Jewel Ann - Idle Bloom

* * *

Vivian

I’m rethinking the weed idea. Foggy head, pulsing brain, and it must be one hundred degrees in here. Here? Where am I? What time is it? Why can’t I move?

The heavy feeling on my chest lifts as I remove the arm draped over me. I’m naked and so is Oliver. Great. I know we didn’t have sex; that I would remember. Pervert!

Easing off the bed, being careful not to wake him, I look for my clothes. After getting dressed, I tiptoe downstairs. It’s four-thirty in the morning so I’m going to leave before the sun, and Oliver, rise. Apparently we need to talk, but not naked in his bed. I look for my shoes but don’t see them. Reaching for the doorknob, I notice a pile of mail on the entry table. What catches my eye is the return address on the corner of an envelope sticking out from the middle of the pile. It’s from a hospital in Portland. The fine print below the name reads: Mental Health and Chemical Dependency Care.

Walk away!

I can’t. My curiosity has morphed into a monstrous need to know about Oliver’s past. I rip open the envelope. The cover letter explains the enclosed information is an emergency contact update for a Caroline Konrad.

Mark the “No Changes” box, sign and date if all the information is still correct.

The next page has Oliver’s name, address, e-mail, phone number, and relationship to patient.

Husband.

Bile races up my throat leaving a wake of acidic burn, and my heart pounds with anger as my blood runs toxic. Somewhere in my heart or soul I have to be crushed beyond words, but right now my mind is a volcanic eruption of anger and unfathomable rage. I think I could kill him.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I’m in his room within seconds … and then it begins.

“You have a fucking WIFE!” I think he startles awake, but I can’t tell for sure because all I see is red. One picture frame, then another thrown in his direction. A bookend, a vase, his shoes, a clock, all shattering and banging against the wall, his headboard, and even him.

“Vivian!” He stumbles around trying to find his balance in the midst of the debris coming at him.

I yank one dresser drawer out and heave it in his direction, then the next, and yet another until clothes are scattered everywhere and he’s charging at me.

“No!” I yell, grabbing the back of the empty dresser and tipping it forward to block his approach. I run into the hall ripping framed art and pictures off the wall, leaving a wake of broken glass behind me. Down the stairs I run into the kitchen flinging open cupboard doors.

“Bastard!” I repeatedly throw glasses, plates, cans, and jars in his direction. “You’re a fucking liar! How could you?”

“Vivian! STOP!” The roar of his voice can’t compete with the hurricane of deafening emotions in my head.

Shot glasses. Whisky bottles. Coffee mugs.

Clank! Bang! Crash!

I’m running out of ammunition, then I glance up and see the pots and pans hanging from the suspension rack. Climbing onto the island, I grab two at a time from their hooks and hurl them at Oliver. Sometimes I hear the crash of my miss, other times I hear a thwack and a few expletives when my aim is perfect. After the last pan has been launched, I see a bloodied Oliver lumbering toward me. I look behind but there’s no escape, so I leap with every last bit of energy I can muster and take him to the ground.

Thud!

Darkness.

* * *

Beep … beep … beep …

A flash of light and distant echoing bring me out of my sleep. I can’t remember where I fell asleep. Alex’s? Oliver’s? Maybe I smoked too much pot again. God, I really am turning into a pothead.

“Flower?”

“Ouch!” I squint trying to open my eyes, but the pain in my head feels like it’s paralyzing my whole body.

Alex flickers into focus. “What happened?”

“You … fell and other things.” She grimaces.

“Fell?”

“Well, sort of jumped or leaped … from Oliver’s counter. You have a concussion, and stitches in several places along with numerous cuts from the glass they had to remove from various parts of your body, especially your feet.”

The pain in my head and now everywhere else multiplies one hundredfold as the flood of memories rushes back. Oliver is married.

“The doctor said you can go home this morning. All of your injuries are minor. There’s just a lot of them, so you’re going to have trouble getting around for the next week or so. You must have been pretty pissed and running on pure rage to not realize you had so many shards of glass impaled in your feet.”

“He’s married.” My voice sounds like the words are ripping through my throat. The anger has taken a backseat to the emotional pain and … Oh. My. God. It hurts so bad. My vision clouds as the tears overflow down my face.

“Oh, Flower. I’m so sorry.” Alex holds my hand with a gentle touch and as I try to squeeze hers, I feel the pull of bandages against my skin.

What have I done to myself?

“For what it’s worth, he doesn’t look any better than you do, except he doesn’t have a concussion. He sat with you all night, against my better judgment, but I made him leave this morning before you woke. I think he and his family are in the waiting room.”

Another sob escapes and Alex blots my face with a tissue. “I don’t want to see them … any of them, ever again.”

“Do you want me to call your parents?”

“No! They … they wouldn’t understand. I haven’t told them about Oliver.”

“Okay, well, Sean will be back soon. I sent him to get you some clothes that weren’t covered in blood.”

“Good morning, Vivian.”

I sniffle and look up.

“I’m Dr. Bennett. I just talked with Dr. Konrad and he said you’re a close friend of their family so I came in early to get you checked out and hopefully back home soon so you can rest and heal.” He swipes his finger across his iPad then hands it to the nurse and starts examining me.

“We’re not friends.”

Dr. Bennett shines a bright light into my right eye. “No? Hmm, sorry I must have misunderstood.”

He blinds, pokes, and prods me then messes with his iPad again. “Well you’re going to be fine. If you need something for the pain, Tylenol or Advil should work.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Get some rest.”

Just as Dr. Bennett and the nurse exit the room, Sean comes in with a bag. “Hey, Viv. I brought you some clothes. Oliver gave me the key to his place. He’s out in the waiting room and wants to see you.”

Alex helps me sit up to the side with my feet dangling off the bed. “Can you give him a message for me?”

“Sure,” Sean replies.

“Tell him to fuck off.”

Sean looks at Alex then back at me.

“You heard her … go.” Alex motions with her head.

“Can we have a moment?” All three of us look to the door where Oliver stands. He has a black eye, fat lip, and stitches on his chin.

Good!

“Never mind, Sean, I’ll tell him myself. Fuck off, Oliver!”

“Just five minutes. Please.” He steps inside the room.

Alex rests her hand on my knee. “Just give him his five and then I’ll take you home. Okay?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to see him, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to him, but I want to go home so I nod once, staring down at my feet.

“We’ll be right outside.”

Oliver shuts the door behind them and comes closer to me. I see his brown Sanuk shoes and bare legs, but I don’t look up.

“Vivian—”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“Four minutes left.”

He squats down resting his hands on either side of me so I’m forced to look at him. “I’m so very sor—”

“Three and a half minutes.” I grit through my teeth.

He sighs. “Caroline is legally still my wife. She’s suffering from … severe depression and she’s suicidal. I filed for divorce over a year ago, but given her mental state, a quick divorce is not an option. I love you. I want to be with you and I was going to tell you—”

I laugh. “You were going to tell me? When? Before you took my virginity? Before you let me fall in love with you? Before you asked me to move in with you? WHEN, OLIVER?” The emotional pain wars with the physical pain, and the anger I’m feeling is intensifying both. I’m exhausted. I feel empty, except for the tears. Damn the tears … the endless river of tears.

He rests his cheek on my bare leg and I feel the surrender of his touch against my skin. It’s a cruel reality when the touch that healed me becomes the flame that burns me.

“Time’s up,” I whisper then sniffle as I fight to breathe.

With a slow turn of his head, he brushes his stubbly face against my legs then presses his lips to my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut wringing out more tears, trying to hold my breath, but the emotions are too powerful. Instead, my body shudders as soft painful whimpers escape against my will.

“Bye, my love.”

I feel him leave, but I can’t open my eyes. I’m blinded by tears, blinded by emotions … I was blinded by love.

There’s not a cell in my body that isn’t screaming with pain, of course none more than those of my heart. I’ve been home from the hospital two days and today is the first day Alex has left me to run some errands. The tender wounds on my feet have me hobbling like a toddler, and the pain is off the charts, although I don’t let on to anyone else. I don’t like that type of attention … never have.