Love's Forbidden Flower (33 page)

Christopher has been staring at me through eyes that scream he is pleading with God for assistance in my plight. Grabbing a pen he hurriedly writes something on a piece of paper before seizing his laptop and running with it. “Keep talking, darling. Keep telling what happened.”

I'm still unable to calm myself. “I called the police. They took a statement and are searching. I've prayed and prayed. All I can do is wait for him to come home or to get a call that I need to ID the body.”

“Hold a moment, luv. Don’t leave me.” He talks to someone urgently in the background before he faces me and resumes walking—still concerned but with more control reflected in his eyes. Sitting the laptop on his desk, his revised tone guides me into a calmer state. “All will be right, luv—one way or another. Promise.” Kissing his fingers he extends his hand toward my image. My hand goes to my cheek where his would be if he were really here. I close my eyes and wish my life wasn't so complex.

Suddenly Christopher burst with excitement. “Do you have any board games?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, don’t tell me that now you can't understand me. Do—you—have—an-ny—board—games, Jennifer? Come on. Monopoly maybe?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes roll back and forth as if comically thinking too hard. “How about a pair of dice or a deck of cards?”

“I think there are some dice in the desk. I've no idea why they're there.”

“Grab them. I'll keep you busy.”

When I return Christopher is talking to a woman who hands him a piece of paper. Setting it down he looks to his watch.

“All right, luv. Draw a Monopoly board. Ten squares by ten squares. Which piece do you wish to play?”

“The top hat.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “All right, I will be the happy puppy dog and follow you around.” Christopher looks up again and someone hands him a Monopoly game, which he immediately begins to set up.

“What's going on over there?”

“We're playing Monopoly. You're going to roll and tell what you get. I'll move your piece while you instruct what to do on your behalf. You can track everything on that piece of paper you have. Find something to use for tokens.”

“Who's that lady I keep seeing?”

“Me dad’s secretary. She comes here every now and again to help Mum. I have her working on something for me.” He stops to think aloud, “I've never done that before. I feel rather powerful. All right, roll.”

I view the clock on my computer and check my cell phone for the zillionth time. “Christopher, I'm really scared. I wish you were here with me.”

The false cheer he has tried so hard to maintain for my benefit falls. “I know, luv. But I'm going to take care of you. Try not to worry too hard. Now keep wishing, and roll those dice.”

It's a nurse from The Harley Rehabilitation Center in Irondequoit, New York. Donovan checked himself in, requesting I be informed he's safe. My subtle work trying to convince Donovan to get true professional help somehow got through to him. This is probably the best-case scenario.

But the news is not all rosy. Apparently my mother is involved and will be there this afternoon to make financial arrangements. My designated arrival time is 10 A.M., and I've merely a few minutes to stay. After that it may be months until Donovan and I lay eyes on each other.

Months... The notion makes my gut wrench. Closing my eyes I steady myself on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table while trying to keep myself from being ill as Christopher is relayed the news. “He’s at the rehab center you helped me find. I need to be there in a few hours and pack a bunch of Donovan's stuff before that. I'm not going to be able to get any sleep. I'm so very confused and alone.”

“Darling, you're not alone. Not for long. I've a plane leaving here in an hour and a half. It's the fastest we could get a pilot. My bags were packed while we played Monopoly, and there will be a car waiting on your end. I should be on your doorstep in about ten hours. If you don’t want me you can send me home. But please, at least let me try to help.”

“Miss Beckett?” A short, well-groomed, upper-middle-aged gentleman with glasses and a dark mustache stands before me. His voice is delicate yet reassuringly strong. “I’m Dr. David Coe. It's nice to finally meet you in person. The nurse called me when your brother arrived last night refusing to talk to anyone other than the doctor his sister had been speaking to. I appreciate your faith, and Donovan obviously believes you don’t give it haphazardly. Please come with me.”

The doctor leads me into a cheery room with a small version of a dining room table in its center. An entire wall is a window overlooking a lovely flower garden that is enclosed by a skyscraper of a link fence boasting a barbed wire crown. The site of the piercing obstacle shocks reality into my system. Is Donovan again being dominated?

“Miss Beckett, I am sure this is very awkward for you. Donovan informed me that merely a few hours ago the two of you were extremely happy and that things changed rapidly. Is this true?”

A bob of my head is the only response given. Donovan and I vowed to never talk of our relationship with anyone. This necessary exchange feels a betrayal. In conversing with the doctor previously, the private details were omitted.

“Donovan shared your relationship, the years of perverse treatment that damaged him, and how you've tried to help. Please know that if you hadn't acted he would not have survived last night’s ordeal. Instead he arrived in a state of anxiety, yet was able to communicate clearly and rationally. Apparently he was not like that when you saw him a few hours before. Is this true?”

“I thought he took off to kill himself.”

“He did. Miss Beckett, this is a very serious situation. Donovan has been through a lot to be with you. It is very impressive, yet very sad. He is well aware of the social stigma attached to the love you share and is unable to reconcile moving forward in the type of relationship that you both desire while providing for your needs. He can turn around. But frankly, his goals are difficult and will only work with your full support.”

As the doctor's implications are absorbed, a balloon that won’t cease inflating enters my throat. “What is he requesting?”

“To use his words, he feels you are his soul mate. He wants to maintain the bond you share but has accepted the need to let go of your romantic love to ensure your happiness. He desires to go back to that time when you were friends who shared affection but nothing more. I advised against any physical interaction, but he was adamant before signing himself in that we try. Do you agree to try to meet his desires?”

I can’t believe that after all we’ve endured he's leaving me.
“Yes. That’s exactly as before.”

“Normally a visit this early in care would be supervised, but Donovan has requested he speak to you freely. In light of the situation I will allow it. You should expect that it might be several months before you see him again. Are you ready to see him now?”

Not at all. “Yes.”

The bile building in the back of my throat is gulped down before it escapes me. Regaining my focus on Donovan’s health I force a bitter-sweet sigh of relief in knowing the right doctor sits before me—the one who will keep Donovan's heart beating and bring his mind back. Nothing else matters.

“Miss Beckett, please keep in mind that you are almost as much of a victim as Donovan. You too have suffered from his abusers. The big difference now between you and him is that Donovan is getting help. I encourage you to do something for yourself.”

The events of the last twelve hours are taking their physical toll. Why is there no water or a window that can open?

My internal commotion is distracted by the sound of a doorknob’s turn. Donovan enters looking like he's just pressed the red button for an atomic bomb and destroyed all of earth’s beauty. But he tries to make light of the situation. “You look like crap. Were you up all night worried about some loser?” he asks, flashing a poor excuse for a grin that leaves me without retaliation with even the lamest of rebuttals.

How am I expected to act? Ungainly moments like these were supposedly abolished forever. If this is the end I'll be dammed if my last memory of us physically together will be a terrifying kiss in a parking lot before his near demise.

Fleeing into his arms, he wraps them around me as I fall apart just feeling his heartbeat. “I could kill you right now. Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“I’m so sorry. Do you have any idea how much I scared myself?” Ironically his embrace feels more secure than ever. “Sit with me. We only have a few minutes, and a lot needs to be said.”

Enrobing my hands in his, he speaks with unwavering eyes that send a signal to my core that they will always watch over me.

“I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for your forgiveness I would've been lost long ago. If you hadn't researched this place, and had so much faith in it, I would've driven my car over a cliff last night. If you hadn't arranged for Mom to come by on Christmas Eve, and don’t pretend you didn’t, I never could have called her to pay for this. You saved me, Lily.

“I don’t have a lot of time right now, so you need to talk to Mom. She's going to take on the burden of arranging my affairs so you can get on with your life,
and don’t argue with me about it
. Hold on to my savings because I plan to go back to school the second I'm able. But if an emergency arises, don't be afraid to use it, and you would never need to pay me back. Think of that money sitting there as me looking out for you.

“I love you, Lily. I fought so hard to be with you, and it was worth every smile, every tease, every bit of harassment, and every morsel of every moment. Those people out there who say we're sick and shouldn't be together, they're the sick ones. If us standing by each other all these years isn't the definition of love, then one does not exist.”

He's right, but that doesn’t keep the situation from being wrong. “It's not fair. We deserve more time together. I don't want this to be the end.”

“It's
not
the end,” he assures me. “Nor am I trying to forget. I’ll never fail to remember a moment we’ve had or a word you’ve said. But I need to do this for us—for the people we're going to become, the children we'll have, and the future that lies ahead. We either do this or give up things we never should only to live in shadows. I can’t wake every morning knowing I’ll never be able to fill your voids no matter how happy you tell me you are. Besides, I can’t hide anymore, and I can’t come out into the sun either. I need to fix me, but no matter what I'm always going to be in love with you. Nothing will change that.”

“My turn?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“I love you in so many ways, and I will never release any of them. But I'll honor anything you want as long as it's you talking and not some freak that thinks he knows what’s best. I have no intention of ever losing you, just a part of how we express what we share only because that is what you ask. I'm always going to be in love with you. Nothing has ever extinguished that fire and this won’t either.”

“That's exactly what I want. I promise there will come a day when you and I will be together as we should. I don’t know how or when, but we
will
have our time.” Before departing he permits us one last indulgence, kissing me like a man in love should. “Goodbye Lily. I so wanted to call you my wife.”

Jolting up I find myself on the bed, fully dressed, with the comforter pulled over me. The waves of my memory crash back.

Donovan. I left him in a rehab center and returned home to be sure all traces of our beautiful relationship that landed him there were erased. Sleep must have conquered me while sitting on the front steps searching for a way to comfortably greet Christopher.

Christopher. That's the noise outside. My last memory is Christopher helping me inside, lying next to me, and wrapping his arm around me.

Christopher's reappearance into my life is ill timed. There were so many occasions that him hopping on a plane would've put me over the moon. But how can Christopher be faced when I'm waking in a bed shared two nights ago with another? I'm not ready for him now and probably won't be until he's long gone.

Slipping into the bathroom for a long shower, each drop that falls on my face brings forth renewal—like a great cosmic force cleansing my sinuses after a bout with the flu. I remind myself that little is of true importance now: Donovan is safe. Christopher came to help. Decisions I am not ready for can wait. I will survive Donovan’s shattering of my heart again, much like how a doctor will re-break a bone in order for it to set properly.