Beginning with Forever (7 page)

O
uch!
I feel an unfamiliar sting in my right arm as I push my body up from a reclined position. I’m hooked to an IV pump and wearing a damn hospital gown with no boxers, baring my ass to all who enter this room. What is that smell and where the hell am I? I look around for answers and realize that I’m a patient at a hospital. That cold, sterile scent is all too familiar to me. I spent a good part of my high school years at a hospital in Chicago.

* * * * * * * *

The last thing I remember was being forced to jump out of my private jet in the middle of a blinding, tropical rainstorm. I had fear pumping through my veins, making my heart beat fiercely. I’ve experienced many types of turbulence before, but nothing compared to this. It felt like an evil force of nature was rattling me aggressively inside a metal can, and I had no means of escape. I was merely steps away from heaven or hell.

Captain Franco
decided to attempt an emergency landing instead of crashing into the water. Thanks to his incredible flying skills, our jet sliced through violent waves, bounced off several times and jerked everyone and everything around. I fully understood the value of a seatbelt following that miraculous landing. I blew out a breath of relief and released my death grip of the armrests. Owen calmly instructed me to pull out the lifejacket under my seat and securely fasten it around me. I immediately complied without any reluctance. Captain Franco inflated a bright yellow raft and bravely jumped in first. Owen leaped out after him, and then it was my turn to follow their lead into the dangerous depths of angry waves. My entire body shook with fear of dying. I leaped out into the darkness, missed the raft, and surged instantly away from them. I yelled out in hope of grabbing their attention, but there was no response from any direction. I was now on my own, terrified. Initially, I swam for my life, but it was pointless. There was no way to cut through the blackness of that desolate night. I might as well have been a helpless blind man in a panther’s den. Eventually, I gave up my useless swimming and played it smart by conserving my energy. The crashing waves continued to beat forcibly against me as I drifted for countless hours with the help of my life jacket.

Again,
I wanted to blame God for everything at that moment. I had a lot of hate reserved for Him. He already took Emily from me, making my life lonely and miserable for years. And now He was ready to take mine before I wanted to give it up. It didn’t seem fair to me, but neither is marrying Bianca without love. Maybe this was His way of telling me it was definitely a mistake. I knew I had to dissuade myself from thinking such depressing thoughts because it wasn’t going to help me survive. I decided to concentrate on the one thing that would easily distract my hopelessness, my cancer research. If I gave up now, I would lose all my years of dedication and effort. This daunting thought was by far more terrifying than the fear of dying. I had to fight to remain alive for the sake of my work. I had millions of lives riding on my survival.

The
blindness of night finally lifted, only to expose me to the excruciating heat and scorching sun of day. My throat was parched, and my lips were uncomfortably chapped with blisters. Though I was completely surrounded by water, I wasn’t able to drink a single salty drop of it. This was by far the worst form of torture. I only survived the horrific night to suffer the beating heat from above. I wasn’t sure how much longer I would last, but just when I thought all hope was gone, I spotted dry land from a near distance. I thought I might be hallucinating, but I didn’t care. I swam desperately towards it with whatever life I had left in me. The surrounding corals were sharp, but I paid no attention to them. I dragged my lifeless body onto the beach and reached out for help, a foot.

____________________

A blushing young nurse walks into my room, and my recollections are abruptly interrupted. She timidly introduces herself, barely making any eye contact and begins assessing my vitals. I remain compliant while she completes her tasks and then probe relentlessly for answers when she asks if I had any questions. She tells me that I was brought to this hospital by a medical-resident named Lillian Ly, who found me on a beach. She also mentions that the hospital has done everything to keep my case confidential, which I’m pleased to hear. The last thing I need is the damn paparazzi coming here to destroy this hospital’s peacefulness and my personal privacy. I deal with plenty of their shit back in the states. I want to keep my anonymity for as long as possible and give her just the minimal details she needed to complete her medical charting. I begin with my name and date of birth, “Carson Bradley, 32, born May 31, 1982.”

After my assessment
is completed, I sit back and decide that I don’t want to be anything but lazy today which is abnormal and uncharacteristic of me. My recovering body only wants to bask in the warmth and radiance of the sun shining through the far west window. It’s therapeutic for me. My mind is free of any stress or obligations. I’m almost at the center of my tranquility, when I’m distracted by cautious sounds of docile footsteps entering my room.

I
glance over my right shoulder for a glimpse of my new visitor.
Damn, who’s this woman?
She’s well above average height, probably five foot six or seven inches. Her appealing slender body is hidden under her oversized, professional white jacket. I nosily check her medical badge on the left side of her chest for her name.
Med-Resident Lillian Ly, wait a minute; I think that’s the name of the woman who found me
. I recall the nurse mentioning it earlier. If I have to guess her age, I would say mid-twenties because of her academic level, but she’s obviously younger in appearance.

I
mmediately, I feel an unfamiliar tug growing in my chest as my body hardens into stone under her sweet, demure presence. I can’t understand why my heart is racing so rapidly as I watch her approach me. This isn’t normal for me. I don’t respond to women, they respond to me. The delicate features of her slender, youthful face are stunning. There’s a mysterious hint of the exotic about her, possibly Asian or Hawaiian which triggers my curiosity. I can’t stop gawking. Her distinctive light russet brown eyes, rimmed with dark, thick lashes, leave me in a trance. I’m under their magical power. I hope I’m not being too rudely obvious. Her fair complexion is slightly kissed by the golden sun in all the desirable places, on the tip of her dainty nose and cheek bones. Only by sheer will power am I able to restrain my hands from reaching out to touch her soft glowing skin. Her silky chestnut colored hair is neatly tied back in a single ponytail, giving me an irresistible glimpse of her long, slender neck. Why can’t I resist imagining how sweet her rosy lips would taste? Damn, that gorgeous smile…what model wouldn’t kill to have it? My mind would surely forsake me if she offers me another perfect smile.

I continue to steal glimpses of her
unblemished beauty as I avoid being caught. She has an adorable tiny mole underneath her left eye. If you blink, you’d miss it because the little dark speck is unnoticeable, but not for me. Her mouth curves slightly higher on the right side when she smiles. She bites on her thumb nail or lower lip out of nervousness, I’m guessing. People usually avoid eye contact and hone in on a subtle habit when they’re nervous, I know this to be true from my years of interaction with clients and employees. She’s left handed and wears no rings on any of her fingers. I’m pleased she’s not married, not really understanding why.

Shit,
I’m embarrassed for losing myself in her presence. I keep hoping it’s not apparent to her. This isn’t like me to break down in front of a woman. I have to get a grip on myself. This bothers the hell out of me, not having control. How is it possible for me to be so drawn to this young woman? We’ve only met just a few minutes ago, and we haven’t even said a single word to each other. Why does she stand out like a rare pearl in a vast ocean? What’s making me feel this way? I haven’t had this tug in my chest for years.

* * * * * * * *

I lost Emily, my high school sweetheart, to Hodgkin’s lymphoma at the tender age of seventeen. We met in fifth grade. I was the awkward new kid in class that everyone stared at, but kept their distance from. She was the first person to open her welcoming heart to me, and I was grateful. I hated being the new kid all the time. My father dedicated a good part of his life to serving our country in the Marines, meaning we did too. We moved around habitually from base to base. I speak several foreign languages fluently, thanks to him. It wasn’t the ideal upbringing for a young boy without siblings. I was never anywhere long enough to make lasting, meaningful friendships until we moved back to Chicago permanently.

I knew it was
real the minute I saw Emily’s entrancing blue eyes. She was soft spoken, kind hearted, generous and funny. We spent every free minute together, hanging out in her treehouse. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t share with her. She was my best friend. It wasn’t until our freshman year when I gathered up enough courage to ask her to be my girlfriend. She agreed, of course, making me incredibly happy.

My teenage life couldn’t have been more perfect until she was diagnosed with
late stage Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I was completely devastated and sobbed for weeks. I went from loving life to hating it and blaming God for being unfair to me. I had never been this angry in all my life, but for her sake I didn’t give up. I stood by her side and suffered her pain while crying behind her back. She battled courageously for almost four years and fought hard to make it to our senior prom. I was determined to give her the most memorable night of her remaining life. I knew she loved the lake and wanted to plan something special around it. I worked at Mrs. Meinkin’s bakery for six months before I was able to save up enough money for a fancy dinner cruise at the Navy Pier and a limo ride around Chicago. She wore a beautiful violet-colored evening gown with a stylish hat to cover her bared head. The disease and treatments had robbed her of her youth and beauty, but I still saw the same entrancing blue-eyed girl who stole my heart at first sight.

W
ith her suffering and death, my heart faded away with her. I haven’t loved or cared for any woman since then. I know we were young, but the feelings I had for her were real and irreplaceable. Sure, I’ve been with many gorgeous women after Emily, but at the end of the day, I was always left feeling empty and alone. This is probably why they only lasted a few weeks to several months. It was impossible for me to replace Emily. No one could ever measure up to her, and I made sure they didn’t. I was afraid I would forget her if I allowed someone else into my life.

I
nervously walk towards him; the man I’ve been having illicit dreams about is now staring deeply into my paralyzed eyes with his own enslaving hazel green eyes. He looks confident, stern and controlled, but his mind seems preoccupied. I think he’s studying me and determining if I’m professionally capable of managing his care. Maybe he thinks I’m too young and inexperienced. Many of my patients have told me this in the past, making me very insecure about my age. I refuse to let him intimidate me, so I offer him one confident smile and avoid his inquiring eyes. The last thing I need is for him to validate my attraction for him by looking into my admiring eyes.

He
doesn’t embrace me with a smile, but for some odd reason, this makes him even more incredibly attractive to me, in an overconfident way. His bountiful, undulating, dark brown hair is now neatly groomed, and his flawless carved face is also freshly shaven. I visually trace the length of his sharp masculine jaw line to his charming boyish one-sided dimple. God, he’s hot! I bite on my thumb nail without thinking, and he follows my finger with his severe eyes. I’m caught, so I nervously remove my thumb from my mouth and bite on my lower lip instead. I evade his perceptive eyes altogether and focus on his full pursed lips. They look much better, less chapped and the blisters are healing.

C.B.
is much taller sitting upright. I speculate he’s probably over six feet, dominantly towering over me. He’s undeniably the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and of course, I already secretly know how tone and perfectly sculpted his body is underneath that frumpy hospital gown. Holy crap, I’m losing my train of thought again. What’s gotten into me?
Get a grip on yourself
. He needs to see me as a professional medical-resident not some ogling admirer. Unfortunately, the weight of his continuous stare hinders my focus even further. I push myself to quickly peruse his medical chart and gather the information I need to make a quick assessment. Mystery man now has a real name. Carson Bradley, born May 31, 1982. How coincidental, we have the same birthday, but he’s ten years my senior.

“Hello Mr. Bradley, I’m
Miss Ly, your assistant medical-resident. I’ll be working under the guidance of Dr. Stanford to help accelerate your recovery here at this hospital. Aside from a few minor bruises and mild dehydration, you’re lucky to have survived that storm. Do you have any questions for me?” I inform him in my most authoritative voice. His confidence in my professional abilities is invaluable to me. I expect him to look beyond my youth and not equate it with inexperience. He takes my hand and shakes it firmly as if he’s sealing a business deal. His touch stirs all my senses and confirms my attraction for him is real. Our hands remain together longer than a customary handshake, so I remove mine before my odd attraction to him exposes me. The tingling sensation from our touch still lingers on my hand like a burn after touching something really hot.