chapter Fourteen
My plan was to remain in bed until the world ended, or until Cheryl called back or came over and forced me out of my bed, or until the girls called 911 and I was taken to a psychiatric hospital to spend the rest of my life.
But on Monday morning, Adam called, yelling at me that I was late. What a familiar refrain. Then, my mother called, saying how she was proud of me, of my plans for the future, of the person I was. If only she knew. But it was the hospital’s call that made me get up. I had been chosen for the position of Patient Care Technician, and they wanted me to go there that afternoon to sign the contract.
Finally, something good in my life. Perhaps it was a sign that not everything was lost, and that I shouldn’t let the craziness in my life take over. A sign to let me know I would get through this and I would be a great doctor and I would have money to provide a better life for my family.
I knew what could happen in the hospital, who I might meet there, but I tried to ignore that knowledge. I entered the clinic in the early afternoon and was escorted to human resources where I signed my contract. Suddenly, I felt a little chipper. The pay was much better than the café and it would look much nicer on my resume. And I’d be able to help people.
With a satisfied smile, I left the room and was heading out when I heard two nurses talking.
“She just died?” one of them asked as they walked past me.
“An hour ago,” the other one said. “Her grandson is in shock, poor young man.”
My heart squeezed. Oh no.
I was barely thinking when I ran to the elevator and went straight to the eighth floor. I didn’t know for sure who the nurses were talking about, but I had a pretty good guess. I didn’t stop to consider Victor wouldn’t be in his grandma’s room anymore and kept running until I was at the door. I stopped, panting, and leaned against the doorframe.
As he stared at the empty bed, he looked like a statue in a crumpled T-shirt and jeans, hair messier than usual, and eyes bright with unshed tears.
I wasn’t sure if he had seen me and I wasn’t sure what to do. One thing I was sure of though: I wasn’t going to leave even if he was utterly rude.
“She told me to say goodbye to you,” he whispered, and my heart stopped for a second. He glanced at me. “Can you believe it? She barely knew you but she said she had this intense feeling you’re a great young woman.” I couldn’t identify the tone of his voice. Jealousy? Rage? Sadness?
“That was kind of her.” I took a few steps into the room. His eyes stayed on mine. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, dropping his head. A loud sob escaped his tightly clamped lips.
I couldn’t take Victor—mine or not—like this. Acting on pure instinct, I closed the gap between us and pulled him into my arms. For a second he was resistant, and I thought he would push me away. He didn’t. Slowly, he turned into me, passed his arms around my back, and quietly wept, his head buried in my neck, his whole body trembling against mine.
I could smile, I really could. My hands held him firmly, like they had done so many times. And he felt the same under my touch. His body felt the same against mine. He was Victor. Oh, I was so confused.
But I didn’t smile. I had met Bianca Gianni only once, but I had heard so much about her in the last ten months that I considered her a close friend, or the loved one of my loved one.
To calm him, I did what I always had done in my visions. I sang his favorite song—at least it was my dream Victor’s favorite song. Carefully maintaining my low soprano, I sang Walk On by U2, while slightly swaying and rubbing small circles on his back. His sobs slowed, and his chest stopped quivering.
“I’m alone,” he whispered in my ear.
“I know this might sound rather senseless, but you’re not alone,” I assured him. Risking him running from me, I continued, “You’ve got me.”
He didn’t run. It might have been my imagination or longing, but I thought his arms tightened slightly around me. I resumed singing.
Near the end of the song, a nurse entered and cleared her throat. At once, he jumped back and gave his full attention to her, practically ignoring me, but I could easily see he wasn’t absorbing a word she said, that he was too affected to think things through.
So, I stepped in and talked to her. Before I knew it, I was planning Bianca’s funeral and cremation, earning nods from Victor. It had been Bianca’s wish to be cremated and because she had no friends or family besides Victor, there would be no reception or gathering. Her funeral would be quick and simple.
In silence, we left the hospital. I walked next to him to the parking garage.
At his car, he stopped. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I can stay with you, if you’d like.”
He nodded without looking at me. I got in the car and did my best to disguise my anxiety about being inside his car where his spicy scent hung, intense and intoxicating.
I was also anxious about going to his house. He lived in a nice two-bedroom apartment in an elegant and well-protected building a few blocks north of Langone. When we arrived, I realized it was exactly what I expected of him: an open floor plan, clean but cozy, everything beige or brown or white, essential furniture, a huge flat-screen TV, and not many decorations, only a few picture frames on an end table displaying the happy faces of his parents and his grandparents.
While I looked around, he remained quiet. I watched as he walked in his bedroom, turned on the shower, and disappeared in there for a few minutes. I found myself twirling my hair with one hand and gripping the arm of his sofa with the other so as not to go spy on him.
When he came back, he didn’t even look at me, but my heart stopped in that moment. He was wearing black sweatpants and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes. And his golden hair was damp from his shower. I could feel my eyes widen and my mouth hang open, but there was no way I couldn’t react. God, he was simply perfect. He wasn’t buff, but his chest and arms and back had lean, hard muscles. Even his chiseled jaw provoked me at that moment. I was dying, and he wasn’t even aware of it.
He strolled to the kitchen, served two glasses of Pepsi, and took out a box of frozen pizza from the freezer to pop in the oven. Stopping by the living room, he handed me one of the glasses and went back to his room. All without looking at me.
What was I doing here? Why had I come with him? He hadn’t even invited me officially. I did say I wouldn’t leave him, but he seemed better now, and he wasn’t even speaking to me. So, why was I still here?
I stood and tiptoed to the door, hoping to leave unnoticed. My hand was on the knob when he came out of his room—now wearing a black T-shirt.
He went into the kitchen. “Pizza is ready.” He took the pizza out of the oven, still not looking at me.
“I don’t want to bother you more than I already have.”
He finally looked at me, and his hard eyes were doleful and inconsolable. “The pizza is getting cold.”
I went to the table and sat across from him, where he set my plate and cutlery. We ate in silence.
“Only two slices?” he asked, noticing I had finished eating. He was on his sixth slice and still going. “No wonder you’re so thin.”
“Excuse me?” I snapped.
His lip twitched up in a mocking smile, and God help me, my heart flipped. “Well, if you’re always like that, then your appetite is like a bird’s.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Oh God, he sounded just like my dream Victor and that was not fair. So not fair.
Without a word, I got up and took my plate to the sink. Before I could start washing it, he stood behind me. He reached out and took the plate from my hand. I held my breath so his fresh scent couldn’t entice me. Stepping to the side, he placed the plate inside the dishwasher and went back to the table to finish his food.
I decided it was best for me to sit in the living room, away from him, from his wary eyes, his powerful body, and his intoxicating scent.
My cell phone rang. I was shocked to find out it was already midnight. It was Raisa calling, and she would probably yell at me.
“Where are you?” She did yell.
“I’m with Victor.”
“You are? Oh lord.” She giggled. “Well, I’m gonna let you go back to him, but be warned—I want every detail.” I could almost see her wide smile. Sure, Raisa thought I was out on a date with him. If only.
We disconnected, and I found Victor nearby, standing before a window, looking at the dark streets. What now?
I shot up. It was time for me to go home. I couldn’t stay here, looking at him and not doing anything. My chest ached and I felt like an intruder.
“I guess I’m going,” I said, half hoping he wouldn’t hear me.
But he did. And he turned to stare at me. “And how do you plan to get home?”
I showed him my cell phone in my hand and turned to the door. “I’ll call a taxi.”
“Wait.” He took a few steps in my direction. I stopped and watched as he ran a hand through his hair and avoided my gaze. I would give almost anything to find out what was going through his mind. Finally, he looked at me and said, “I was thinking about inviting you to sleep here, in the guest bedroom.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to spend the night completely alone.”
Oh, it broke my heart. Of course I wouldn’t leave him alone, but a girl needed to take a bath and change clothes, and I had nothing with me besides my purse.
“I could, but I would need to go home and grab some things and take a shower.”
“If you aren’t picky”—he glanced briefly at me—“I might have some things you could put on. And you can take a shower here.”
“You have stuff for me?” I raised my eyebrows while he nodded. “If it’s girly and it’s clean, I might not complain.”
I saw the corner of his lips threatening to smile, but it didn’t last long.
He escorted me to the guest room. It was more cozy and colorful than the rest of the apartment. The tall queen-size bed took most of the space. The comforter was blue and brown, the curtains were light blue, and the rug beside the bed was blue with light yellow details. I liked it.
From the closet, he took out a large suitcase. He dug around inside and handed me a few things: a pair of purple fluffy slippers and a pink sleep shirt.
“There’s clean underwear and socks in there.” He pointed to a pocket inside the suitcase. “Do you need anything else?”
I stared at the stuff, wide eyed. “Whose are these?”
He closed the suitcase. “Lauren’s.”
Oh, I knew who she was, but this Victor didn’t know I knew, so I asked the next obvious question. “Who is Lauren?”
“My ex-girlfriend. She died four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He ran a hand over his hair. Trying to lighten the mood, I placed the sleep shirt before me. It went down to my knees, proving too big for me. “She was a lot taller than you are.” He then led me to the only bathroom in the apartment. His scent was inebriating in here. “There is shampoo in the shower and a towel under the sink. Anything else?”
“You probably don’t have conditioner, do you?”
He bit his lip. “No, sorry.”
I pulled my mind back to the bathroom and off his gorgeous mouth. “Well, I’ll prepare myself for super untangling time afterward.” He grinned. “Are you sure you don’t mind me using her stuff?” The truth was I minded using Lauren’s stuff, but what could I do? Yell at him because of it? I could just not shower, but I totally needed to clean up.
His sea-green eyes fixed on mine, wreaking havoc within me. “I’m sure.”
“Excuse me.” I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door before I lost control.
The shower was relaxing, though his scent still played with my senses.
When I was done, I joined him in the living room, self-conscious that the sleep shirt, besides being lengthy, was somewhat scanty. Though I didn’t think he would notice me. He was sprawled over the loveseat, his legs propped up on the leather ottoman, flipping through channels. Curling my hair around my finger, I sat on the loveseat with him, making sure I was glued to the far edge.
He kept on changing channels until one of the movies caught his attention, an old classic from decades ago: Stepmom. The scene was the one where the mother was giving goodbye gifts to her children. He froze.
I reached for the remote and changed the channel. Looking for something to do, I got up and went to the kitchen. All this tension and silence was killing me, and I regretted having accepted his invitation to stay over. I should have gone home and slept in my own bed, where I would be safely in control of myself.
I rummaged through the shelves until I found something to do: a mochaccino. It was my favorite, and my dream Victor’s favorite too.
Making the drink didn’t take long, though I noticed him spying over his shoulder to check out what I was doing. I guess he was worried about the mess and the noise I was making. I cleaned up the mess and took two mugs with fuming mochaccinos back to the living room.
I handed one of the mugs to him. He closed his eyes and sniffed the sweet aroma. I smiled. Oh, if it weren’t for that messy hair over his eyes and the sweatpants, I could swear I was beside my Victor. Though, I was starting to prefer his hair this way.
After passing through each channel at least three times, he went over to the TV stand and opened one of the large drawers, revealing dozens of old-school Blu-rays. He beckoned for me to join him on the floor beside the drawer.
“What do you want to watch?”
Instead of answering, I glanced at my cell phone’s screen. It was almost three in the morning! Wouldn’t we sleep?
“Anything,” I said, not really interested.
“Come on, help me chose something.”
Instead of choosing, we picked movies from the drawer, commenting on each one. Some made me laugh, some made me gloomy, but nothing beat being relaxed around this Victor.
Neatly organized on the first row were classics like Batman Begins, Dark Knight, Iron Man, Lord of The Rings, Matrix, Star Wars, Star Trek, Indiana Jones, and X-Men. With my hair coiled around my finger, I decided to put him to the test once more.
“These are your favorites,” I said.
“Yup. Want to watch one of these?”
I knew it. Like everything else, his favorite movies were the same as in my visions.
“I’ll let you pick.”
With a half-smile, he pulled out the first in the Star Wars series and put it on for us. Wishing I was in bed, dreaming of guardian angels, I tried to prepare myself for hours of movie watching. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary. An hour after the film’s start, I noticed he was sleeping.
With gentle hands, I pulled his heavy legs up on the loveseat, placed a pillow under his neck, and grabbed a thin comforter from his bedroom to spread over him. On tiptoes, I went to the guest room and changed to my clothes. Then, I went back to the kitchen and left more mochaccino ready for later. After making sure he was well and still sleeping, at exactly five in the morning, I left with conflicting feelings of uncertainty, sadness, and contentment playing inside my chest.