Page 80 of Possessed By You
“I’ll be up in a moment,” Benjamin says.
I leave him with Dimitri, not sure whether he’s going to apologize to him again or cover his tracks now that he’s calmed down and realized the magnitude of what he’s done.
The four-poster bed is re-made, fresh mints on the pillows when I enter the bedroom. After changing into pajamas, removing my makeup, I retrieve the first aid kit from the paper bag and begin pulling items out. I’m hoping he didn’t break his stitches or we’ll be heading to the hospital.
When everything is in order, I take the time alone to think, holding my heavy head in my hands, shaking at my husband’s impulsiveness, his quick temper.
The lock in the door clicks and opens, revealing Benjamin. In the thirty minutes that have passed since the altercation, his adrenaline has surely plummeted, leaving him looking worse for wear. He shuts the door and turns to me.
We stare at each other in silence.
I’m angry and relieved and confused. I want to know what he’s feeling, what spurred his violent reaction tonight.
“Come sit down, so I can look you over.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
He obeys, crossing the room, taking the spot I rise out of. Before his shirt was stained with dirt and blood, it was a smooth, soft cream color. It’s one of my favorites and may need to go to the garbage now.
He remains silent while I carefully remove it, leaving him shirtless. Upon close inspection, I’m relieved to see his stitches intact, the blood having dried.
“You’re lucky,” I say, wetting a cloth. “You don’t have to go to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, Darcy.”
“I really don’t want to hear it right now, Ben. Just let me clean this.”
I kneel in front of him, dabbing the area, because even in my anger I’m unwilling to cause him pain. After applying ointment to the affected area, I search for more. The underside of his chin is swelling, which means the guy got at least one good punch in. I crack the ice bag in the first aid kit to initiate the cooling process, and when it’s rigid and icy, I hand it to him to place on his chin. I prepare a new bandage to replace the bloodied one, carefully avoiding his gaze.
“We’ve never really talked about it,” I state, pressing the bandage over him, smoothing it out gently.
“About what?”
“About you dying in front of me.”
He exhales, reaching for me. “Darcy, I didn’t—”
I shake my head, crumpling the wrappers. “You did! Benjamin, youdid! You were lying in a pool of blood. It was dripping off the stretcher. People were slipping on it. You were completely flatlined.”
I see it in my dreams, nightmares every night. Sometimes I wake up in panic, expecting to be in that hospital again, with a different outcome than the one I got.
“They had to sedate me, Benjamin.” I breathe with difficulty, wishing he could know, even a little bit, how traumatizing something like that is to witness. I lost a lot that day, but it was so close to everything. It hits now my anger at Benjamin’s recklessness isn’t even in part to the brawl or his quick temper. I’m angry because he made my pulse leap like it did on that stretcher, leap with fear, and I can’t handle it.
“Darcy…”
Already between his legs, I drop the items in my hands so I can lay them upon his skin, having to touch him, kiss him. My lips caress the skin beside the bandage, drifting in soft pecks over his bare stomach.
He stares at me when I take his wrist, the force that then threw me back in my seat in protection. It’s no longer wrapped in a cast. I can kiss it without barriers. The bruises on his body are gone now, but I remember where every single one was.
“Darcy.”
He pulls me up by my forearms like a child wanting to swing, his grip jarringly tight. Before I can tell him how weak they are, his lips have crushed to mine, sucking the breath from my lungs. I bend to his will, relaxing in submission as soon as I taste him, his tongue, the odd tangy hint of blood from his lip.
This is the kiss we’d been waiting for.
One with the strength of our trauma and love combined as one.
