The Demise (11 page)

“Psychiatric care?” Carter questioned. “I'm not—”

“Crazy?” Samantha finished for him. “Well, good, because I can be sometimes.” She chuckled. “One of us should have a level head, no?”

He smirked at her wit. “Look, Ms. Dean.”

“My friends call me Sam,” she replied.

“We're friends?” Carter questioned with an amused look on his face.

“We could be. I'm a good listener,” she said. She walked closer to him, invading his space with her Chanel perfume. She reached up, smiling at him with her eyes as she checked the bandage on his head. “You're in pain,” she whispered.

“It's okay,” he replied.

“I wasn't talking about the gunshot wound,” she said. She removed the dressing and retrieved a new one from the cabinet in his room. She quickly tended to his injury, then continued. “Let me help you.”

“I'm not into all that psycho shit, ma. I'm good. I had a moment.…”

“Psychiatry isn't always about being crazy. Sometimes life just becomes too much. You lost your child. That could eat away at any man, especially a good one. I'm here if you need anything. Even if you don't want to talk about that. Maybe you need someone to talk to about the weather.”

A deeper laugh escaped him this time. “The weather?”

“The weather,” she confirmed. She went into her white jacket and came out with a card. “You can call me anytime. Day or night.”

Carter didn't respond, but he accepted the card and watched as she walked out of the room. When she was gone, he looked at Zyir. “You couldn't bring her to the house, my nigga? Got me in here, ass-out in a hospital gown,” Carter said.

Zyir chuckled. “My fault,” he replied.

“You know how to pick 'em, don't you?” Carter said. “No man can be that close to a woman like that and think about anything other than living.”

“I figured you would appreciate the aesthetic,” Zyir shot back with an amused smirk. “Let's get out of this mu'fucka.”

*   *   *

“It was good to see you, Zy. Real good,” Carter said as they locked hands and pulled each other in to show love. It was an unspoken thank-you, an unneeded appreciation that he extended for Zyir saving his life.

“Always, bruh, always,” Zyir responded. He turned to see Sam's car pulling up to the cabin. He felt uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. He wished he could turn back the hands of time to fix things before they ever got so out of control, but life didn't work that way. “I'm out of here. Keep your head,” he said.

Sam walked up the stairs carrying a box of her things, bypassing Zyir. “See you around, Mr. Rich,” she said.

He didn't respond, and she made her way up the walkway to Carter. “You never said the job required me to live here,” she said with a bright smile. She looked around at the massive, snow-covered chalet. “I could get used to this.”

“Come on in,” he said. “I'll show you to your room.”

*   *   *

Breeze walked into the hospital, her heart beating out of her chest.
Something's not right,
she thought. She was indeed pregnant. She had peed on ten different sticks to confirm it. It was times like this she wished she still had her mother. Why couldn't she just be a regular girl? With a regular life? With a regular man and parents who were alive and well? Breeze was terrified. She was with child and she was bleeding. That didn't quite add up, and she had no one to call for guidance. She had contacted her doctor and he had told her there was most likely no need to worry. A little implantation bleeding, he had said, but Breeze's intuition was telling her otherwise. She hadn't told Zyir yet, so she couldn't call him. Besides, he was off visiting Carter, anyway. He couldn't get to her right now, even if he wanted to. So she did the only thing she could think of and went to the emergency room.

With every step she took, she could feel the bleeding get worse. It was like life was slipping out of her.

“Excuse me. I need to see someone. I'm pregnant and I'm having some bleeding,” Breeze said. Her mouth felt like cotton, and she was hot … so hot. Even in the dead of winter she was burning up. “I'm sorry … I just need to sit … for a min—”

Breeze turned to find a chair, but before she could even take one step, everything went black.

She awoke on an ultrasound table. A nurse stood on one side while a man in a white lab coat and scrubs sat in a chair on the other. “Welcome back,” the man said. “I'm Adam. I'm an ultrasound tech. We're going to have a look at your baby. The nurse is going to jot down some information so we can actually get you checked into our system. Okay?”

Breeze nodded, slightly dazed.

“What's your name?” the technician asked.

“Breeze Rich,” she whispered. “Is my baby okay? I noticed blood.…”

“Well, let me take a look while you give the nurse all your info,” he said. He sounded happy, optimistic, confident.
That's a good thing, right?
she wondered. The calmness of his voice soothed her. He took out a cold, clear gel and applied it to her lower abdomen as Breeze gave the woman the details she needed.

Breeze was so nervous, she held her breath as the ultrasound technician placed a scanner on her stomach. He rolled it all over the gel as the image of the inside of her uterus appeared on the screen. Breeze gripped the sides of the table she lay on. Tension filled her body.

“Okay, we're going to do a vaginal ultrasound—okay, Breeze?” he said suddenly.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I just need to get a better view,” he said.

He put her feet in stirrups and spread her legs as he stuck a long wand into her womb. “Just relax. Try to stay still,” he coached.

Doom filled her body. Although the tech kept telling her everything was fine, she just sensed that something was wrong.

“Do you see anything?” she asked, her voice cracking as a tear escaped her.

The wand slid out. Silence.

“Could you go get the doctor?” the tech said to the nurse. There was no alarm in his voice, yet still, Breeze's stomach was in knots.

A woman came in and washed her hands. She was moving so slowly that Breeze thought,
It can't be anything bad. She would be rushing. She would be moving faster if something was wrong.

“Hello, Breeze. I'm going to take another peek,” she said. Breeze nodded because she was unable to speak. Fear seized her. The doctor put on a pair of gloves, wrapped a plastic covering over the wand, and put it back inside of Breeze. No matter how gentle they were, each time they invaded her, it hurt.

Minutes felt like hours until finally the doctor pulled it out and snapped off her gloves. “Breeze, you're experiencing an ectopic pregnancy. There is no heartbeat. The fetus is stuck in one of your fallopian tubes. We have to remove it or it may rupture.”

Remove “it.” Fetus. No heartbeat.
It wasn't an “it.” This was her baby. This was supposed to be her and Zyir's first child. “Are there any other options? Is there any way to save my baby? This is a baby you're talking about. You talk like it's a thing.… It's a person. It's my little person,” she said, becoming emotional.

“I'm sorry. This is the only option. If we don't operate, it will rupture and you will bleed out,” the doctor said. “Call the OR and let them know I need a room, stat.”

Everything was happening so fast. She was being stripped, put into a hospital gown, her hair was covered, all while she cried. Before she knew it, she was on her back being rushed down the hospital halls.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.…
She counted the passing ceiling lights as they rushed to the operating room. The chill of the room when they entered immediately made the hair stand on her arms. Her teeth chattered. They lifted her onto a metal table. The room smelled.… It smelled so much like nothing that it reeked. A mask went over her face.

“Okay, Breeze. Count down for me from ten,” the doctor instructed her. Breeze wanted to slap the woman's smiling face. What the hell was she smiling about? This was a tragedy. She was about to close her eyes with a baby in her womb but wake up without one.
This isn't right,
she thought, but before she could even protest, the anesthetic put her to sleep.

*   *   *

When Breeze awoke, she felt an emptiness that she had never experienced.

“You're going to be fine. Your surgery went very well. We removed your left fallopian tube,” she heard the doctor say. She felt the woman putting the blood-pressure jacket on her arm.

“What are my chances of getting pregnant again?” she asked.

It was then that the doctor's friendly expression changed. Breeze saw the look of hesitation … the look of uncertainty … the look of fear. “What are my chances?” Breeze demanded. She didn't know why she was angry at the doctor. This wasn't her fault.

“About fifteen percent,” the doctor replied. “But there are options. We are coming out with new technology every day.…”

“Leave,” Breeze said as she turned her head to stare out of the window.

“Mrs. Rich—”

“Get out!” she shouted.

The doctor and the nurse retreated from the room, leaving her to have one good, long cry.

She knew she had to get it all out of her system. Zyir would be home in a couple days. He couldn't know about this. She wasn't going to tell him that he had chosen a defective wife. She was so glad she hadn't told him about the pregnancy yet. He didn't deserve this type of disappointment. The pain she felt was suffocating. No. She would shoulder this burden alone and by the time he returned, she would put on that same smile that the doctor had given to her. She was going to lock this secret deep down inside and pray for a miracle.

 

C
HAPTER
7

His hands on her body caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. He knew her body. He was its conductor, and the sounds of her moans, the musical score. “I love the shit out of you, ma,” Carter whispered in her ear.

“Oh my God,” she screamed, animalistic as she threw it back at him, matching his gusto, taking his passion just the way he liked it. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “What are you doing to me?” She couldn't silence herself. He was making her feel too good. He slow-stroked her from behind, the girth and length of him hitting the back of her, teasing her. Her back arched, deeply. Sweat pooled in the small of her toned back. Every time he rocked inside of her, he gave a mixture of pleasure and pain. It was so good that tears came to her eyes.

She knew his rhythm and felt him pulsing inside of her. He was at his peak. After bringing her love down three times, he was ready for his pleasure. Suddenly he withdrew, disconnecting their bodies. The few seconds that it took for him to travel south of her navel were sweet torture, but when he placed his mouth on her, she gasped in utter ecstasy. He ate on her as if she were a sweet summer peach on a hot Atlanta day, not letting a drop of her nectar escape his wanting tongue. With his thumb on her pleasure knob and two fingers exploring the middle, she felt her climax building and building and building …

“Yeah, mama, give me that.”

She frowned. She heard the voice, but it didn't match his face.

Miamor opened her eyes, shattering the orgasmic dream as she looked down at Murder between her legs. “Get. Off. Of. Me,” she shouted as she scrambled out of his grasp. She looked around, wondering how he had undressed her from the waist down without her even awaking. She clutched the bedsheet to her chest, covering her body.

He chuckled. “I don't know what you're covering up for. I done seen all of that, plenty of times before,” he said as he licked his fingers that had just been coated in her juices.

A flash of anger blazed in her eyes, and she was across the room in seconds. “You ever touch me again without my permission and I will kill you,” she said.

“You loved it,” he said, licking his tongue out at her mannishly.

SLAP!

Her hand crossed his face so swiftly that he didn't see it coming. This was what he loved about her. Their chemistry was volatile and raw. He brought out the worst in her and he had a thing for bad girls.

He grabbed her neck and pushed her against the wall, causing her head to hit it so hard that pieces of plaster crumbled off.

“I love this shit, lil' mama,” Murder whispered. “But don't forget who taught you all that rah-rah shit you popping.”

If I didn't need him to keep me safe from Baraka, I would put a bullet in his head while he sleeps,
she thought bitterly.

Miamor hawked up as much spit as she could muster and let it fly onto his face.

Murder slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground, stars appearing before her eyes. “You better get with the program real quick, Miamor,” Murder said as he looked at her with malice while wiping the glob of spit from his face. “You don't want to become more trouble to me than you're worth.”

“You threatening me?” she asked. “Save that shit for someone who believes you, nigga. I gave you a whiff of this pussy damn near ten years ago and you been chasing after me like a pathetic little lost dog ever since.” She got to her feet and stood toe-to-toe with him arrogantly. “You can't kill me, Murder, because it would be like killing yourself. Let's be clear. If I could go home to my nigga, I would. You got me by default. Fate is not on your side. We aren't meant to be.… I'm here because I have nowhere else to be. Baraka will kill me if and when he finds me. This isn't about you. There is no us.”

“All that and I'm still the only nigga willing to protect you … fucked-up ways and all. I ride for you, Miamor. I don't see that bitch-ass nigga you praising nowhere in sight. He left you for dead. I'm all you got,” Murder reminded her. She wouldn't have been so pissed if he hadn't been right.