Ethans Fal (8 page)

Joan’s eyes look tired today when she rounds the open door and walks slowly into the room. She draws in a deep breath, and lets out a heavy sigh. She comes to the side of my bed and wipes away the blood from the crook in my arm. I ripped the IV out, again. Her voice is so soft, I find myself leaning toward her to hear.

“You know, darling, if you ever want to get out of here, you are going to have to stop acting like a crazy person.” She doesn’t smile with the joke, and I have to wonder whether she meant it as one.

I snort, but decide to throw her a bone. “When in Rome, Joan,” My gaze meets hers but she still looks so sad, and I was, at the very least, expecting a little smile. A small laugh at my lame attempt at humour. I can see her words weren’t trite…they weren’t a joke at all. In a voice that chills me with its serious timbre, she places her hands on my face, and holds me captive with her cool, gentle grasp.

“You are not crazy, young lady, but you are acting that way and if you don’t stop…” Her voice breaks and her eyes pool; so do mine. “If you don’t stop, sweetheart, there will be nothing I can do to help you.” In a move that I am sure crosses the professional line but hits me hard in my heart, she places a kiss on my furrowed brow then leaves the room. No chatting today. In fact, I don’t see her again for several days, but I use the time to think about what she said. I think about nothing else.

I’m not crazy; I’m angry. I’m unbelievably angry and hurt. I’ve been betrayed by the one person I loved in this world, and I’ve been deceived by the people who are supposed to love me most in the world. Desolation doesn’t cover what I’m feeling, but I’m not crazy. I don’t even think what I have been doing is really indicative of mental illness. My silence or loss of appetite, even ripping the IV out, are just expressions of utter frustration at being forced into a situation where I have no control.

I will tell Joan as much, if she ever comes back. In the meantime, I stop tearing out my drip and start to pick at the food that is brought to me. When Joan does return, she is still a little guarded, but she can’t hide her smile at my empty breakfast bowl. She sits patiently and I guess this would be my opportunity to start the ‘I’m not crazy, get me out of here’ speech I have been plotting.

“I don’t want you to call me Artemis or Arti or any derivative of that name, if that is all right? I mean if that isn’t going to be construed as the act of a crazy person.” I raise a teasing brow and she bites back a smirk.

“What about Ada? It’s the initials I’ve been using on your notes and it’s my dog’s name, and I love my dog.” She beams at me and I chuckle.

“You want to name me after your dog?” I try to sound affronted, but she shrugs at my unconvincing tone. “I like it…I like Ada.” I confirm.

She nods, her jaw must be aching with the spread of that smile. She starts to rummage in her bag, and she groans when she pulls out a few hardback books and places them on my nightstand with a thud. “You must be bored out of your head. I got you these, but since I have no idea what you like to read I brought a selection of fiction and non.” I look at the six stacked books: a book on the History of Art, Hitchhikers Guide, Villette, The Odyssey, Twilight, and Count of Monte Cristo.

“Wow that is eclectic! How long am I going to be here, exactly?” I smile at the range of books, but it is a serious question.

“That depends on you, Ada.” We both grin at my new moniker.

“I guess. How long have I been here?” I have tried to work it out because I was too stubborn to ask. There is no television, radio, or any newspapers. In my self-inflicted silent world I honestly have no idea how long I have been here. The colour drains from Joan’s face and I take an involuntary shaky breath. Joan mirrors my steady exhalation and in a voice I know she thinks is calm shatters my fragile world once more.

“Ada, you have been asleep for two years. What I mean is, you have been in a medically induced coma for eighteen months, and then I had you put on a more gradual sedation, which has taken nearly six months to reduce in an attempt to assuage some of the side effects of such a long sedation.” She pauses to gauge my reaction, probably anticipating a meltdown of biblical proportions. But it’s strange; it’s like she is telling someone else and all I can hear is a muffled jumble of words I don’t understand. The words swirl and drift until they settle, and I finally comprehend the magnitude of the revelation. I have lost two years of my life– of Pip’s life.

“Why?” I can see her shoulders relax at my quiet voice. I don’t have the energy for hysterics. I feel utterly devastated and my body reacts the only way it can. Tears; unstoppable tears flood my eyes and pour down my cheeks. The liquid too abundant to be absorbed by the waxy coated pillows and it pools behind my ears and trickles to the back of my neck.

Joan looks almost as distressed, but how could she be? She doesn’t even know the truth. “Oh, sweetheart, I know this is a shock, but you are back now and together we will get you well again.” The irony that I wasn’t sick when I was brought here, isn’t lost on me. I was happy, healthy, and loved. I wasn’t depressed, or unstable; I wasn’t unwell. I can’t help but feel that Joan now has a mammoth task ahead of her, if she thinks she can ever make me well. She squeezes my hand, holding on tight enough that the pain breaks through my dazed state. I repeat my question. I deserve answers.

“Why?” I take her hand and hold it just as firmly. She glances down and her lips tighten with sadness and frustration.

“I don’t know. There has been some irregularity…” She shakes her head, but then pulls her shoulders back. “Honestly, I don’t know what happened with your case, Ada. Even if I never find out, I promise I won’t let you down. Together we will get you out of here.” Her smile is fixed, her declaration resolute, and I feel the first surge of something warm burn inside my chest. It feels a lot like love, but I think it might be hope. Definitely hope because I don’t believe I will ever feel love again. I won’t risk it again.

Now

“You didn’t have to be such a jerk, Ethan.” Buddy punches me on the shoulder with more force than his playful tone merits. I turn away but not because of the punch, it has more to do with the massive erection currently trying to cause me as much pain as possible. She is
so
my fucking type; but then pretty much any woman is my type. Still, there is something about Ada. I adjust myself and slump down onto the low sofa. My subtle attempt to hide my bulge with the only cushion doesn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t fuck with her, Ethan. She’s…” He hesitates and I sit up a little, too keen to learn more.
What is she exactly?

“Yes? She’s what?” He shrugs to brush off my question. “You are giving me warning for a reason, I take it, Buddy? So what is she and why shouldn’t I fuck with her?” I narrow my eyes because I can see he is serious; but so am I.

“Look, she’s just had a bit of a time of it. I’ve known her over a year, but I mean I don’t know the details. Not even Sky knows the whole story and they are tight. All I’m saying is, no one lives like a nomad half the year for fun. She’s a bright girl and works hard. I like her, so as a favour to me I would like it if you didn’t fuck with her. Is that clear enough or would you like that in a fucking spreadsheet too?”

I bark out a laugh and hold my hands up in surrender. “Whoa, okay, Buddy, I get it. And as I said before, I don’t want any complications. If you’re right about her being so bright, I’m sure she will find another job. You can even have a call around for her on my time. But she is not my responsibility. This business, however, is.” I swing my legs round to sit upright. “So don’t try and guilt me, Buddy, I don’t need that shit. I’ve had enough guilt to last a fucking life time and I kinda came here to–”

Buddy interrupts my rant. “Look, I’m sorry Ethan, that’s not what I meant. You’re the boss and I respect that. I don’t agree, but your decision is your decision. It’s done and dusted. All I’m saying is she’s …she’s….” He runs his hands roughly through his long thick mane with obvious agitation and it’s my turn to interrupt.

“I get it. You don’t need to worry. I have no intention of fucking
with
her. No complications, remember? Besides, I have too much to do.” I grab my towel, keys, and turn to leave. His smile and relaxed shoulders surprise me. It’s not like Buddy to be so protective; I mean he cares for his staff, but he is way too relaxed to get involved in their lives. “I do, however, have every intention of having some fun, and Ada is definitely at the top of my
to do
list.” I let the door snap shut before I can see the full scowl, which looks wholly unfamiliar on Buddy’s face. I don’t quite make it to the bar when I hear him shout something about fucking women with children, maybe mother fucker. Yeah definitely motherfucker.

I am not remotely pissed that Ada had managed to transform my entire travelling wardrobe into something only Barbie would wear in both size and colour. But when I return to the bar a few hours later with my sack of laundry, I am more than happy to
not
let her know this. It’s playtime; let the games begin. I had called Buddy to make sure I didn’t make a wasted trip and by the look on his face, he still isn’t happy with me. It’s not in my nature to hurt a woman, so I really don’t see what his problem is. It’s in my nature to have a little fun though, and I plan to have a great deal of fun this whole summer. I nod over to Buddy and ask for my usual to be sent over to the corner booth, where a crowd of my old friends are drinking. Ada is squished in between Jake and Cathy, polishing cutlery, and folding it into neatly parcelled napkins. There is a raucous, cheery greeting when I approach, much back slapping, shoulder-bumping, and full on sloppy kisses, even some from the girls in the gathering. These are a great group of friends. There is an easy, instant connection and familiarity that instills an uncommonly good feeling of belonging, deep inside. It’s good to be back.

“Sweet!” Jake calls over to Buddy. “Celebration, Buddy, the prodigal son is back! The next round is on Ethan!” I tip a nod over to Buddy in agreement, and there is a deafening cheer of approval. Sky is serving behind the bar, but rushes round and bumps against me in a friendly hug. Then pulls back and full-on punches me in the arm. She’s scowling, but her lips are creeping into the faintest smile all the same.

“Fuck, Sky. I’m sorry, okay? Really sweetheart, I am sorry for how I acted. You know last time. It won’t happen again.” I raise a cheeky brow, but my apology is sincere.

“Aw, don’t say that, Ethan.” She pouts and I laugh out loud. She is the least likely person I know to bear a grudge, and her earnest smile says as much. “And I’m sorry I broke into your apartment. That, I promise, won’t happen again. What went on in your apartment, on the other hand….” Her unfinished sentence is left hanging, but her meaning is clarified when she pushes her tongue hard into her cheek several times, her mime attempt of a blowjob. She swallows back a fit of giggles and sighs loudly.

“Ah, missed you, babe.” She leans up on her tip toes and kisses me hard on the cheek, then punches me once more, a little harder this time. She follows my new line of sight and whips her head between me and Ada, who hasn’t looked up from her folding. “Don’t look at her like that, she’s not working. She’s doing me a favour, so
I
don’t have to stay late. I mean, so I don’t have to stay even later when we close because
you
are a massive dick.” She huffs and turns on her heels, and squeaks away in her flip flops. I call after her.

“I’m an arse-hat that is still your boss, so less insults and more drinks serving to my friends.”

I turn to face Ada, her wide, deep-blue eyes flash with something before her scowl returns. I dump the black sack on the table directly on top of her stack of cutlery. With one hand I upend the sack and tip the contents. More clothes than you would think could fit in a small bag erupt and spill over the table and onto Ada’s lap. She sits back in shock, carefully picks up one of the items holding it high, and appraises it.

“I think this colour brings out the inner you.” She holds up the one blood red jumper in a sea of mottled pink. Not only has she coloured all the clothes this sickly pink, but the cashmere jumper she is holding is an angry, tight shrunken shadow of its former self.

“Red hot, you mean?”

“More like the devil.” She quips but her face flashes with concern when I keep my own expression stern.

“You ruined a lot of clothes here.” My tone is effective at gaining the attention of the crowd, and Ada squirms under my interrogation. Even better is that I like the idea of her squirming because of me. “I would like to know how you intend to pay me for the damage.”

“I don’t…” Her jaw clenches. “You can afford it!” she snaps.

“Really nice attitude, Ada. You ruin someone’s stuff and just because they work hard enough they can afford to replace it, they should just suck it up, is that right?” Her brows knit together in a cute display of real concern, and she worries her bottom lip.

“I…I…don’t think that.” She straightens her shoulders and meets my glare with fire. “I just don’t have the funds right now.” Her subtle reference isn’t missed, but I find it strange she hasn’t dropped me sacking her into the conversation for all to judge. Whether it is deliberate or an oversight, I am strangely grateful I don’t have to field a barrage of passive aggressive judgements.