Blackout

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

I feel like I’m dreaming when I wake up for the first time outside of Tampa Palms. The plush comforter I’m under swaddles me like a cocoon; I feel as if I have turned into a beautiful butterfly and I am in the process of learning how to fly.

I think back to my last hours in the hospital. The joy that I had felt was only matched by the fear of the unknown outside world. By the time my ride got there, I was shitting bricks. I didn’t have any idea where I was going; Dr. Dillinger had only told me that housing had been arranged for me, and that I would be taken to my new home once I left here. I figured it was a halfway house or some sort of shelter.

The car waiting for me outside was not a taxicab like I was expecting. It was sleek, black, and very expensive looking. This distracted me from my almost immobilizing fear for a little while. What was going on? Who was this?

The car’s trunk opened of its own accord, and while the nurses placed my few bags in, I walked slowly around to the passenger side of the car and peered into the darkly tinted windows. They were too dark to even see inside. I was almost afraid to open the door, but I muttered to myself to sack up and yanked the handle.

“Hello,” a deep voice murmured as I got in the passenger seat, “We haven’t had the chance to officially meet.” I finally looked up into the brown eyes of Rita’s son, Marc. My face flushed as I took at his beautiful features up close for the first time. He had smooth-looking, caramel-colored skin that glowed in the dim lighting of the car, and his high cheekbones cut across his face in a way that reminded me of pictures of Native Americans I’d seen. His chocolate eyes were fringed by thick, long black lashes. His full lips parted over his white, perfectly straight teeth, and as I watched with my mouth hanging open like an i***t, he ran his hand over his low-cut, dark hair. “I’m Marc. My mother was one of your nurses.”

“Um, yeah,” I muttered nervously, closing the door and staring down at my feet, “Rita’s your mom, right? She showed me a picture of you once.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I know you probably weren’t expecting me.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckled. Was there a nervous edge to his voice, too? “My mom wanted to get your room ready, so I volunteered to come pick you up.”

“What?” Temporarily distracted again, this time by his statement. Why was Rita getting my room ready?

“Yeah, I’m taking you to her house,” he said, and the engine of the car hummed quietly as the car shot forward. I was so surprised that I forgot to turn around for a last glimpse at the place I had called home for the past five years. By the time I looked back, the darkness had obscured all but the perimeter fence, and then we turned off the dirt drive onto the pavement and the fence, too, was gone.

I was shocked. Dr. Dillinger had told me that my living arrangements were prepared, but I never assumed it would be an employee’s home. Least of all, Rita’s home. Rita was notoriously private and from what I knew about her, she would never want someone “crazy” disrupting her life. So why was she opening up her home to me?

I hadn’t realized I had asked the question out loud until Marc answered, “My mother cares a lot about you.”

“What?”

“You asked why she was opening up her home to you. She cares about you.”

Well, I had known that. “But I hadn’t imagined caring for me to extend this far. We’re close and all, but I would have never asked this of her.”

“She said you’d probably say something like that.”

She knew me better than I thought.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I just allowed the awkward silence to fill the air in the car. To ease my nervousness some, I swept my fingers over the supple leather of the seat. Rita wasn’t lying when she spoke of his success. This car screamed money.

“So,” I began, “Rita’s told me a lot about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” he said with a little smirk that made me blush again.

“Yeah, lots of good things. She told me when you got your degree, and when you got your promotion at the bank, too. She’s always really proud of you.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” he said with a forlorn sigh. “My sister died in Afghanistan seven years ago, so I’m all she has left.”

This brought me up short. She had never told me she had lost a daughter. Of course, I wouldn’t have expected her to, as private as she was. But it shocked me a little, and I suddenly understood why she was so motherly towards me. She had lost a daughter, and maybe I was the closest thing, besides Marc, to having her back. Maybe I reminded her of her.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, and whispered, “I never knew that. I’m so sorry.”

“She doesn’t like to talk about it. But I think you remind her of Christine. That’s why she likes you so much.”

“I figured, as soon as you mentioned it. Because it’s the only explanation for why she’s letting me live with her. I mean, how does she know I won’t go crazy? I don’t even want to risk it.”

“She trusts you. Plus, she figures if you live with her, you’ll always have someone to make sure you take your medicine.” He chuckled, and I almost wanted to be offended, but I couldn’t be mad at such a beautiful man.

“She works during the day. How can she be sure I’m taking my medicine?”

“Well, I’ll be with you during the day.”

I paused again, surprised. “What? Why? Don’t you have to work too?”

“I can work from home if I need to. All my work is done on the computer anyway, or in telepresence meetings, or on the phone. So I’ve set up an office at my mom’s house so you won’t have to be alone, at least until you start doing whatever you plan on doing. Work or school, I mean.”

I just couldn’t understand. These people were going out of their way to help me, to keep me on the right path. Rita was one thing; she’d known me for five years, had cared for me. But Marc had no ties to me whatsoever. He didn’t know me from Eve. All he knew was that I was some crazy chick his mother was going to help out.

“Why, though?” I asked, confused. “Don’t misunderstand, I completely appreciate it. But why do you want to help me?”

He paused, looking up at quickly passing streetlights before settling his eyes on the road, and then turning them to me. It seemed as if he was fighting some internal battle; he didn’t’t want to tell me the truth here, I could tell. So when he spoke again, I could tell it would be a lie. Or maybe not an outright lie, but not the whole truth, either.

“Well,” he said, his eyes back on the road, “My mom has been lonely for a while. Ever since she’s met you, she’s had some new spark in her. You’re good for her, and I want to keep her happy.”

“That’s really generous.” I said as the car began to slow down. The scenery outside of the window was slowing enough for me to see individual houses in the darkness, and eventually, we pulled into the driveway of a nice little home with a garage and neatly trimmed hedges. I couldn’t tell what color it was in the darkness, but it was light, maybe white or beige. The shingles were dark, and the door was like the old school entryways you’d see in the seventies, with an eagle-shaped brass knocker and everything. I went to the trunk to get my things out, but he was already there with the straps of my bags thrown over his shoulder. “I got it,” he said, smiling, and he took my bags up to the door.

Rita had opened the door for me with a huge smile on her face, had made me dinner and dessert, and had even tucked me in with a kiss on the forehead. It was so sweet that I almost felt like I had a mom.

The smell of bacon wafts through my room, and although I am enjoying laying here in this huge, comfortable bed, the aroma is making my stomach growl. So I rise out of bed, smiling, and rummage through my clothes until I find something that doesn’t look like what I’ve worn every day for the past five years. Sure, they’re plaid pajama pants and a pink shirt that’s two sizes too small, but I’d rather die than put on those blue cotton pants and white crew neck ever again.

Following the tantalizing scent, I find Marc in the kitchen at the stove flipping a pancake. He doesn’t seem to have noticed me standing here, so I quickly look him over. He’s at least six feet tall, probably taller though. The tan shirt he’s wearing is doing nothing to hide his chiseled physique; it seems as if it was painted to his muscles, it’s so tight. I think it must be some type of workout top, because he’s wearing these tight biking pants that hug him in all the right places. I am almost salivating, staring at his butt in those pants, when I hear him clear his throat. Please, don’t let him be looking at me! I look up into his eyes and feel my face going hot as he chuckles and flips the pancake onto a plate already loaded with eggs and bacon. “I’ll pretend I didn’t notice you staring at my ass,” he says lightheartedly, and he sets the plate at the bar next to another full plate. “I made us breakfast, have a seat.”

I sit at the bar in front of the smaller plate as Marc places two glasses of orange juice at the bar. He then comes around to join me, and we dig in silently. The food is so delicious that I’m eating it like it might disappear if I take too long until I hear Marc laugh quietly. I’m embarrassing myself so much this morning; I’m so out of wack with men and even ordinary social interaction, so I’m sure I’m not acting like a normal girl right now. Still, he knows my past, so he’s probably not laughing in a mean-spirited way, but I can’t help feeling self-conscious.

I try to eat more ladylike, but he sees through me instantly. “Hey, Iris, you know you don’t have to be embarrassed about anything, right?”

I blush again. I haven’t blushed this much since…. Ever. “Yeah, thanks. I can’t help it, though.”

“Well, I’m sorry for laughing,” he says, and I can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Please, be comfortable.”

I smile and hurry to finish my food. As I’m taking my plate around to wash it, Marc says, “So, if you don’t mind me asking, where are your parents?”

I concentrate for a moment on the dish, swirling the soapy rag all over it until I am certain it is clean. Then, I dry my hands on the towel next to the stove. “My grandmother raised me, and she passed away when I was seventeen,” I say softly. “My mother left when I was really young after my little brother died. I don’t know where she is or if she’s even alive, at this point. My father is another story. He never acknowledged me, besides when I had to beg him for money when my grandmother couldn’t pay the bills. The last time I saw him, when I was fourteen, he hit me in the face.” I don’t want to look into Marc’s face to see his reaction to my answer.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Iris.” He says. I look up into his sad eyes, and I realize that I’m actually glad to be able to talk to someone who isn’t treating me. It’s nice to feel like my problems are not related to my anger issues.

“My dad ran out on us, too.” Marc suddenly blurts out. “He was on drugs, and when my mom found out she was pregnant with me, he bailed. My sister was two.”

“I know the feeling, believe me.”

He sighs. “It seems like we have a lot in common.”

“Yeah,” I say, fighting back the blush that threatens to give away my ridiculous happiness at that statement. How nice it was to have so much common with a normal, albeit insanely beautiful, person. Especially someone who I was, however futilely, crushing on.

It’s pointless to admit to myself that I like him. Liking him won’t change anything, like the fact that he and I are in two different leagues that aren’t even in the same universe. He is something special- this I can see just in the short amount of time I’ve spent with him- and I am entirely other. I couldn’t even begin to think about how he would react if I ever told him how attracted I was to him. Plus, what would Rita think? I’m sure she isn’t immune to the fact that her son is appealing and charming. She probably would notice if I was looking at him way more than is absolutely necessary. Would she be mad? I’m sure she would never want her son to even think about dating someone like me. Her kindness towards me could only extend so far.

But why am I thinking that far ahead, anyway? He would never want to date someone like me. I can tell that he has a type. Someone that gorgeous probably dates tall, blonde, thin Barbie dolls. Me, I am of an average height, lean but curvy, light skinned and dark haired, with big hazel eyes and full lips. I can’t possibly be his type. He is a nice guy, very sweet, but I’m sure he is like that all the time. Not just with me. I’m not anything special. But he is the total package; a perfect specimen of a man. How could any woman help liking him? I’ve only known him for a day, and already I am fighting falling for him.

If he ever knew of these feelings, he would reject me, certainly. So I will keep my feelings to myself. And I will not allow myself to get any deeper with this man.

“Well,” I say, ending the charged silence, “I know you probably have some work to do. I won’t hold you from it.”

“Wait,” he calls as I began walking back to my bedroom. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the fair.”

“The fair? What fair?”

“The Florida State Fair is in town until Saturday. I took today off; I figured you’d like to get out, see some things. The fair is usually pretty awesome.”

I am stunned by his thoughtfulness. Gosh, can this man be any more perfect?

“Wow, that’s so cool of you,” I say. “You really don’t have to do all of this.”

There’s something in his eyes that instantly makes my heart flutter when he replies, “I want to. Really.” He smiles a smile that weakens my knees and says, “Get dressed; I’ll be back by the time you’re done. I’ve just got to go home and change out of my gym clothes.”

“Okay,” I say with a small smile, and I watch his perfectly sculpted ass as he walks out of the door.

I’m all of a flutter trying to figure out what I’m supposed to wear. The scant clothing I own has been in storage in the hospital for the past five years, and hardly any of it fits me. I want to wear something classy, yet laid-back and cute. But all I see is sweaters and scrubs and sneakers and too-small jeans. Nothing that screams sexy, sophisticated, and sane.

After ten minutes of throwing things around looking for something suitable, I finally come across some old skinny jeans that stretch just enough to get over my hips. The dark blue button up top is a little outdated, but with a little ironing, it’ll do. Thank God Bobby had his aides buy me some things to wear to court, because these nude heels are the only part of the outfit that I like. They are close-toed and incredibly tasteful, and they elongate my legs. I wish I had some makeup or at least some lip gloss, but thankfully my skin is smooth and clear, and a little Vaseline will work to give my lips a little pop. Finally, I wet my hair until my curls take shape, and I feel like I look acceptable enough to go out with my beautiful companion for the day.

As I am spraying myself with some of Rita’s perfume from the bathroom, I hear him return and sit on the couch. I touch up my hair once more and take a steadying breath before grabbing my wallet and joining Marc in the living room.

He looks me over and gives me an appreciative smile. “You look great, Iris,” he says, his eyes smoldering. God, why did you make this man so fine? “Thank you,” I giggle, and I check my wallet to make sure I have my ID. It’s expired, but it’ll have to work. “Um, Marc? I’m kinda strapped for cash. Is the fair going to cost a lot?”

Marc laughs as he rises from the couch and goes to hold the door open for me. “Please, Iris. I invited you out. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

And the funny thing is, being with him, I find it hard to worry about anything at all.

The fair is even more fun than I remember it. The last time I attended the Florida State Fair, I was sixteen and my grandmother had saved up for two months to make sure I could go as a late birthday gift. My friends and I had spent all day riding the rides and stuffing ourselves with hot dogs and funnel cake. Since then, I’d either been too busy working, or locked up, to go again.

Marc is a great companion. I get to know him a little while we venture around the fair, laughing and joking around. He is funny and adventurous; He is very brave, risking the rides that I am certain will make me throw up. A lot of the rides aren’t so bad, but the ones that terrify me, he coaxes me to try with ease. When I flat out refuse to ride the Ferris Wheel because of my terrible fear of heights, he tells me that he won’t let anything happen to me, and I almost forget why I’m afraid as I allow him to help me inside the cabin.

I look around in awe when we begin to rise. I am scared, but not as much as I would normally be, thanks to Marc. He is as silent as I am, and I wonder what he is thinking, although I’m too chicken to look over at him. The charged silence goes on until we get to the top of the wheel.

The view is amazing. I can see over the whole field housing the fair, over a few neighborhoods, all the way to the city. The sun is now setting, and it makes the view even more surreal. I never thought I’d be able to see these things; I thought I’d be staring at those same walls for the rest of my life. I feel the freedom run through me, exhilarating yet bittersweet. Because while I am free, the many people I have hurt are probably feeling lost. This saddens me, and I sigh hopelessly. No matter how free I am, I will never escape this pain.

Marc takes my hand gently and I turn to him. “What’s wrong?” he asks with concern in his eyes.

“Just thinking about… the past. And all the things I’ve done, and all the people I’ve hurt.” I wasn’t planning on explaining it to him, but I can’t help myself once I see his concerned expression turn to sadness, echoing mine. “I’m a monster. Yes, I’m in remission now, but I’ve still caused so much pain to so many people. I’ve been given another chance, but all those people I… I killed… They will never get a second chance at life, and their families will always feel nothing but loss. I just- I just can’t get over that.”

We are beginning our descent now. I look down at his hand on mine, and a tear falls down my cheek. I feel a soft finger wipe the tear away.

“I know you’re struggling with your happiness, Iris,” Marc whispers, “But you can’t go on punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t my fault?” I ask doubtfully, looking him in the face. “Do you know anything about me, about what I did?”

“I know everything. And your disease- your illness wasn’t your fault, Iris. If you would have known that you were… sick- you would have gotten help, I’m sure of it. Stop berating yourself. I can’t tell you to get over the past, because all the things that happened are too big to just get over. But you have to move on. You have to start living your life.”

“It’s not that easy,” I reply, and I look back out across the fair in silence as the car brings us back to the ground. The crowd is bigger around the Ferris wheel now, and the flashes tell me people are taking pictures of it. Must be the evening tourist crowd or something; I know it probably gets busier at night, once people are off work or rested from a day of traveling. I’m sure this isn’t the largest Ferris wheel around, but maybe it has some special significance. Something to explain the flashing bulbs…

But they aren’t taking pictures of the Ferris wheel. I discover this when I am helped out of the cabin to discover the crowd all around me, taking pictures, asking me questions. How did they know I was here? Why are they all around me like this? I feel the steady arm of Marc around me, and he has his other hand in front of my face, shielding me from the cameras as he leads us through the dense mob. I hear my name shouted numerous times and someone’s microphone hits me in the lip, the reporter is so eager. Marc shouts, “No comment! She has no comment!” Finally, we get to Marc’s car and he helps me in, yelling for the horde to get away from his car, and that if anyone scratches his paint job, he’s suing them. I cover my face and allow myself a shaky laugh. But inside I feel nothing but gratitude for Marc. Because if I were him, as soon as I would have seen all those people descending on me, I would have run the opposite direction without looking back.

As soon as we get home, I turn on the flat screen in the living room, and flip through the channels until I come across a local news station. Of course I am on the screen, looking down, being marched through the crowd by Marc, who looks even more handsome than usual. The anchor is saying, “… A source reported that Ms. Kilpatrick arrived at the fair around one with the gentleman seen here walking with her. She left soon after these images were taken. No word on who this man is…” They cut to a final video of Marc edging his car through the crowd and driving off.

I bury my face in my hands as the anchors begin speculating on Marc’s identity. He does not deserve this scrutiny, and I feel terrible. “Marc,” I begin, “I am so sorry about all of this. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of it. If you never want to go anywhere with me again, I understand. I almost don’t want to leave the house myself. Matter of fact, I should leave; I don’t want them to find out that I’m living here- then they’ll start hounding your mother… I don’t want to ruin your lives with my drama…”

Then, without waiting for a response, I run in my room, crying hysterically, and slam the door shut.