven’t been close the past few years though,” she says. Her words are laden with sadness and I sense pain in her voice. After being with him for one shift I can imagine how difficult it is for her to be separated from him long term.

“Twins, I was just thinking how much you look alike, it makes sense now. I hear you don’t live in Seattle where are you from?” 

“Maine. About as far away as we can get from each other and still live in the states.”

I move to the bedside and listen to his lungs while we continue to get to know each other.

The distance between them seems to make her melancholy. I wonder why but I don’t want to be nosy so I keep still about it.

It must be something serious to keep twins so far apart.

She slides her hand back into his and relaxes back into her chair and I find myself wishing it were my hand on his instead of hers.

“It’s just the two of us, our parents aren’t alive,” she says. 

“I’m glad he has someone here with him.” I say smiling. “He might be able to hear you when you talk to him. I always encourage family members to speak to their loved ones, you never know, it could help.”

“I’ve heard of that but I wasn’t sure if it was true. I’ll start talking to him, what about reading?”

“Sure, anything that stimulates his brain can be helpful.”

“Okay. A part of me wishes he would show some kind of response, but, I mean, oh I don’t know.” She shakes her head and her voice trails off.

She’s uneasy but I can’t tell if she’s worried that he won’t regain consciousness or that he
will.

“You don’t want him to wake up?” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them. I can’t believe I asked that question out loud, what is the matter with me?

“Well Marcus is, difficult, maybe I shouldn’t say anything in front of him if he can hear me?”

“Oh, sure, if you want to talk about it I’m always just outside the room on the other side of the window, charting.” I point toward the window.

“Thank you.” Her eyes dart from my face to Marcus and I swear relief spreads through her body when she sees that he is still unconscious.

At my charting station outside Marcus’s room the bustling of the ICU continues around me but the only thing I can think about is Elena’s remark that Marcus is
difficult
.

What did she mean by that? And why don’t they keep in touch? They’re twins, I find that strange.

When my charting is caught up I consider Googling him or looking through his chart to see what kind of work he does. It’s not a breech of HIPPA, I am his nurse after all. Knowing his profession could help me care for him better, right? I continue justifying reasons to look him up because I do not snoop through my patient’s lives.

But then again I’ve never had a patient that made me feel the way Marcus does.

I flip to the first page of his chart where his admitting information is located and find
Dominus
in the box titled place of employment.

Dominus? What kind of place is that? It sounds like dominatrix, I wonder if it’s one of those kinky clubs that are popping up everywhere lately.

Google it.

No, it’s none of my business. My God, why can’t I just take care of the guy and leave his personal life alone?

Elena steps out of his room snapping me from my thoughts. She’s wearing a long camel colored coat drawn tight around her waist with a wide belt.  I can’t help but admire her soft Italian leather boots. She pulls off a casual exotic look with ease.

“Goodnight, Imani, please take good care of my brother. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” 

“Of course. Do we have a number where we can reach you at if he comes around?” 

“Yes, I gave it to the day nurse. Please call me right away if his condition changes in any way, I’ll come day or night.”

“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

She turns on her four-inch heel and click’s across the tile floor to the elevator.

I want to be alone with Marcus. It’s wrong to be happy that his only family member has gone home but I am.

In his room I close the blinds to the small window that faces my charting station and shut the door. After I push Marcus’s scheduled medications into his IV I touch his warm, soft hand and lean down close to his mouth. An urge I’ve never had before comes over me and I want to bite his perfect full bottom lip.

What is it about him that makes me have thoughts like this? What is it that draws me to him like a moth to a flame?

I bite the inside of my cheek to help reign in my compulsion and turn my head to the side like a curious animal. The image of him opening his eyes at this exact moment, flashes in my mind and I almost chuckle. He would think I was an absolute maniac. I’m sure I’d be out on my ass fired from being his nurse forever.

I move away a few inches and after a moment of hesitation I speak in a soft voice.

“Marcus, it’s Imani again. You were in an accident three days ago. You’re in the hospital and I’m your nurse. You look like a guy who keeps a clean-shaven face, am I right? I’m going to help you out in that department okay?”

I don’t expect him to respond but I’ve always felt it important to communicate with my patients whether they can talk back or not. They are still in there somewhere and if it were myself locked away in my brain I’d like to be spoken to.

I can’t believe no oone has taken the time to shave his face in the four days I’ve been off. He’s going to look like a lumberjack pretty soon, albeit the sexiest lumberjack who ever lived.

I move the oxygen cannula from his face and lay it on the pillow. I hitch my hip onto the bed next to him and settle in to enjoy the heat from his body against mine.

I inhale and blow away the anxious butterflies in my tummy. His hair flutters from my breath and foreign feelings spark through my body.

I smooth shaving cream over his face and neck and begin to drag the razor along his neck while tilting his chin and rotating his face around for a close shave. I take my time and enjoy touching him in such an intimate way while he sleeps.

The job could have been done much quicker and I feel a little guilty for drawing it out on purpose but that doesn’t stop me.

When I’m finished I place my hands on either side of his face and brush my thumbs against his smooth newly exposed skin. He’s even more breathtaking with a clean-shaven face. I didn’t think that was possible.

I brush a dark curl of hair from his forehead and lean in closer to examine a gash along his hairline that isn’t clean enough for my liking. I grab a few alcohol pads and some sterile gauze to clean the wound.

I continue to speak to him in a soft, low voice, explaining every move I make until he’s bandaged up. When I’m done I sit back and examine my work. It’s perfect, like him.

I sit and daydream for a while about leaning down and brushing my lips against his. How would that feel? Would he know, would he remember? Am I loosing my fucking mind even having these thoughts?

I hop off the edge of the bed replace the oxygen, clean up my mess and leave the room in a rush. This is ridiculous. Maybe I should trade patients with another nurse?

No, I can’t. The thought of anyone else touching him makes me want to yell “Stop he’s mine!”

Yep, I’ve lost it, no doubt about it.

I keep my hands to myself for the rest of my shift and when it’s over I find myself reluctant to leave again.

His day nurse today informs me that his sister has been coming around nine the past two mornings. I know he won’t be alone but the nagging anxiety I feel about leaving him won’t go away. He’s a stranger Imani, a stranger and you’ll be back here in a little more than twelve hours. Twelve hours has never felt so far away.