Page 94 of I Will Mend You
Sometimes, I wish I’d never met Lyle at all. If Giorgi had killed me, then my daughters would still be together, living with their aunts and grandmother. Maybe they’d be spoiled brats, but they’d be alive. And sane.
They’ve already chosen a psychiatrist to help Amy. Dr. Saint is the kind of professional who doesn’t keep records of her underworld patients and won’t run to the police at the first sign of criminal activity.
I’m supposed to spill all my secrets to her, but it’s obvious she’ll report back to my Salentino overlords. They all think I’m a fuck-up. Maybe I am, but I’ll do my best to help Amy and create a welcoming home when the detectives find Dolly.
Amy has a place at the Tourgis Academy, where she’ll be safely out of the way while I repay the Salentino family for their generosity. Mother Salentino said that a two-timing whore like me is only good for entertaining men.
As soon as Amy is in school, my job is to ‘seduce the president of the New Alderney Cemetery Board and gather enough evidence to make him stop harassing the Salentino’s finecrematorium for a bunch of violations he’s fabricated out of thin air.’
Once he’s blackmailed, I must ‘sink my slutty claws into the assistant mayor and get hold of a list of classified documents.’
So, that’s my life. I escaped the Salentino family as an abused wife and returned as an indebted courtesan. That’s my karma. One day, Amy’s memories will return, and I’ll have to explain why I allowed her to be abused and her sister to disappear.
I have no idea how I’ll reply. Sometimes, I wish Giorgi had carried out his threats against my life, because existing like this is a living hell.
FIFTY-TWO
AMETHYST
Isabel puts me through a detox that takes twice the amount of time that I spent as Dolly and Delta’s prisoner. Every morning, she draws blood to check my system’s levels of foreign substances. She connects me to an IV filled with fluids and nutrition because my stomach keeps rioting. I alternate between vivid nightmares and daytime hallucinations as my mind tries to work out what’s real.
When I’m not hallucinating, I dream about being admitted to the asylum as a little girl, under the care of a red-haired doctor with piercing gray eyes.
He would loom too close as orderlies in white strapped me down to a metal bed, and then he’d inject me with a drug to make the room dissolve into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.
The doctor’s voice would drone on, repeating the same words until they seeped into my consciousness. Those words built a brick wall around my memories until I didn’t even know my name.
They kept the lights on in my room and kept me awake with hot and cold baths. If I screamed for Mom and Dad, then hemoved me to a room and attached electrodes to my temples. The pain was unbearable, and I would return from those sessions blank. The moment I begged to go home, the torture would start all over again.
Xero gave me a phone so I could dictate my memories and work out what’s imagined, recent, and old. They’re easy to tell apart, based on who’s in them and what they want. The present-day Delta wants me to remember, while the red-haired doctor wants me to forget. In between are fractured scenes with nurses, orderlies, and patients staring into nothingness through dead eyes.
Throughout this, Xero watches over me like a sentinel. Sometimes he’s clad in the tuxedo, other times wearing black. Both versions of him offer silent support as the drugs leave my system and memories trickle back to me like sludge.
One afternoon, I wake up to the absence of pressure. The bands keeping me tethered to the hospital bed are gone.
Xero stands over me, the sunlight streaming through his platinum hair, casting a halo that makes me think I’m hallucinating an angel. His black shirt and leather jacket break the illusion, but there’s a rugged beauty to him that makes my heart race.
I glance down at his hand, where intricate tattoos peek out from under his sleeve, dark ink against pale skin. He’s reaching for my hand, his fingers tentative and hesitant, as if afraid of my reaction to his touch.
My pulse quickens, and my fingers curl into fists. It’s strange how I draw comfort from the version of him I hallucinate, yet the real Xero makes me jumpy. The sunlight catches on his pale eyes, ringed with shadows, as though he’s been trapped in nightmares as dark as mine. His features flicker with pain when I don’t immediately respond to his touch. The expression is fleeting, but even I can see he’s upset.
“Isabel says your toxicology report is clear. Are you up for a walk in the garden?” His voice is a low rumble, laced with concern.
My chest lifts with hope at the prospect of going outside. “Yes…” I rasp, my voice barely a whisper. “I think I can manage that.”
As I sit up, swinging my legs off the edge of the mattress, Xero drops to his knees. His hands are gentle as he helps me slide my feet into the same slippers as before. The brush of his fingers sends shivers up my spine. I place a hand on his broad shoulder to steady myself as I stand. The room rocks sideways, and my knees buckle.
Xero catches me instantly, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me close. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my insides tremble, a storm brewing in those pale depths. His scent, a mix of leather and something uniquely him, fills my senses.
For a moment, I can’t help but notice how he looks a lot like how I imagine Delta might appear if he bleached his hair blond, shaved off his beard, and smothered his face in my collagen cream.
A memory bubbles up of the time Xero scooped handfuls of my expensive face serum and stuck it up my ass. The absurdity of the thought makes me bark out a laugh.
“Are you alright?” His voice softens, concern etching his handsome face with a frown.
“Yes,” I manage to say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I mean... thank you.” I flick my gaze down to the slippers, trying to hide the warmth flooding my cheeks.
Cracking a tiny smile, he releases his hold around my waist. There’s a reluctant loss in his eyes as he steps back and holds up the robe like a gentleman. The simple gesture, combinedwith his intense presence, makes my heart flutter in ways I can’t explain.