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I tried to remember what I read about seizures three years ago, when Gracelynn first told me about her epilepsy. My brain stuttered for a moment before I jumped into action.
Something soft… I needed something soft to put under her head.
My eyes darted around the room before I lunged for the blankets, dragging them off the bed and rolling them into a makeshift pillow. I cupped the back of her head, stopping it from slamming into the ground again, and slid the blanket under her head.
Her jaw was locked tight as spit gathered at the corner of her lips. Her eyes were pinched closed and her face scrunched as her body spasmed, again and with rhythmic motion. Frantically, I took out my phone and started a timer.
I remembered reading about this. It was important to time her epileptic seizures.
With my heart practically in my throat, I watched my wife – the woman I loved – go through a seizure. I kept an eye on the timer and the seconds ticked by as I quickly googled how to help a person going through an epileptic seizure.
At two minutes and fifteen seconds, her body went slack and her head lolled to the side. If I added the time before I started the timer, her seizure lasted less than four minutes.
Her chest heaved with each ragged breath she took. Her eyes stayed closed, but I saw her fingers moving, twitching slightly.
“Grace – Julianna?” I whispered hoarsely. “Can you hear me?”
Her lips parted with a slight moan. There were no words, but it was a response nonetheless. And when she didn’t immediately go into another seizure, I slowly rolled her over to her side, in the recovery position. “You’re safe,” I muttered. “You’re okay. I have you.”
I gently wiped away the spit that had gathered around the corner of her mouth with the back of my hand. Julianna let out a soft whimper again, but she didn’t open her eyes. I grasped her limp hand in mine and my heart stuttered when I felt a light squeeze from her. It was almost like an involuntary squeeze, weak and drowsy.
I almost missed it.
After a few minutes, Julianna remained somewhat unconscious – but thankfully, no more seizures, so I gathered her in my arms and carried her to the bed.
I pulled the blanket over her body, tucking her in before slumping into the chair next to her bed. There was an awful feeling pricking my chest, a mix of despair and frustration.
Anguished.
And rage.
Goddamn it, I didn’t know how to feel. I was so fucking confused. The fury that I had quickly pushed aside and buried within when Julianna had relapsed into a seizure was now back at full force. Slithering through my veins and burrowing itself into my bones.
I shook with how furious I was.
The sick feeling in my gut churned heavily, nausea bubbling in my stomach, and bile rose in my throat. Tasting acrid on my tongue.
My Gracelynn was Julianna.
Julianna was Gracelynn.
The same woman who was scared of horses, who smiled at me so tenderly, who trusted me to guide her through her fears…
I married the woman I loved through deceit.
I mourned the woman I loved, when she wasn’t even fucking dead.
I ran my fingers through her wild, platinum-blonde hair, before wrapping the length around my wrist, once then twice. The kiss deepened, her lips soft and inviting. Her tongue tentatively met mine, shy but curious.
“I want to wait for our wedding night… for it to be special,” she breathed into the kiss.
My lips curled into a half-smile. “I burn for you, Princess. But I’ll wait for you if it means finally having you in the way I desperately crave.”
“You’re a silver-tongued devil, Mr. Spencer.”
“You’re a devious temptress, Miss Romano.”
I remembered the first time I saw her, how utterly captivated I had been.
It was her hair, so unique.
Her eyes, so alluring.
Her lips, so sinful.
Every moment we had together, every kiss, every forbidden touch…
As much as it was real, it had all been based on a dubious lie. A cruel deception. I always thought Julianna and I were toxic together, but it was now I realized just how poisonous we were. We were fatal together, utterly destructive.
Our story was everything ugly and cataclysmic.
Anger was a silent huntress looming in the shadows, poised and ready to strike. It hovered over me like a fog, clouding my judgment. But it wasn’t just rage that held me captive.
It was the utter despair and agony at Julianna’s deception that made me sick.
My gaze roved her face, scars and all, before brushing over the unmarred side of her face. My head spun at the familiarity of it – of her delicate jaw, the curve of her full lips, her naturally long lashes and the tiny beauty spot on the bridge of her nose.
