Deadly Satisfaction (25 page)

“I should be asking your stupid ass the same thing,” she said matter-of-factly, with her hand on her hip. She could see that she'd gotten his attention. “You're back here about to catch pneumonia when you should be in the living room where it's warm, right in front of the fire.” He was quiet, and she could tell that as stubborn as he was trying to be, he knew she was right. “I'm not taking no for an answer,” she said. “You can either walk out to the living room on your own, or I can drag you down the hall. I might be dainty, but I'm strong.”

Slowly, Phillip rose from the bed and shuffled down the hallway. Donetta opened her makeshift sleeping bag. “Get in.” She could tell that Phillip felt horrible because he didn't put up any resistance. He buried himself under the heavy comforter and pulled it up to his neck.

Donetta walked into the kitchen and rifled through her cabinets. She came back carrying several bottles, along with a glass of orange juice and a thermometer. She sat down beside Phillip and crossed her legs to make herself comfortable. “Open your mouth.” She slid the digital thermometer under his tongue, which took no time to beep, letting her know that he had a temperature and it was high. She removed it from his mouth. “Your temp is a hundred and three,” she said with concern in her voice. She knew this was the result of his two-mile walk to reach her. Donetta's heart ached when she thought about the desire that had fueled Phillip's determination to see her, and the fact that it was now gone, only to be replaced by anger and disdain for her. But she pushed her feelings aside because right now he was sick, and he needed her.

“Here, take a sip of this,” Donetta said as she handed him the glass of orange juice. Next, she gave him a capful on NyQuil Severe Cold medicine, followed by a cherry-flavored Hall's cough drop. She returned to the kitchen when she heard her teakettle whistling on the stove. A few minutes later she held a cup to his mouth that was filled with chamomile tea and mixed with natural brown sugar, organic honey, a freshly squeezed lemon, and a strong dose of alcohol.

“The cough drop and the honey will help soothe your cough,” she said. “The NyQuil will help relieve your cold symptoms, the chamomile will relax your body so you can go to sleep, and the booze will do the rest.”

After Phillip finished drinking the tea, Donetta handed him another cough drop, which he took willingly. She walked down the hall to her large linen closet and pulled out an old patchwork quilt and several sheets. She returned to the living room, placed them on the floor, and then walked over to her stash of firewood. She put a few more logs on top of the ones that were already burning, which would ensure that the room would be warm throughout the night. She made another makeshift sleeping bag on the floor, a few feet away from where Phillip was lying, but close enough to the fire to stay warm while keeping an eye on him in case he awoke and needed anything.

Donetta looked over at Phillip, who had stopped coughing and appeared to be fast asleep. Even in sickness, and despite the harsh way he'd treated her and the things he'd said, she still thought he was beautiful, and she still loved him.

As she continued to stare at him, bundled up beneath her comforter, she couldn't help but feel happy and sad at the same time. She was sad to have lost Phillip before she'd had the chance to ever really have him, and she was happy because she'd found love, even if it had been only for a brief moment. Donetta knew it was something a lot of people would never experience, but she had, and for that blessing she was grateful.

“Good night, Phillip. I love you,” she whispered. After a few minutes she drifted off to sleep.

P
HILLIP

T
he sun was on the verge of making its appearance, as everything remained quiet and still in the predawn morning. The snow had stopped falling and had left a beautiful scene fit for a postcard. Phillip had been awake for the last hour, thinking, contemplating, and trying to make sense of the situation he was in. His head was pounding, and he didn't know if it was from the fever that had gripped his body, or if it was because of everything that had taken place last night.

He looked over at Donetta, who was lying a few feet away from him, bundled beneath an intricate patchwork quilt. She was sleeping on her side, facing him, and she looked as if she was awake with her eyes closed. As much as he struggled with the thoughts that were running through his head, he had to admit that Donetta was breathtakingly beautiful—and that truth disturbed him and left him feeling confused.

Phillip didn't want to be attracted to her. He wanted to despise her for what she'd done to him. And more than anything, he wanted to think of “her” as “him,” so it would make his feelings easier to define. But the truth was that when he looked at Donetta, all he saw was a beautiful, vulnerable woman. He let out a low, deep breath as he replayed last night's conversation in his mind.

After he'd stomped away and shut himself off in Donetta's guest room, he'd lain for hours in the quiet darkness, alone with his thoughts. He'd felt deceived because, although Donetta hadn't told a lie in the traditional sense, he'd felt her omission of who she was was tantamount to straight-up deception. After thoroughly processing what she'd said about her reasons for not telling him face-to-face, he understood the very real physical threat of violence and possible death that she'd cited. But he also felt she should have told him about being trans before they'd slept together, which had now brought about a set of issues he'd never even thought about before.

Phillip was wrestling with the internal struggle about how he—a heterosexual, alpha male—could still be attracted to Donetta after finding out she'd been born male. He felt that his mind and heart had conspired to play a cruel game, because even though he knew Donetta's background, all he could see when he looked at her was a beautiful woman. She smelled sweet like a woman. Her body was soft and curvaceous in all the right places like a woman. She had a sexy walk and feminine flair like a woman. When they'd made love, she'd felt like a woman. And that last part was one of the hardest realities for him to come to grips with.

Phillip wanted to laugh at the irony that out of all the women he'd been with in his life, the one whom he found the most interesting, sexy, desirable, and best in bed, had been born just like him. The thought was something he didn't know how to assign feelings to.

Phillip looked at the fire that was now burning low. He remembered that Donetta had stacked it full of wood so it would burn through the rest of the night and keep them warm. He slowly climbed from underneath his heavy blanket, careful not to make any noise, and went over to the firewood stacked inside a large basket. He put four logs into the fireplace, making sure they were positioned to yield a roaring flame, and then climbed back under his warm blanket without so much as a sound.

As he covered himself up to his neck, he looked at Donetta, wrapped in her quilt, and it occurred to him that she'd given him the heavier of the two blankets. She could have easily given him the thinner of the two, or, left him in the guest room altogether, but she hadn't. He thought about how she'd barged into the room where he'd been lying wide awake, called him stupid, and told him that if he didn't come into the living room on his own, she'd drag him there.

That was one of the things beyond Donetta's physical appearance that had attracted him to her. She was feisty and unafraid, and that made her a natural survivor. He also thought about how she'd taken care of him by giving him medicine and had even held a hot cup of tea to his mouth as he'd sipped. He'd been too weak to put up a fight, but again, as much as he didn't want to admit his real feelings, the honest truth was that he'd enjoyed the way she'd taken care of him. Then finally, he remembered how she'd thought he was asleep and she'd told him she loved him. He was glad she didn't know he'd been wide awake, because he hadn't known what to say or do.

Phillip took a deep breath and sneezed. His throat felt raw, his head hurt, and his body was sore. Just as he was about to turn on his other side, Donetta's eyes flew open.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?” she asked, full of concern.

She didn't have an ounce of grogginess in her voice, and he was amazed that she'd woken up without a struggle. She was clearly the morning person that he wasn't, because if not for his alarm clock, he'd oversleep every day. She sat up as straight as an arrow and fluffed her hair. He could see that she'd changed at some point last night from the brightly colored lingerie she'd been wearing, into a pink thermal pajama set. She gathered her covers around her. “How do you feel this morning?” she asked again.

He looked away from her and closed his eyes.

“Listen, Phillip, I know you don't want to hold a conversation with me, and that's fine. But I'm trying to help you, so you need to tell me how you're feeling so I'll know what to give you. Now, I'm going to ask you again, how do you feel?”

“Not so good.” He rubbed his sleeve against the mucus that had started to run from his nose after he'd sneezed.

Donetta peeled out from under her thin quilt and stood to her feet. She turned around and walked to the kitchen, and Phillip couldn't help but notice the perfect curve of her hips, the roundness of her behind, and the sexy way her small waist brought attention to her slender frame. Everything about her stimulated his senses, even in his sickly state.

Donetta returned with a fresh cup of orange juice and a box of Kleenex. “I put some water in the kettle for your tea,” she said as she handed him the box of tissues. She picked up the thermometer. “You know the drill.”

Phillip blew his nose and then opened his mouth. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he held the thermometer under his tongue. She was looking out the window, and he could see that a smile had begun to form on her face. He turned toward the window to see what was holding her attention, and he saw that the sun was beginning to rise. They sat in silence, watching one of nature's most beautiful gifts. He was a person who was always on the go, living in the city, always navigating at a fast pace. This was the first time he'd ever watched the sun rise, and it was nothing less than amazing. The thermometer beeped, but neither of them moved. They remained still, appreciating the moment.

“This is how you know there's a God,” Donetta said softly. “Only He can create something so beautiful.”

Phillip heard sadness in her voice, and he knew it was because of the turn that their relationship had taken. He knew she wanted him to talk to her, but he couldn't bring himself to engage her because he didn't know what to say, and he felt drained from fever and body aches. Donetta looked at him and removed the thermometer from his mouth.

“You're down one degree, to a hundred and two,” Donetta said. “That's still high, but not as bad as last night.” She handed him the glass of orange juice and he took it willingly, followed by a capful of NyQuil. And just as she'd done last night, she rose when she heard the kettle whistle, and she returned with a hot cup of tea. This time he sipped it on his own as she sat and watched him. The last thing he remembered was a slight smile on her face before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

 

Phillip awoke from the worst nightmare he'd ever had, and his chest heaved up and down as he thought about the chilling details. He and Donetta had been sitting in front of the fireplace sharing a passionate kiss, wrapped in a warm embrace. He'd held her so tightly that he could feel the pull in his biceps. Then he released her slowly, looked into her eyes, and smiled. “I love you, Donetta,” he had said. She'd repeated the same back to him, and then, without warning, he quickly wrapped his large hands around her throat. He pressed his fingers at the base of her larynx with so much force she could barely gasp. He watched the light leave her eyes and the life drain from her body until she became limp with death. He released her neck, she fell to the floor, and he awoke in a terrified sweat.

Phillip could only attribute his dream to his high fever, and the intense conversation he'd had with Donetta last night when she revealed that she'd been physically assaulted. Phillip knew there was no way he could ever harm Donetta, because even though he'd been angry with her last night, he'd been even angrier at the thought that she'd been hurt at the hands of men. His nightmare had been awful, but it was a dream. He knew that Donetta's nightmare had happened when she'd been awake, and it was reality. The thought made him sick inside, and he wished he could dream a happy ending to everything that had happened since last night.

Phillip's mouth felt so dry that his throat hurt. He blinked his eyes slowly and looked around the room to find Donetta sitting on her couch, wrapped in her quilt, reading a book. She immediately put her book down when she heard him stir.

“You're awake,” she said. “You've been asleep for the past six hours.”

He couldn't believe he'd been asleep that long because it felt as though he'd just closed his eyes a few minutes ago. He reached for a tissue, blew his nose, and then sneezed. Like clockwork, Donetta descended upon him again with juice, a thermometer, and this time a bowl of chicken noodle soup. “Good news,” she said. “Your fever is down to one hundred.” She wiped the thermometer with alcohol and handed him the bowl of soup. He didn't have an appetite, but she told him that if he didn't eat it she was going to shove it down his throat. He shook his head at her pure grit, which was something he actually admired.

“It's Thanksgiving Day, and I know your mom would love to hear from you.” She handed him her phone and then walked to her bedroom.

Phillip dialed his mother's cell phone, and she picked up on the first ring.

“Phillip, is this you?”

He sat up and cleared his throat. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.” His voice surprised even him, so he knew his mother was going to be alarmed.

“You sound awful,” his mother said. “Do you have a cold?”

“Yeah,” he said through extreme congestion. “I guess I caught it out there in the snow.”

“Awww, baby, I'm sorry. Are you running a fever?”

“Yeah, it's one hundred.”

“Oh no.”

“That's actually pretty good, because last night it was a hundred and three.” He looked over at the fire and could see that Donetta had placed more logs inside. She'd also left a pack of Ritz Crackers and a bag of cough drops next to him. Even while he'd been sleeping, she'd been taking care of him.

“I guess that's good news,” his mother said. “What kind of medicine are you taking?”

“NyQuil and lots of juice, tea, and cough drops.”

“Make sure you put some honey and lemon in your tea. That will help.”

“She did.”

He could hear the pause in his mother's voice. “So . . . she's taking care of you?”

“Yes, she is.” He wanted to change the subject before his mother asked too many questions. “How are you and Lauren?”

“We're great,” she said. “I couldn't make the Thanksgiving feast that I'd wanted to because of the power outage, but Lauren and I made turkey sandwiches from the deli meat I had in the fridge, along with the chips you bought the other night, and it tasted like a gourmet meal.”

Phillip was glad to hear that his mother sounded like her old self. “That sounds good.”

“Have you felt up to eating anything?”

He blew his nose. “Yes, I ate a bowl of chicken noodle soup.”

“When you were a little boy, every time you got sick I'd fix you chicken noodle soup and you'd feel so much better.”

He blew his nose again. “Even though I sound bad, I actually feel better, so I guess the chicken noodle soup is still doing the job after all these years.”

“Yes, it sure is, son. Is the electricity still on where you are?”

Phillip looked around the house. The bright sun that had beamed in the sky this morning was now gone, and it was overcast and dark again. Donetta had lit two pillar candles that were sitting on the coffee table, and combined with the fire, they gave the room a warm glow. “No, we lost power late last night. But she has a wood-burning fireplace like yours, so we've been warm. And, Mom, this woman has more candles than anyone I've ever seen.”

“More than me?”

“Believe it or not, she does. And they're in different scents, too.”

“I absolutely love scented candles.”

“Well, you'd have a field day over here.”
What the hell am I doing?!
Phillip had to catch himself. He was talking about Donetta with the same excitement in his voice that he'd had before last night, and he had to remind himself that there was a world of difference between then and now.

“I can't wait to meet her,” his mother said enthusiastically.

Phillip quickly changed the subject again. “When do you think the snowplows will start coming through the neighborhoods?”

“It'll be a while.”

“How long is ‘a while'?” Phillip knew he couldn't stay at Donetta's much longer. He needed to get out of her house so he could think and regroup.

“At least another day, maybe even two. City services are shut down for the holidays, and the few snowplows we have are only in operation for emergency situations. I had a city council conference call meeting this morning, and my colleagues and I agreed that the situation is so bad we're going to have to overspend our budget getting additional plows into the city, simply because of the sheer volume of snow we received.”