Page 3 of Insatiable

It’s amazing how your other senses quickly compensate for the loss of another. I can hear retreating footsteps and a closing door, followed by the nurse's response. “I will add a few extra visits in here to my rounds. Plus, I have a new book to read to her today.” I can hear her excitement, and if I could smile and jump up and down with happiness, I would. I loved listening to audio books when I worked long hours behind my sewing machine, so her reading to me was a comfort. It also helped me to remember that I was in the middle of a major production before all of this happened. I’ve probably been replaced. There’s no telling how people have reacted to what happened to me. Has Paul been here?

‘Wake up, Tate,’ I scream at myself internally. There are so many unknowns. ‘What happened to James? Did he get away? If he did, I am not safe.’ I need to know what’s happening to my life outside of this. My job, my home, and my beautiful indoor plants. I want to panic, but the hand still holding mine keeps me in the here and now. It’s reassuring, like it will always be there.

“Die, bitch.” James’ voice echoes angrily through my mind. If I could yank my hand away, I would. His voice is a reminder of a road I won’t travel down again. That’s if I make it out of this place whole that is. I don’t think I want forever anymore. Forever is a lie. Love is a lie. Love tried to kill me. This was my cautionary tale. Lesson learned universe—lesson learned.

“Thank you, Nurse Grey.” I hear the voice thank her; his tone sounds warm and sincere. I know this man, yet I can’t hold on to my thoughts long enough to figure out how I know him. The door closes, leaving us alone with just the beeps and hums of the machines around the room. My attempt to at least get my eyes to open fails me at every turn.

“Open those soulful brown eyes, Tay.” The doctor squeezes my hand again, and if I could move, I would have shot up out of the bed. No one has called me by my nickname since college. Not even James knew that name. It is a name I left behind a long time ago. My brain isn’t firing on all cylinders but the sound of that name means one thing. I definitely know this man, and I’m not imagining things because he has such good bedside manner. I focus hard on the hand holding mine and I send all the energy and will I have into making just one thing happen. I feel like I am mentally gritting my teeth, but eventually I get my hand to squeeze his back. It isn’t strong, but it is enough to apply pressure. I mentally fist pump the air, if I can do that, then I can do more.

He gasps softly. “Tay!” he whispers my nick name, as if his prayers have been answered, letting my hand go. There is a sound of movement in the room. I feel cold air on my upper chest as the covers are pulled back. I feel something hard and freezing cold press down on my skin, as he grabs my wrist this time. A stethoscope. I try to react to the sudden change of temperature, to the shock of cool metal on my skin, but I can’t. If he was trying to jolt me awake, it’s not working.

“Come on, Tay. You want to wake up, don’t you?” he asks, almost pleading like he wishes he could do more. “Your breathing is fine. Your heart is strong. Your head injury wasn’t as severe as we initially thought.” He sighs. “It’s all on you now, baby girl.” He takes away the stethoscope, and his hand slips from mine. The surety in his voice from moments ago falls away, and I am left with the man, not the doctor. ‘Baby girl?’ It can't be. There aren’t many people who would call me that. ‘Open your eyes, Tate. Shit.’

“Eight years, Tay. Eight years too long.” I hear him shuffle away from the bed. Which can only mean he’s about to leave. I want him to stay. I panic because I remember. I want to see his face. A headache begins to form from the strain I am putting on my body, but I don’t care. All I want to do is open my eyes. To say his name. ‘Please,’ I beg, no, I pray for this one moment. The connection hits me like a freight train, my heart rate picks up again as my memories click into place. Of words left unsaid. Hasty decisions made and a loss that I thought I had come to terms with a long time ago. Yet here he is. The machines I am connected to all come alive with alarms and warnings. My body finally decides to do things on its own. The door opens, the squeaking sound of rubber-soled shoes lets me know that nurses are coming to my aid. I don’t need their help! I need to help myself!

My eyes spring open, the light is too bright, but I refuse to close them. They’ve been closed for long enough. Suddenly, the bed is being moved, instead of reclining, I am now in a sitting position. My head moves slightly to the side as I search frantically for him. My pulse in my head throbs in time with my heartbeat, the pain is excruciating, it brings tears to my eyes. I whimper. My throat is dry from disuse. I ache for a drink of water as I try to get my eyes to focus on the moving white coats.

“Tate,” he calls my name again, and I instantly relax. His warm brown eyes stare back at me as he leans forward, gently touching the bottom of my eyelids. The shine from a pen light causes another spike of pain in my head, and I try move my head away.

“Nurse Grey, increase pain relief through her IV,” he says with urgency as he checks my pupils quickly and turns off the light.

“It’s okay, Tate, we will give you something to help you.” He smiles, and some of the pain ebbs, the medicine is already working, my eyes droop slightly but I try to fight it. The last thing I want is to go to sleep again so soon.

“It’s good to see you awake, Ms. Charles.” Nurse Grey smiles as I finally put a face to the name. She has a salt-and-pepper braided updo with cat eyeglasses, light brown skin and a kind smile. She looks no more than fifty, wearing light blue scrubs with red-and-white hearts on them. I watch as she gives me a wink, then grabs my chart from the bottom of my bed and makes her way out the door.

It’s ironic that when you’re at your worst point, and this is indeed my worst moment, something amazing comes walking back into your life, and after being dragged through the mud, you’re nowhere near ready to receive it.

This is my irony. This isn’t even karma because I’ve done nothing wrong to have what happened to me happen.

This is yet another game of the universe will shit on Tate.

I open my mouth slowly, drowning in his brown eyes as he waits patiently for me to say something, anything to him after all this time. Now that I’ve seen his face, I remember him and everything that goes along with it. I yearn for the drugs to pull me under.

I feel ashamed suddenly, all of this time he’s been here taking care of me. After everything I said the last time I saw him, I’m embarrassed that he has had to witness me at my lowest.

My eyes finally begin to close, but before I fall into oblivion, his name stumbles out of my mouth like a ten-ton weight.

“Cace.”

“The patient has regained all movement in her body through extensive physiotherapy. She seems to be recovering well. Her memory loss appears to be temporary, more confusion than actual damage. I recommend outpatient therapy, focusing on trauma counseling to help her to process what happened to her. I also recommend continued physiotherapy for the nerve damage in her right hand.”

I type out notes for Tate’s chart, attempting to disconnect from the woman I know and treat this like any other case. It is harder than I thought it would be. It’s been three weeks since she opened her eyes. As a doctor I am relieved another life has been saved, but as a man, I want to drop to my knees and thank every God in the sky for bringing her back to me. I thought the worst day of my life was when she walked away from us eight years ago. I was wrong. The worst day of my life was when after eight years of sporadic bits of news here and there from old acquaintances, she is rolled into my E.R. with a bullet in her stomach and a ricocheted bullet wound to her head. I swore an oath to do no harm, but if I ever see her supposed fiancé, the one who is still on the run from the police, I will kill him myself. I took her case without question. I remained professional and treated her as if she was any other trauma patient in my care so that I could be the one to see her through this. I wanted to be there when she opened her eyes. After all this time I still love Tate Charles.

Tate is the one who got away. After eight years of attempting to forget her, pining for the love I lost with her, no other woman took her place in my heart. I don’t think any of us recovered. I have racked up enough failed relationships to write a book about it. I always made excuses, being a med student was tough, being a resident was even tougher, so it was easy to neglect any female in my life. My heart was never in it with any of them.

I pick up the picture of the four of us at some random costume party from my desk. Her smile is bright despite the zombie face makeup and wide hair, she was carefree and happy standing amongst us. We were obsessed with zombie shows at the time, and she made us all look the same. I smile at a knife prosthetic through my neck and the eye hanging out of Jay’s socket. Sean frowned the entire night, claiming Tate cock blocked him with his grotesque skin-like face mask he wore all night. Tate took her major in Costume and Makeup Design seriously, and we were her guinea pigs most of the time.

I sigh as I rub my hands over the picture frame like the sad sap I am. She wasn’t ours back then. We were all good friends—best friends. From the moment she stumbled into our lives in freshman year dragging all her belongings behind her, with no parents in tow, we all descended on her at once to help. Of course, she refused said help and continued on down the hall of our dorm without a backwards glance. Eventually we wore her down and we all became friends. Well, it took time for Jay, Sean, and I to warm up to each other but we got there in the end. A little too late in my opinion. None of us wanted to ruin what we had. We watched from afar as Tate dated other guys and vice versa. It worked fine until it didn’t.

The sound of my phone ringing has me place the photo down, taking its pride of place on the edge of my desk. It’s the only personal item I allow in my office besides my degrees.

“This is Dr. Morgan.”

“Man, did you even look to see who it was before you answered?” Jay asks as he laughs into the phone. “This is Dr. Morgan,” he says, mimicking my professional tone, and I fight a very juvenile eye roll. “I bet your momma gets the same greeting, huh?” He laughs again.

“She does,” I say quickly. “What do you want, Jay?” I ask, getting annoyed that he stopped my trip down memory lane. The only quiet moments I have are the ones I spend in my office in-between shifts, and I prefer them just like this. Quiet and without interruption. Today, of course, is different. Tate is being discharged from the hospital.

“You know why the hell I called, C. Don’t play dumb, it’s not doctorly of you.” He laughs again but quickly recovers. “Have you talked to her yet? Does she know we are coming for her?” I cough to mask my delayed answer. I haven’t had the chance to ask Tate if she would stay with me while she completes her recovery. With no family left, we all thought it would be best if she were around familiar faces.