Tension (6 page)

“I don’t want you to have to help me,” she protested stubbornly.

“I understand, El, but you need me to. Just for now.” He stood for a minute next to the bed. “Can I get in?” he asked, pointing.

She scooted over in answer and he fell asleep holding her hand.

Stella cranked the music up in the house and walked to the kitchen. “Hey, you want a sandwich?!” she called to George, who was sitting on the back porch watching the sunset.

“Sure!”

The fall day at the beach had been warm, but the night was crisp and cool. Pair the briskness with the sunburn on her skin and Stella was just plain cold. She shrugged on George’s pullover that had been draped over one of the bar stools. She inhaled and walked back into the kitchen, content. It smelled like him, rugged and male. Stella thought back to the hospital and how things would be different if George had run screaming from her, like he should have. She smiled; glad he was a masochist and sticking it out with her.

Her phone dinged, notifying her of a text. It was Millie.

you’re trending on twitter #WITWISM

Stella looked at her text, confused.

what does that even mean?

Millie’s response was quick.

where in the world is Stella Murphy

Stella bent over from the laughter that burst out of her. Her life was so ridiculous.

Stella stared out the window from her hospital bed, enjoying the quiet. It was rare that she was by herself with her thoughts. Since she woke up two weeks ago, there was always someone in her hospital room. She’d barely had one minute alone. As she watched the leaves sway in the breeze, she thought it was probably for the best. Her thoughts were not welcome.

Stella was finally starting to feel like herself again. While she remained in the hospital and continued to heal from all the physical damage he’d done to her, the emotional damage was only getting worse. It was immediate and all-consuming; from the moment she looked in his eyes, the moment she awoke in the hospital, she felt the difference, tasted the difference, smelled the difference. Hatred had invaded her entire being; every cell in her body was full of it. Every happy thought, every happy memory, every happy anything had been devoured by hatred and loathing.

She wondered if everyone could smell it on her. It smelled like death and coffee, like lilies and dirt, and it permeated her. He was out there somewhere, living, breathing and laughing. She was going to change that. She would put an end to his laughing…his breathing. From the first night she went home with Jamie until his “death,” she’d been completely, utterly, and stupidly in love with the guy who eventually tried to kill her. All she could think about was returning the favor. Every time she looked in the mirror or took a step, she thought of Jamie. Every time a doctor or nurse congratulated her on her progress, she counted it as one step closer to finding Jamie. She had several constant reminders of him, which made her even more pissed at him. Whether it was the tattoo on her back with a new bullet hole that was a big fat joke, the scars on her chests, or her life in shambles once again, she just couldn’t get rid of the ghost of Jamie.

She was getting really fucking tired of plastering on a fake smile for everyone else.

To say Stella was shocked when the bandages were finally removed from her chest would’ve been an understatement. Angry red scars mirroring a spider web covered her chest, the skin above her ribcage, and down her abdomen from the surgeries that were necessary to save her organs. Dr. Houston told her the redness would fade, eventually.

Tears rolled down her face as she stood in the hospital bathroom looking at her naked self. She turned this way and that, looking at herself from different angles and trying desperately to see her back. They didn’t show her the scars on her back. Stella had never thought of herself as a vain person, but she had no words to describe her feelings as she stared at her own image.
Holy shit
.

George knocked on the door and pushed it open when she didn’t respond.

“Love,” he said, looking into her eyes in the mirror. Closing the gap between them, he moved behind her and held her gently. “It’s okay. Alright?” He ran a hand over her hair.

Stella faced him and yelled. “You think this is alright?! This,” she motioned to her torso with both hands, “will NEVER be alright again.” Her cries were on the verge of sobs. “YOU WANT THIS?!” she yelled through her tears. “WHY?! I don’t!” Stella tried not to break down in front of anyone; she tried to be strong. She looked back at the mirror and met George’s eyes. “No one will want to look at me,” she said softly.

George took her hands in his and pulled her into him, burying his face in her neck. She sighed audibly and he released one of her hands to reach behind him and lock the door. Then he pulled off his own shirt so there was nothing separating their skin. Stella’s chest heaved with silent sobs, tears coursing down her cheeks and onto his chest. George leaned down and began kissing the scars on the right side of her chest.

“I could look at you all day, Love.” He continued until he kissed every one of her scars and she stopped crying. He moved behind her and kissed the healed bullet hole in her back as well. “This is a fucking expensive new tattoo, Love, but it’s pretty badass.” He wrapped his arms around her. “The bullet exited through the remains of the heart in your tattoo. You want to see?”

She nodded; she couldn’t speak. He turned her around so that she could look at the tattoo in the bathroom mirror.

After Jamie “passed away,” Stella had gotten a tattoo on her left upper back to symbolize her lack of a heart. The tattoo was a view inside her body, bones poking out all the way through to where her heart would be. Instead of seeing a heart, Richard, the tattoo artist, had drawn what looked like tattered remains of a heart. It was beautifully grotesque. Stella took in the puffy red skin in the middle of Richard’s masterpiece. It looked like Jamie had taken aim and shot her in what remained of her heart.
He had perfect aim
.

George kissed her forehead. “Totally badass. Richard’s going to shit a brick.”

Stella stifled a giggle.
At least there’s a plus.

George trailed his fingers over every inch of her chest, kissing her neck and whispering his love. Stella shivered as he licked and sucked all the way down to her stomach.

As he headed even farther south, Stella thought about how long it’d been since she shaved. Since she’d showered.
Jesus.
“George,” she whispered. “I haven’t shaved in…”

“Shh, El. Let me love you.” He knelt, grabbing both of her thighs and pulling her to him.

Her head fell backwards and she groaned.

There was a knock on the door. “Stella? Are you okay? Did you fall? I thought I heard something!” her mother called from the other side of the door.

Stella stifled a laugh and then a moan as George continued to kiss her everywhere. “I’m okay, Mom.”

“Where’s George? I thought he was in here with you.”

“N-need a minute, Mom,” Stella stuttered.

“Are you okay?” Her mother’s voice went up an octave.

“Fine…oh, God,” she whispered. “Mom, can you get me some coffee?” Her voice broke. “I really need some…” she stifled a groan. “Some coffee. Please?”

Stella ran her hands through George’s hair, trying hard not to yell his or God’s name. After a while, her knees buckled and she sank down to where he was kneeling, smiling at her.

“Can we stay in here so I can look at you some more?” he asked wryly.

A week later, her mother was helping Stella back into the hospital bed when Dr. Houston came in. “Stella, how are we doing today?”

Stella rolled her eyes. She hated how doctors always asked how “we” were doing. She wanted to respond, “I’m not sure how
we
are doing, but
I
want to stab you in the eye.” She didn’t. Instead, Stella smiled her fake smile and eased herself into the bed. “Ready to get out of here, doc.”

“Well, we’re going to run you through a few tests and then you should be able to be released to a rehabilitation facility. Do you know where you want us to send your documents?”

“Emory,” her mother answered.

“George Washington,” Stella said at the same time.

Dr. Houston looked from daughter to mother and then continued. “Well, it’s looking good for Friday, Stella. Wherever you go, you’ll want to make sure you have a good support system in place.” Dr. Houston looked down at the chart in her hands, flipping through a few pages. “Any more pain here?” Dr. Houston touched her chest. “When you move?”

“Yes, but I honestly just kind of have a dull ache all over.”

Dr. Houston nodded. “Let the nurse know your plans for transfer.” Dr. Houston turned and walked toward the door. “Stella, you’ve done great. You just need to be patient and give yourself time to heal. Okay?”

Stella nodded as Dr. Houston left the room.
Oh yeah, time is really going to heal what’s wrong with me.

“Stella Eugenia Murphy, you are being transferred to Atlanta so that I can take care of you. Period.” Her mother was going through her purse looking for something.

Stella let out a huge breath. “Mother, I’m an adult and I will make my own decision.”

“Already made.” Her mother didn’t even look up from her bag.

“I’m not going to Atlanta. I can’t. My job, my life...everything is in DC.”

“I’m not discussing this any further with you, Stella. I can’t believe you actually think I will stand for you to be in DC with no one there to take care of you.”

“Mom, I can walk now. I’ll be doing physical therapy forever; I won’t be out gallivanting or anything. I don’t plan on being in the rehab facility very long. The investigators are in DC and I’ll be close to Cooper. George said he could bring him to the facility.”

“Oh, is that what this is about? Being close to George?” Stella’s mother asked, concern filling her voice. “Your father is going to be heartbroken. You know he’d be here every day, if he could.”

“Um, no. It’s not about being close to George.” Stella also knew her dad was having a very difficult time dealing with her being shot and what he thinks of her “being raped” by the media. He was also killing himself flying back and forth every week to sit with her in the hospital every weekend. She knew moving back to Atlanta with her parents couldn’t happen. Besides that, they’d drive her mad. She stubbornly believed that she was an adult and could deal with her recovery by herself.
Ok, maybe it’s a little bit about George
.