Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (99 page)

             
‘Payton?’ I head his muted voice. ‘You okay? Payton! Payton!’

             
Darkness descends on me.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

I open my eyes and quickly shut them again. The bright lights blind me and the smell of disinfectant assaults my senses. My stomach feels like I’m sea-sick.  

             
As the cobwebs in my head lear, I realise I’m lying on a hospital bed. Depp is sitting hunched on a chair next to my bed, his brow furrowed, his arms resting on his knees. 

             
‘Depp?’

             
He springs to his feet. ‘Payton! You okay?’

             
I look at the intravenous line on my hand. ‘What the hell ...?’

             
‘You fainted.’

             
‘
Fainted
? I never
faint
Depp.’

             
We are interrupted by a doctor entering the room. ‘Ah, you’re awake, Mrs Cruz.’ His hospital ID says Dr PRJT Rahman.
             

             
‘H … hi. Did I really faint? What’s wrong with me?’

             
He smiles. ‘Nothing’s
wrong
– we just wanted to make sure you were okay and the baby’s heart was beating.’

             
‘Baby?’

             
‘But everything’s okay now,’ he says as he furiously writes on a clipboard.

             
‘Baby? Heart …?’

             
‘I gather this is your first? Congratulations to you and your husband.’ The doctor smiles at Depp.

             
Could I be pregnant? ‘That’s …that’s not poss ...’ My voice is barely a whisper. Lucky I’m lying down or I would have fainted again. I look at Depp, mouth agape. 

             
His back is rigid, his eyes large - it looks like rigor mortis has set in with him.

             
‘Be back in a second,’ the doctor says and leaves the room. 

             
“Husband?”

             
Depp’s grin is sheepish and his shoulders jerk up and down.

             
I slowly run my hands over my face. I can’t be pregnant. Diago was so careful. Maybe they made a mistake, mixed up blood results.

             
I look back at Depp. His eyes are transfixed on me. He looks as spooked as I am.

             
‘Depp, you have anything to do with this?’ What a dumb question. 

             
His answer is equally dumb. ‘No! Honest. No.’

             
The doctor returns. ‘I have some concerns about your medical history, Mrs Cruz. Your blood pressure is a little elevated. Does anyone in your family suffer from high blood pressure?’

             
I’m pregnant.

             
‘No,’ answers Depp.

             
The doctor nods and scribbles down something. ‘Diabetes?’

             
I continue staring at the doctor.

             
‘No,’ Depp says.

             
The doctor frowns at Depp. ‘Let’s hear it from the patient, okay Mr Cruz?’

             
Depp nods several times.

             
‘Do you by any chance know your blood type, Mrs Cruz?’

             
The fuck I know.

             
‘O Postive,’ Depp says.

             
The doctor purses his lips and puts down his pencil. ‘Mr Cruz …’ His voice is chastising.

             
‘Sorry. Sorry. Eh, she’s allergic to sulphur too. Just thought I’d let you know. And she’s also has a reaction to oysters. Sorry.’

             
The doctor shakes his head and turns to me. ‘Mrs Cruz, you need …’

             
‘Please doctor,’ I say, finally getting my voice back. ‘I …can you double check the results? Please? Please!’

             
He shrugs and leaves the room. Depp and I sit in shrouded silence.

             
The doctor returns. ‘As I said before, you’re pregnant. Approximately eight weeks.’ He looks at my expression and frowns. ‘This is
good
news, right?’

             
‘Yeah …brilliant!’ Depp quickly says. ‘Thank you doctor.’

             
‘You’re welcome, Mr Cruz. The nurse will arrange an appointment for you to see us again or your appointed Gynae. But you can take your wife home.’ The doctor removes the intravenous line from my hand.

             
‘Eh, yeah, sure,’ Depp says and turns to me. ‘I’ll drive you to your apartment.’

             
I suspect paralysis of the tongue because I can’t seem to speak. 

             
The doctor shoots us a confused look. ‘Drive her? I thought …?’  

             
‘We’re … eh, separated,’ Depp says.

             
‘Ah, I see,’ Dr PRJT Rahman says and nods. 

             
As we drive, Depp shoots me curious looks.

             
I can’t focus, I can’t think, I can’t talk. Staring like a cretin is the best I can do.  

             
He walks me to my apartment and follows me in. 

             
Madison and Kelly’s guests are still there drinking and dancing. We enter in tandem, him first then me. Taking my hand firmly in his, he muscles his way in, muttering polite greetings to everyone as he navigates his way around the sea of bodies. We eventually get to my room only to find someone passed out on my bed.

             
Depp stares at the figure on my bed then turns around to me. ‘Payton, you can’t stay here,’ he says. ‘Follow me.’

             
Meekly I do. Back to his car.
             
We drive in silence to an apartment block a few streets away. After climbing four flights of stairs, I’m breathless, he’s not.

             
I’m a widow and I’m pregnant.

             
He opens the door and leads me into an apartment. It’s sparsely furnished and very neat. No sign of kids or wife so I’m assuming it’s not his. Right now, I’m too perplexed to think about that. 

             
The lounge has no furniture so he leads me to the bedroom.

             
Without an invitation, I lie on the bed, feeling exhausted and drained. 

             
He stands at the foot of the bed and looks at me. ‘Get some rest, okay?’

             
No argument from me. I’m just relieved to be alone with my thoughts. He shuts the door as he leaves.

             
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

             
I’m carrying Diago’s baby.

             
I touch my belly. I can’t believe it. Maybe, with everything going on, Diago got careless. Maybe, he was relaxed and let his guard down. Maybe, he deliberately got me pregnant.

             
Gently, I stroke my stomach. Twenty-two and knocked up - how crazy is that? What do I know about motherhood? I have no money, no apartment. I don’t even have the support of my family. How do I raise a child and hold a job? I cup my belly with both hands.

             
Diago’s baby inside of me.

             
My blood pressure is elevated; what if I lose the baby?

             
I quickly sit up. I can’t allow that to happen. I
won’t
allow that to happen. This is
my
baby. I finally have something to love. Some
one
. 

             
My exhaustion dominates so I curl into foetal position and drift off to sleep. 

Depp is shaking me. “Payton!’ In his hand he’s balancing two cups of coffee.

             
I try to focus. ‘Depp. What are you doing here so early?’

             
‘Early?’ He thrusts the coffee at me. ‘It’s 1pm. The crack of lunch.’ 

             
I rub my eyes. ‘1
PM
?’

             
He nods. ‘And Ms Wagner, you’re in
my
bed.’

             
Mrs Cruz.
‘Oh. Wow. I sit up and take a sip of the coffee. The smell makes me retch so I quickly hand it back to him.

             
For a while we sit in silence.

             
‘What’s your friends gonna say ‘bout the pregnancy?’ 

             
I shake my head. ‘Not ready to tell anyone, Depp.’

             
‘Not even the father?’

             
My head jerks to look at him. ‘Whadyamean?’

             
Depp jerks back and looks at me. ‘Diablo? You serious?’

             
Diago
,
not Diablo
!

             
When I don’t answer, he says, ‘Sorry. You’ve been dating a lot, partying ... ’

             
How does he know that? But then again, judging from all that he told the doctor last night, he knows an awful
lot
about me.

             
I stare at Depp. I should tell him that I did date and I did party, but I never let anyone touch me. I should tell him that the thought of another man touching me makes me ill. I should tell him that I only did first dates to prevent any chance of them trying to get me into the sack. I should tell him I dated out of sheer desperation to take my mind of Diago and hopefully put an end to the hurt.

             
‘What you gonna do, Payton?’

             
I look away. ‘Don’t know,’ I whisper. ‘Diago was so careful. He didn’t want kids.’