Roman's Redemption: Roman: Book II (Roman's Trilogy) (10 page)

I had it all. Everything I planned for, everything I diligently worked for years for. All of it gone because of a simple thoughtless action to a reaction. Mac’s wrists were bleeding. By underestimating her will and drive to flee me, and overestimating my power and control over her, I released her bleeding wrists from the rusty shackles without any further thought than just the action. For that, I lost everything there ever was worth living for, and I do not wish to continue.

As soon as I can rid myself of these clucking mother hens, I’ll take care of my pitiful, worthless life, but I’m learning that is easier said than done—Getting rid of the hens, the life ending thing is simple, easy. A .38 to the chin or temple, it’s pretty fail-safe.

“Son?” Mother’s voice and the clicking of her heels echoing down the hall pull me from my thoughts and back to my seat in front of Mac’s shrine, my eyes trace the frames detail as Mother’s voice causes my muscles to go rigid with tension, “Son? Didn’t you hear me callin’ ya, child?”

My face sinks into my hands and I sigh, “Yes, Mother. What is it?”

Her fingers comb my hair as she babbles on, “Well. Roman has asked that I return soon to help with Ivy. Lizbeth and I were talkin’. Don’t you think it’d be nice if you two went to the beach house down south? Enjoy some sand, sun, some sibling fun. Then we’ll regroup in the fall, maybe settle back down in the old plantation house in Louisiana and move on from there. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“No.” I mutter the words without moving. From my peripheral I see Lizbeth walk into the kitchen before turning to quickly retreat.

“No? Well, why not? What else do you have to do other than sulk around and watch as your life passes you by?”

In a tone a tad darker than Mother would approve, I explain, “I do
NOT
want any sun. I’ve loathed sand my entire life. I’m fairly certain my sibling, or sister, is more fucking damaged than I, thanks to you, and therefore I am in no way inclined to aid you in encouraging her disillusions, nor her borderline incestuous fantasies.”

Mother gasps, and I watch as her face mirrors shock before abruptly standing and storming from the room.

I can’t continue to live this way for much longer.

Living without a purpose. How does anyone live without a purpose?

Chapter 13

The mind is a beautiful thing with more self-protective triggers than any other organ in the human body. Its defense systems are astonishing. The complexity and lengths the mind is able to create or adapt into conscious rational thought of what is and what simply is not, are incredible.

There is no other living organism with the ability to lie to itself, and then manipulate the lie into truth for merely providing a sound and just mind.

When Mace receded into the corners of my consciousness on the fifth day of solitude within the prison walls, I was not surprised. Neither of us spoke a word during the mental transfer. It was not needed.

While she may have boasted and poked fun at my lack of ability to endure the physical pain and agony, in the end it was her, not me, that felt blow after blow and prod after prod. In my humble, weak opinion she earned her rights to brag.

And now, I’ll earn my right to show face and coexist among such a brave, strong woman by pulling our weight while she calls a timeout. I just wish we were still at the hospital, at least there we had a soft bed and pain meds.

“Heather Payne?” My eyes flicker to the overhead florescent light, then land on the bare beige door before it opens. “Bail’s been posted, your family is here. Seems the world thought you were dead. Welcome back to life.” Without making eye contact with the burly bastard, I nod my head and keep my face hidden behind the veil of tangled, dirty blond hair as I step past him from the cell.

After I’ve changed into clothes and a pair of boots from my old life with Roman that must have been brought to me, I walk into a small room where I’m certain I sign my life away, before being escorted through another door only to be assaulted by the loving arms of all three of my brothers.

Once the cacophony of ‘Sis, ‘Mac, and ‘Heather’ have calmed, I feel the tension within me begin to uncoil, only to immediately tense again when Roman is standing before me cupping my face as his watery sapphire blue eyes bore into mine, “There she is, there’s the mouse who consumes me, mind, body, and soul, day and night.”

I can’t speak. Hell, I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t swallow, so instead I go board stiff and immoveable out of default alone.

When Cody, my oldest brother steps forward to guide me into the protection of his personal space, Roman’s hand tightens around my elbow and his eyes narrow on mine, jarring me from my flat affect, but not enough to put together legitimate speech. “Nahhh… Ummm…” I shake my head, trying to clear my scattered thoughts, “No. I mean don’t. Shit, I mean I’m fine, Cody.” I look up at my brother, pleading with him, “I’m sorry. Roman’s fine. He’s fine, we’re fine. I’m fine.” Mace slaps her forehead with the heel of her hand as I try to gather my damn thoughts and wits. I glance between Roman and Cody before nodding at my brother and looping my hand around Roman’s elbow and smiling, “Let’s just go. I just want to go home. Please? We’ll do this some other day, okay?”

After he inclines his head, Cody leads my other two brothers through the double glass doors before Roman and I walk through, followed by the burly officer who retrieved me from my jail cell. Andrew marches out after us, straight into a fucking swarm of people with cameras flashing and video recorders recording.

There are so many voices asking so many questions that when Roman speaks, I hardly make out his words,
“My only concern is my wife’s physical and mental well-being, nothing else matters to me or our daughter, thank you for respecting our privacy.”
But what I do make out is Mace shoving her way to the forefront a split second to look over our shoulder and smirk at the nearest damn camera before the doors of the SUV slam shut.

The voices are as low as pages being turned, but as incessant as nails raking across a chalkboard when I awake in a hospital bed, “…great deal of trauma. I assessed the repairs the state’s physicians did and they look to be healing beautifully, I would just like to keep her overnight to make sure she’s administered twenty-four hours of IV antibiotic therapy correctly and monitor her pain management. She’ll be ready for discharge tomorrow, and I’ll only need to see her again to follow up in two weeks.”

“I understand, Dr. Sanford, but you’re not listening to me or understanding me. I am completely capable of caring for my wife in our home, and considering the circumstances, I believe her plan of care would be most effective if carried out in familiar surroundings.”

“Is he like this with all your health care providers or just the ones who look at your snootch?”

“My what?”

“Snootch. Vagina, cootch.”

“Oh yeah, of course. What the hell is wrong with me? Of course my split personality calls our vagina a snootch, what the fuck, am I smoking crack or something?”

“I’m just saying for fuck’s sake, this shit is tiring. Do you realize this is our second time to this rodeo? Where Prince Rome interrogates health care providers in charge of your hospital admission, stay, and discharge? I was under the impression we only converse or acknowledge one another during rape, and/ or assault and/ or battery and/ or torture. That’s all I’m pointing out.”

“Fine. Noted and documented. Now hush until I’m raped or beaten again, yeah?”

This may not work. But before I’m able to dissect and examine the how’s and the why’s it won’t work, my three brothers shove their way into the small hospital room, their booming voices bouncing off the walls.

When my last reserve is stretched to the limit and I feel like I’m about to scream, Roman’s calm deep voice penetrates the clusterfuck of male voices before silencing them, “Gentlemen, Heather is tired, she’s weak, and she needs rest. Dr. Sanford, if you will not discharge my wife into my care, then point me in the direction of the personnel responsible for the paperwork I need in order to sign her out against medical advice. It’s time Heather returns home to rest.”

After he finishes addressing the room his gaze settles on me and he smiles. I’m not sure what he expects of me and again, by default I stare blankly at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Mouse, do you need me to get one of the nurses to assist you into some suitable clothing?” I continue gawking at him, but somehow manage a slight shake of my head. “No? Alright then.” He turns before motioning our guests towards the door, “Everyone, step outside and allow my wife a moment of privacy.”

Roman smiles before closing the door, leaving me alone with clothes from the life I once lived with him, folded and lying on the foot of my bed.

After a quick rinse off and brushing my teeth, I dress and finger my hair into a loose French braid before gathering my things and packing them into my Louis Vuitton bag. As I’m pulling the strap onto my shoulder there’s a knock before Roman walks in, “Here, let me carry your bag for you, mouse. You all ready?” I nervously tuck the stray strands of hair behind my ears and nod as I make my way towards him and shrug my bag from my shoulder to hand to him.

He pushes the door open wide enough for both of us to walk through and settles his hand on the small of my back to lead me towards the hospital exit through the throng of media, friends, and family.

Somewhere between the automatic sliding doors of the hospital and the three SUV’s, Roman and I are separated. Within a few hours on the drive home, I feel myself folding in and tucking my sanity and shrapnel splintered heart around itself before retreating and silently conceding to defeat as Mace slips her big girl garter belt into place.  Mace zips up her ass kicking Ariat boots, winks, blows my weak ass a kiss, and takes the wheel.

I lean back and for once, enjoy the ride.

Chapter 14

I know I don’t know the woman before me. I know I buried more than just the wrong woman almost two years ago. It may not have been my wife, but my wife died that day all the same. Her essence, like dew at dawn kissing the petals of honeysuckle, a resin barely seen only when the stars, the clouds, and the climate line up in perfect sync.

And I don’t have the slightest notion as to how to go about fixing the woman I love.

In the end, I blame my uncertainty for cauterizing myself from Heather, our daughter, and the emotions- the feelings both evoke on a visceral level. I slide quite easily into the role of optimistic, patient, loving father and husband. All the while feeling my hackles begin to rise at the audacity of Heather’s weak pitifulness that I’m being shoveled spoonful after spoonful by every single motherfucking spectator of me, and my family’s life. I can’t be held responsible for my actions when they incessantly babble on with their advice and opinions.

Sadly, I see my mouse fading beneath the scrutiny and scandal of the public, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can fucking do about it.

“Roman, did you hear me? Dr. Sanford is finished, he said Heather’s follow up went well, do you want to speak with him?”