Broken Hart (The Hart Family) (15 page)

I stare at him in silence for a moment, taking in his ashen face.  Am I going to be ok?  Fuck no.  I feel like someone has ripped my heart out and run it over with a city bus.  I’m dying here.  But I’m committed to keeping this fucking smile on my face and walking away with some of my dignity intact. 

“Dante, honestly, I will be fine.  I’m a big girl. No need for you to have a guilty conscience and stare at me like I’m about to open a vein.  I assure you, I’m not.  This wasn’t going to work out.  We’re doing the best thing walking away now.  We’re going to be fine.  We fucked.  It’s over.  We’re both rational adults.  I’ll see you tomorrow at work.  Now step back, and let me go.”

Stepping back, he continues to stare at me as I slip the car in to gear.  He’s practically green.  “Jesus bab…Sabrina.  We didn’t just fuck.  Don’t ever say that.  We… God, I don’t even know anymore.  I guess you’re right.  See you tomorrow Sabrina.  Drive home safely.”

Stepping on the gas, I fly out of his driveway.  I make it two blocks before I pull over and throw the car in park.  The tears stream down my face and I lay my head on the steering wheel and sob.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It takes me almost two hours to get home, because I have to pull over three times since I can’t see through my tears.  By the time I get there, my head feels like it might explode. 

Migraines have always been an issue for me, but this is the worst it’s ever been.  It takes all my energy to get from the car to the front door.  Once inside, I have to drop to my knees and crawl from the entryway, down the hall in to the bathroom in my bedroom.  I pop a migraine pill and crawl in to my bed. 

I wake up about an hour later, the pounding in my head still going.  I barely make it to the bathroom before my stomach rebels, and I spend the next half hour throwing up. 

When it’s over, I brush my teeth and then close all the shades in my room so that it’s pitch black before I get back in to bed.  I take another migraine pill and two sips of ginger ale and blessedly fall back to sleep.

Unfortunately that isn’t the end of the headache.  I’m up five more times in the night, throwing up and trying to survive this migraine. 

Waking up around five this morning, I still feel awful. The migraine has backed off from feeling like something serious might be happening, but I’m in no shape to drive or do anything else.

Realizing I have to tell Dante I won’t be in, I take the easy way out and text him.  “Dante, I’ve been up sick all night. Will not be in.  See you tomorrow.  Sorry.  Sabrina.”

About two minutes after I send the text, my phone rings.  Of course it’s Dante.  What the hell is he doing up at five in the morning?  I hit the button on the side so that the phone goes to silent, and I let the call go to voice mail. Once the screen shows that I have a missed call, I power the phone off entirely.  I need the silence.
 

Pulling a pillow over my eyes, I try to focus on my breathing so that I can relax myself back to sleep.  I’m in that spot between being awake and asleep when I hear the doorbell, and at first I try to ignore it.

Eventually the ringing turns to knocking, which turns to pounding.  When the pounding starts, I know exactly who’s here.  If my head wasn’t in danger of exploding already, I’d scream.

Gingerly I make my way down the hall toward the door.  The sound of the pounding is making my blood run cold.  Looking through the peephole, I make sure it’s Dante. 

Once I’m sure, I fling the door open. “Dante, I can’t stand here.  You either follow me or leave.”  Turning on my heel, I make my way back down the hall, and back in to my bedroom where it’s blessedly dark and cool.

Lying back down on the bed, I pull the pillow back over my face.  I sense Dante in the room, and then I feel him sit on the side of the bed.  “Rina, I had to check that you didn’t just hate me too much to come in to work, but you look awful.  What’s wrong?”

I keep my eyes under the pillow and I whisper back to him, “Dante, I’m not skipping work because I hate you.  I’ve got a horrific migraine.  I’ve been throwing up all night.  Please be quiet.  I need this to go away.”

He whispers back to me, “I’m not leaving you like this.  I’ll be quiet, but I’m staying.”

I’m in agony, so I just say “fine.”  That’s all I’ve got, because the walk up and down the hall has zapped all my strength and I feel like crap again. 

I feel Dante leave the bedroom, and I assume he’s gone to the living room to watch television or something.  Remembering that it’s time to take another migraine pill, I take it and wash it down with a sip of ginger ale, then roll over and put the pillow back over my eyes. 

I’m surprised when I feel the bed dip as Dante sits back down.  The bed moves a little as he moves around.  “Rina, I brought your neck roll in.  I heated it up.  Let me put it on you.” 

Holding my head up for a minute, I allow him to place the neck roll around my neck.  Lying back down I enjoy the warmth.  How did I forget that using this helps with my migraines?  I focus on my breathing and eventually I fall asleep again.

The next time I wake up, I feel better.  My migraine has been downgraded to a headache, but my body feels as though I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.  I’m dehydrated, feel scummy, and I ache. 

Doing a quick mental scan of my body, I figure that I can probably stand through a shower. From right next to me I feel Dante move.  He whispers, “You’re awake, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.  Thank you for whispering, but you can talk a little bit louder.  Just keep it very low.  I’m going in to the bathroom to take a shower.  I feel less like I’m going to die.  You can go now.”

I hear him blow his breath out, and I know he’s running his hands through his hair.  “Rina please, I can’t even think of leaving till I know you are ok.  Don’t push me away.”

I can only nod, afraid that too much talking will bring the migraine back. 

“I’m going to go start the shower for you.  I’ll be right back.”  The bed dips as he walks away.

A couple of minutes later, he’s back.  I watch in silence, my eyes still half closed as he comes to the bed.  He’s naked, save for a towel around his waist. 

Bending forward, he scoops me up in to his arms and takes me to the bathroom, where he makes quick work of stripping me before dropping his towel and guiding me to the toilet area.  He comes back a minute later and takes me in to the shower.

It occurs to me that I could argue, but really, what’s the point?  He’s seen me naked, and I need help.  It’s hard for me to even stand right now. 

Luckily, there is a five foot long bench that runs the length of my shower against the wall, and he places me on it before making quick work of washing me from head to toe. 

As usual, the water revives me.  I relax as it washes away the effects of the migraine and the awful night I spent vomiting.  The best way to describe how I feel now is hung-over. I watch quietly as Dante quickly washes himself.

When he’s finished, he steps out of the shower, the water still washing over me. Through the glass doors, I see him dry himself then wrap the towel around his waist again, and then he disappears from the room for about five minutes.

When he comes back in to the bathroom, he makes his way to the shower stall, grabbing two towels on his way.  He opens the shower door and turns the water off, then steps in to the stall.  Standing me up, he wraps one towel around my head, then dries me with the other.  Walking me to the sink, he stands with me as I brush my teeth. 

Grabbing the robe I have hanging on the back of the door, he secures it around me, then carries me back to my bedroom.  “I changed the sheets, so everything is clean,” he says as he places me back on the bed.

Coming to the other side of the bed he sits down and pulls me toward him. 

“Rina, sit with your legs crossed and tilt your head back.  I’m going to brush your hair.”

He gently rubs my hair with the towel and then spends the next ten minutes gently brushing my hair.  I’ve always loved having my hair brushed.  It’s very calming.

When he’s done, I lay back and do a quick mental
self-diagnostic
.  Yes, I feel better.  Headache is at a six which is a serious improvement.  It’s dark and cool in my room, and I definitely feel more human.

“Dante, I think I feel well enough to switch off from the migraine medicine now.  Can you get me three Advil and a glass of iced tea please?”

“Yes of course!”  Jumping from the bed, he heads in to the kitchen.  While he’s gone, I take the opportunity to get up and put on a thong and a pair of pajama shorts and a tee shirt. 

Returning to the bed, I lay down, but I no longer feel like sitting in the dark.  I grab the remote and turn the television on, settling on a home and garden show that won’t require me to follow along or think much.  I turn the volume way down and sit back, waiting for Dante to return.

He comes back in holding a tray that has two glasses of iced tea and two bagels with cream cheese.  Handing me the three Advil, he climbs back in to the bed and sits next to me.  He passes me the iced tea, and once I swallow the Advil, he hands over the bagel.  “I figured you could use this.”

I smile at him.  “Yeah, I’m definitely running on empty.  Thanks for this.”  He nods at me, then turns his head and eats his bagel too.  We eat in silence, and I’m glad for it. 

I need to stay relaxed because I really can’t afford to get so upset again.  My heart can’t handle it, and I know my head can’t, but sitting in bed next to him while he wears only a towel is hard.  Even feeling like road kill, I still want to touch him.

Gesturing to the television he asks, “What are we watching?”  I shake my head and shrug my shoulders.

“Don’t know.  I picked some home and garden show so that I wouldn’t need to follow along.”

“Makes sense,” he says with a nod.  “How do you feel now?”

“The shower helped a lot, and the bagel and iced tea are bringing me back to life.  I actually do feel better now.  Thank you for all of your help.  You were a lifesaver.  I’m good now though, so you can go any time.”

He grimaces as I say this, and I know he doesn’t love the idea.  “Sabrina, I’d really like to spend at least another few hours here, until I’m positive you’re really okay.  Can you stand to have me here?”

Wow.  He’s got the wrong end of the stick here.  Can I stand to have him here?  I think the question is whether he can stand to be here.  It’s such a relationship thing.  In any event, I’m committed to seeing this through with a smile in my face, so I nod in the affirmative. 

“Dante you know
it’s
fine.  Don’t be like that.  We’re still
friends
.  I’m just saying you shouldn’t feel as though you have to stay.   I know you have work, and I feel bad you’ve missed the morning because of me.”