Page 66 of Giovanni
KACIE
My eyelids flutter open to a harsh, glaring fluorescent light above my bed. The pervasive, unmistakable scent of antiseptic fills my nostrils that can only belong to a hospital. My mind is clouded, disoriented by the setting. The steady beeping of a machine permeates the silence, an annoyance that I want to stop.
Attempting to lift my head, I am met with a sharp, throbbing pain that reverberates through my skull, compelling me to recline once more onto the sterile pillow. My hand, moving instinctively to my forehead, feels the gentle tug of an IV line embedded in my arm. I’m encased in the confines of a hospital bed, a blood pressure cuff clasping my arm with an uncomfortable firmness.
To my side, Giovanni is slumbering in a chair, his posture one of discomfort and exhaustion. His face, etched with lines of worry even in slumber, is a source of solace and a trigger of upsetting emotions within me.
Flashes of yesterday return with unrelenting clarity. The image that had appeared on my phone screen—Giovanni and Jenna, kissing, stabbed at my heart. The coffee mug slippedfrom my trembling fingers, shattering on the floor and spilling the contents across the tile.
In an almost surreal sequence of events, I had stepped forward, intent on cleaning up the mess, only to find myself slipping on the slick tile. The room spun out of control as I desperately tried to reach for something to catch myself. I found only air, and then came the harrowing impact of my head against the unyielding stone corner of the wet bar. Pain erupted before enveloping me in darkness.
Now, waking up here, not knowing what happened with Giovanni, somehow aware of what occurred, is confusing. The alarming realization of how swiftly life can spiral into chaos leaves me equally troubled.
My gaze returns to him. His presence is a paradoxical blend of comfort and turmoil. The image on my phone makes me hurt, angry, and fearful that what we had was too good to be true.
His rhythmic breathing, steady and utterly unaware of the emotional storm inside me, spikes my anger.
The urge to awaken him, to demand answers, and to confront the reality of that image is overwhelming, especially as it’s why I’m here. Yet, my prevailing trepidation is what if those answers reveal the truth. His crush is his lover, and he’s seeing both of us, thus shattering what we shared.
The room’s silence is deafening, punctuated only by the constant beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional compression of the blood pressure cuff. A glance at my heart rate looks good, and then my gaze falls to the blood pressure, having registered after the cuff releases. It’s not good, higher than the doctor’s office. The very source of why it’s high is sleeping right next to me.
I’m at an emotional crossroads, torn between self-preservation and returning to being alone or risking my health to be with him. Lying there, I’m caught in an unbearable limbo.
My heart feels like it’s being tugged in two opposite directions. The idea of being alone again, returning to my solitude before Giovanni, is a bleak prospect. Yet, the thought of staying with him, risking further heartache and potentially my health, is equally daunting.
I study Giovanni’s face, searching for a hint to guide me. But there’s nothing there, just the innocent, young features of a man lost in sleep. How can someone who looks so peaceful and devoted be the cause of such turmoil?
He shifts in this sleep, mumbling something incoherent, a frown briefly crossing his features before his long body settles deeper into his chair. I glance toward the closed door and draw curtains when I hear him stirring.
“Oh my God, Kac!”
His eyes are bloodshot, while a faint stubble shadows his lower jaw. His usually neat curls are now a tousled, wild mane, adding to the disheveled, distressed look etched across his face.
Instantly, he’s up from his chair, moving toward me with an instinctive hug. But he hesitates, his eyes scanning over the various wires and tubes connected to me, trying to navigate a way to embrace me without dislodging anything important.
“What are you doing here?”
My voice sounds fragile even to me, and he steps back as if my words physically hit him.
“What do you mean what am I doing here? Kac, you’re hurt in the hospital. For Christ’s sake, why wouldn’t I be here?”
He runs a trembling hand through his hair, causing me to understand why it looks the way it does.
“Giovanni . . . we need to talk,” I say the dreaded words that are heavy and hard to release. His body tenses, an alertness replacing his initial grogginess.
“What’s wrong? Your head? Are you in pain? I can get a nurse. They were in here early, but I waved them off so they wouldn’t disturb you.”
The caring nature of his looking out for me stabs at the heartache I feel from his betrayal.
I shake my head, feeling a knot in my stomach.
“It’s not about my head, Giovanni. It’s about us.”
My heart pounds, each beat registering on the monitor near me that catches his eyes momentarily. His frown deepens, a crease forming between his eyebrows when they return to mine. That creases his brow deepens.
“Us? What about us, Kac?”
His voice is edged with a growing apprehension.
