Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (36 page)

“George—,” Calvin growled as I yelled, “Dad, stop!”

My dad’s eyes focused on me, and he yanked free from Calvin’s grip. “You’ve got some nerve,” he said. “Coming back
now.
And bringing
him.
What the hell were you thinking?”

“Dad, I’m just here to see Brandon,” I said, backing away. “As soon as he’s out of the woods, we’re going back to—”

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady.” He reached out, grabbing hold of my elbow. “We’re going home right now.”

“No!” I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. “Dad, let me go!”

“If you think that you’re going anywhere with
him
—” He glared angrily in Calvin’s direction. “—then, you have another thing coming.”

“Get your hands off me,” I said, struggling to break free. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t kidnap me!”

Apparently, he
had
lost his mind. “I’m your
father,
Sabrina, and you
will
listen to me,” he said, his voice low and mean, his fingers bruising my arm.

I looked desperately to Calvin. His eyes burned. I knew I didn’t need to ask. Didn’t need to say another word.

“Mr. Clarke,” he said, taking a calm step toward us. “Take your hands off Sabrina.”

My dad backed up, pulling him with me. “Don’t tell me what to do. She’s
my
daughter.”

Then, I saw them, Calvin’s security guards rounding the corner. Broad-shouldered and beefy, these men were burly enough to
encourage
anyone to do anything.

Easily, they plucked my dad off me, much to his dismay. “What the—? Get these goons off me! Security!”

But they’d already dropped him and formed a wall between him and us. When he realized that fighting was futile, he turned his anger back toward me. “Sabrina!” he said. “Don’t get tied up with him, he cannot be trusted, he already showed you that. Do you understand? If you don’t come now,
don’t come back home, period.
And as for you—” His eyes zeroed in on Calvin. “You’ll pay for this.” It was the last thing he said before Calvin’s men got tired of his ranting and herded him out of sight.

“I— oh, my God, I—” I stammered, looking at Calvin. “Calvin, you’re hurt!” Blood was smeared above his eyebrow, and a bruise was forming on his left cheekbone. He winced as he reached up and fingered it gingerly.

“We need to get some ice on that,” I said, seeing the contusion swell as we spoke.

He shook his head. “I’m fine. He just caught me by surprise. Your old man throws a mean right hook.” An amused smile crept over his lips.

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe he punched you. What an ass!”

“Really, I’m fine.” His eyes changed, softening with concern. “How’s Brandon? Is he OK?”

I looked at him in amazement.

“Is he going to make it? Were you able to talk to him?
I’m worried about you and the toll this is taking on you.”

My eyes filled with tears at his tenderness—moments after being mauled by my father, and all he could think about was me… and my worries for my ex-boyfriend.

Carefully, he dried my face with the soft hem of his T-shirt. “What can I do to make it better?”

In that moment, I’d never felt such an overwhelming rush of
emotion for anyone in my life. Worry in his eyes, the selfless support, it swept me off my feet. Studying his beautiful face, I raised my lips to his, warmth flooding my body.

“I love you,” I whispered.

Calvin’s whole body tensed, and he broke free of my embrace.
“What did you say?” His voice was gravelly, eyes panicked.

My heart began to beat nervously; this wasn’t the response I’d hoped for. “I said, I love you,” I whispered.
Didn’t he feel the same?

The tenderness in his eyes gave way to terror. Calvin reached out and grabbed my wrist. “I don’t want to
ever
hear those words again, do you understand me?”

My eyes widened. “What? I—”

“The only thing I asked of you, Sabrina, the
one
thing—no falling in love—and you throw it in my face. I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want to know about it. I don’t want to
think
about it.”

I searched his face for understanding, feeling a painful grip tighten around my heart. “But that was before—”

His eyes flashed a menacing blue. “No, Sabrina,” he interrupted. “I wasn’t fucking around. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“I didn’t think you were fucking around,” I said. “But so much has happened… I just
said
it, Calvin. I didn’t ask you for anything. I didn’t even expect you to say it back. I said it because I meant it. I
love you.
”

He dropped my wrist as if he had been scalded. “
No
!” His eyes went wild with fury. “
No
!” He took a step away from me, distancing himself from my contagious virus.

“Calvin,” I kept my voice calm and moved toward him. “I don’t care about your stupid rules. I love you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way. I
know
you do.”
I can feel it.

He backed out of my grasp. “No, Sabrina.” His voice was dangerously low. “
No
! Don’t say that to me! Just
don’t
.”

He spun around and strode down the hall, long legs carrying him away from me. I watched him for a moment before sprinting after him, catching up to him as he burst through the wide double doors into the warm morning. “Calvin, wait!” I wasn’t going to let it end like this.

His breathing was heavy, and he raked a hand through his hair frantically, as if to keep from putting his fist through a wall. When I reached out to grab his hand, he jerked away.

“You just don’t get it,” he said. “I can’t; I just can’t! That word… that idea… it’s poison. Stay away from me, Sabrina!” He turned back around and began to jog toward his car, desperate to make a getaway.

My mouth fell open as he climbed into his car, engine roaring to life. The Mercedes peeled out of the driveway and zipped out of the hospital parking lot.
He left? He left me here?

Stunned, I looked around the parking lot in a daze.
What had just happened?
I dropped to the curb, never having felt so alone in my life.

Chapter 22

He’ll call
, a part of me thought,
he has to
. I refused even to consider that this was more than some crazy misunderstanding. When afternoon turned into night, and night turned into dawn, the hope began to fade, and the grayness set in.

But there was Brandon to think of, to take care of. Not that I could do much. I talked to him constantly. I held his hand. I was never sorry we weren’t together anymore, but I stopped thinking about the cheating, the lies, and the last month. I thought about him as a man… as a boy. The boy I grew up with. We’d grown up together, after all. The mechanical beeps of the monitors became the backdrop to my hoarse voice, recalling this or that summer afternoon, sometimes singing songs I knew he loved, not caring if I knew all the words. At least, it felt as if I was doing something for him.

At times, I ran out of words. I’d sit in silence, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles as I squeezed his hand, watching the rhythm of his heart on the screen. The tears came to the surface, and I swallowed them desperately. Somehow, I thought if I
believed
he’d make it, he would. And crying, breaking down, would be giving up. So, I didn’t cry, not in front of him. Instead, I grasped at something, anything to say… “Remember our first kiss, Brandon? My first kiss
ever
?” I laughed, and I knew it sounded raw, but I forged ahead.

When I left for moments, to go to the restroom, to get a fresh bottle of water, the tears leaked out, running down my face, but I ignored them. I washed my face and went back in.

Two days after Calvin left, Brandon opened his eyes. I gasped, at a loss for words. He didn’t look at me; he didn’t look at anything. I stood, took his hands in mine, and leaned in. “Brandon! Brandon?
Nurse
!” I yelled, afraid to look away. No one heard me. His eyes fluttered shut. I ran to the nurses’ station, nearly dragging the nurse back with me, frustrated at her seemingly slow pace. “He was awake,” I said, breathless. “Maybe there’s something you can do…”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. Kindly, but it was dismissive, and it stung. She checked his vital signs. “Ma’am,” she said, “It was probably just an involuntary reaction. It happens. Sometimes, the medications…”

I stopped listening. I didn’t want to hear that. I nodded along until she left.

Once she was gone, I talked to him frantically. I forgave him repeatedly. I told him about Calvin. I talked about how we could be friends for the rest of our lives. How our children would know one another. How in the grand scheme of things, the only bit that mattered was that we cared about each other. I was afraid to sleep that night, biting my lip and pinching myself to stay awake, praying he’d open his eyes again. He didn’t.

I wasn’t the only one there to see him. His parents came every day. At first, I was terrified they’d make me leave, but they didn’t say a word to me. I could read the accusation in their eyes, but I didn’t blame them. I was grateful they let me stay. I gave them their space, slipping out, sitting in another waiting room down the hall, watching the clock, creeping back every fifteen minutes to see if they were still there. When they left, I’d take up my post by his side again.

I was starting to feel like a ghost myself, invisible to the nurses and the doctors, as they came and went, carrying out their routines. I caught bits and pieces of their conversation about his condition, but I didn’t listen too hard. They had nothing good to say.
Infection. Brain death. Oxygen levels. Blood pressure.
I let these words float by me as if they were a foreign language. I focused on
him
. Now, I was repeating the stories, the songs, and the forgiveness. It didn’t matter. He was still alive; that’s what mattered. Where there’s life, there’s hope, right?

One day I realized he was almost unrecognizable. Ashen, thin. Skin sagging.
It’s as if there’s no one in there anymore,
I thought, and then felt like a traitor for thinking it. That was the day the doctor noted how shallow his breathing had become and sighed. They were going to put him on a respirator. I could tell by their attitudes that this was bad. They were giving up. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to say his breathing was fine, but I could see for myself that it wasn’t. I kept my mouth shut, but I hated them anyway, as if they were killing him.

I lost track of time, then, the rhythm of the machine hypnotizing me. I still talked, but I don’t know how long the silences between stretched. Minutes could feel like hours, but hours could feel like minutes too. Now and then, a nurse suggested I eat something; I suppose those were meal times. Shifts changed, the light behind the curtains swelled and faded, but none of it made much difference to me.

I thought of Calvin—almost constantly. It was almost as if I had two brains. One here, striving for Brandon’s survival, in the grey-curtained gloom of the ICU, while the other replayed my relationship with Calvin, repeatedly. Examined him, remembered him—the curve of his lips, the texture of his skin, the heat of his passion, his vulnerability. When I grew sleepy in the uncomfortable hospital chair, I’d curl in on myself, close my eyes, and imagine Calvin holding me. I still didn’t feel as if it was
over,
although at this point, I had no idea how many days had passed without hearing from him.

I imagined him back in New York and wondered what he was doing. I knew he had to be thinking of me. I remembered how he looked at me, how he touched me, and I knew he felt the same way I did, so it was unimaginable that he’d have forgotten me already. I had no doubts about that.
So why did he leave
?
Sure, he’d told me he didn’t do the falling in love thing, but it was so obvious he had. There came a point where it was silly to pretend it wasn’t happening. I was sorry the words had upset him, but they were just words. The reality was inescapable. Not saying the words wouldn’t change it. Why couldn’t he see that?

***

On Saturday night, six days after I arrived back in Dallas, a nurse threw me out. I’m sure now it was out of kindness, but at the time, I was furious. “You need rest,” she said. “Go back to your hotel; have a shower and a nap, OK?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“We need to do some things here,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d have to ask you to leave for a while, anyway. You might as well get some rest and a meal in the process.” I wonder whether it was true or whether she just realized I
couldn’t
leave unless I was forced.

I hung my head in surrender but promised I’d be back right after a shower and dinner. “Will that be long enough?” I asked, hearing the pleading note in my voice.

I headed back to the hotel like a sleepwalker. I ordered room service and then stripped to shower. It’d been two days since I’d even bothered to wash my face at this point, and I was surprised by how good the warm water felt, by how cleansing it was just to brush my teeth. I turned on the news, sat on the bed, and picked at the food, not really watching.

I woke with a start, sun streaming into the room, the dinner from last night barely touched. There was an inexplicable uneasiness in the pit of my stomach, the taste of panic at the back of my tongue.
What time was it?
Ten a.m. Oh, my God, I’d slept for eleven hours. For the first time in the last week, reality came crashing down.
Brandon is dying. What if he’s already gone?

How could I have been so stupid as to sit there on the bed? I must have lain down; of course, I fell asleep. I should have set an alarm just in case. Why did I even leave in the first place? I should have just waited in the lobby. My feet pounded down the hospital corridors echoing loudly in time with each heavy breath.

Sweat trickled down my neck as I turned the handle to Brandon’s room, dreading what I might find. Through squinted eyes, I saw his bed empty, curtains opened, filling the room with an unfamiliar glow. For a split second, my heart swelled—
he must have improved! He didn’t need the ICU anymore!
But the dread followed fast behind, something in my mind whispering,
not that fast. He couldn’t have gotten better that fast. If he’s not here, then he’s…

I stepped out into the hall and stopped the first nurse that passed. “Where is he?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer. “Where’s Brandon?”

The nurse, one I recognized from her frequent visits, took me gently by the elbow and steered me back into the room. “Just tell me,” I said, shaking her off. “Tell me. Where is he?” I began to feel nauseous. Dark spots appeared in my vision.

She sat on the empty bed, motioning for me to sit down beside her. “He died early this morning, Sabrina. You’re very pale; you should sit.”

“No,” I said. To both the order to sit and to Brandon dying.
Just no.
“No,” I repeated. “He opened his eyes, remember? He was getting better. There must be some mistake.”

She shook her head firmly, but her voice was very kind. “There’s not a mistake, Sabrina,” she said, and I wished she’d stop saying my name.
You don’t know me!
I wanted to say childishly.
You don’t know Brandon! He can’t be dead!
“I was here,” she continued. “There just wasn’t anything else we could do. He was not improving, as much as you wanted to hope so.”

“Oh, my God,” I said, finally sitting down. She took one of my hands in her cool, calloused ones. “Why did I leave?” I cried, my voice breaking as the tears came. “I was supposed to stay with him. He was alone.” I sobbed as she put an arm around my shoulders.

“His family was here. He was ready, dear,” she said quietly. “Sometimes, that’s just the way it is. You couldn’t have done anything to change it.”

I cried harder.
I could have done everything to change it. I could have forgiven him sooner. I could have talked to him more in New York. I could have calmed him down. I should have called when my mother said he’d come to say good-bye. Now, I can’t do anything.

She rubbed my back as I sobbed quietly, letting the reality of his death consume me. I’d never cried so hard. When the tears finally ran dry, I felt empty, exhausted. Depleted. The nurse stayed by my side until the sobs stopped racking my body. “Shhh,” she murmured. “You need to get some rest. Some real rest. I know it’s difficult to realize now, but this last week was a gift. It was time for everyone to say his or her goodbyes. I’m sure that your being here with him helped. “Many patients don’t have someone to do that for them. You watched over him. Now, you need to take care of yourself.”

I nodded and stood, feeling slow, heavy, and strange. I don’t remember leaving the hospital or the cab ride back to the hotel, only slowly taking off my clothes, dropping them listlessly on the cold bathroom tiles. Steam seeped from the shower, filling the room with a humid haze. The water burned my skin, scalding it until it became pink and swollen. I curled in the tub of the shower, letting the hot rain beat against my back, releasing another torrent of tears. I cried for Brandon and his family. I cried for me and for Calvin. I cried for all the things I wished were different. I cried until there was nothing left.

When I got out, I wrapped myself in the oversized hotel towel and curled into bed, where I drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke six hours later, groggy but tranquil. The nurse had been right; I'd said everything I wanted to say to Brandon, said good-bye a hundred different ways.

After some soul searching, I decided not to go to the funeral. I’d made my peace with Brandon, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else at the funeral would be comforted by my presence.

The phone rang. I let it ring for a bit, hoping whoever it was would just hang up, but when the insistent buzz kept going, I answered.

“Hello?” My voice sounded flat, even to me. Wooden.

“Hi, Sabrina? It’s Donna.”

“Donna? Oh my god. Hi,” I answered, surprised. I wondered why in the world she’d be calling me now, when her nephew had just broken up with me.

“Hi. honey. I know it’s a little odd for me to be calling you right now, but there’s some things I need to say to you.” She sounded serious.

“Oh...okay.” I was worried she’d start berating me for what happened with Calvin. It was all my fault. She’d be right. But I know it would hurt to hear it from Donna, who was so nice to me when we first met, back when things were good. Actually, it hurt just to think about how it was then.

“Okay. Listen. I know what happened with you and Cal. I’m not calling to blame you, honey,”
Whew
. I breathed a sigh of relief. “I just want to give you some advice. I’ve had a lot of experience dealing with Calvin when he’s being stubborn. And he’s being stubborn.”

“I know,” I said quietly. A little too well, actually.

“Good. Do you remember what I said about those defenses he has? He has them because he’s vulnerable underneath them, and he’s afraid to let anyone see that. The last time he cared about anyone as much as he cares about you, well... you know what happened. The more he loves someone now, the more he pushes them away.”

“Oh. I don’t know about that, Donna.” It sounded too good to be true: that the reason he’d checked out emotionally was because he cared too much. I didn’t want to be naive anymore. I’d let too many people make a fool out of me already. But Donna had always been so kind to me, and deep down I knew my trust in her wasn’t misplaced.