Page 146 of Savage Roses
Arms outstretched and curls wild in the night wind.
I collide with Salvatore with the full impact of my body, not considering he might be injured or weak. My arms fly out and then latch around him and his do the same, curling around my waist.
He doesn’t budge, even with the force at which I smack into him.
“Salvatore,” I gasp, burying my face in his neck. “What… how… you’re here…”
He holds me tightly, as desperately as I cling to him, but he doesn’t speak. I can feel the changes in him—the trauma he’s endured and the injuries he’s sustained. His torso feels soft and his ribs tender. His arms no longer hold the same solidness as before, like he’s been stretched thin, simply too worn to be the pillar he once was.
Almost too unsteady on his feet.
But it’s okay—I’ll be his pillar if need be.
I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face into his chest. I inhale the earthy scent of him, however raw and rugged, and pray that when I open my eyes, this will still be real. He’ll be here and not a figment of my imagination.
“Jon,” I whisper. “How…?”
More men arrive. Fabio’s collected backup. Bernie and Oscar arrive to ease Salvatore from my hold and help him toward the doorway. He needs immediate medical attention. I rush in their wake, suddenly a ball of nerves.
What have they done to him? What kind of atrocities has he suffered?
His body is a roadmap of black-and-blue bruises and red lines and punctures. He’s been beaten, stabbed, and who knows what else…
“Delphine, give me some space,” Stitches says when I come to the room being used for medical purposes. He grips the doorknob and blocks my entry. “He’s… not in good shape. Severely dehydrated and he’s got…. a lot of injuries. Broken bones and neglected wounds. I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to patch him up. But I need space.”
The door slams shut in my face.
* * *
I get my first few hours of uninterrupted sleep outside the door of the medical room. I slide down the wall, knees folded into my chest, and I fall asleep. The door opening for the first time in almost five hours wakes me.
Stitches has tasked Omar to collect Salvatore. Arm swathed over his shoulder, he helps support Salvatore on his walk down the hall.
I’m up on my feet, about to follow. Stitches interrupts by stepping in front of me.
“Delphine, he’s not himself,” he says with a somber bend to his mouth. “He can’t be overstimulated right now. He’s… he’s… almost not there… mentally.”
My eyes narrow, the result a sharp glare. “What do you think I’m going to say to him, Stitches? Do you think I’m going to make things worse?”
“That’s not what I’m saying… I’m just trying to be cautious is all. He’s been through hell, Delphine. None of us know the extent.”
Every emotion that’s been trapped inside of me since Salvatore and I were separated wells up until I can’t hold it in anymore. They burst free in a pained, angry cry.
“I… I love him… s-so… much…” I croak, my chest aching. “And you think I’ll damage him?”
“You’re being sensitive when all I’m trying to do is warn you… to be careful. Mindful of what he’s been through.”
“You think I won’t be mindful? That I’ll ignore what he’s been through and make it worse? I don’t need your advice, Stitches. Nor did I ask for it.”
“Fuck off, Stitches!” I snap, pivoting on my heel. “I don’t need your advice. Nor did I ask for it.”
I’d never do anything to hurt Salvatore. He should know that.
If he’s not himself, that’s okay. I just… want to be near him. Breathe the air he breathes. See him and know he’s alive. Exist as he exists, whatever that means in the moment.
For Stitches to ‘warn’ me, it’s as if he believes I’ll do damage, like I won’t be able to accept he’s changed. Even if his intention wasn’t to be offensive, it’s how it feels in the moment.
I seek him out, tracking down the room they place him in. The room is secluded, tucked away in a corner of the top floor.