The Sick Wife Page 15

  I’ve also purchased plane tickets, and already taken my COVID test so they’ll let me on the plane.

  “You’re going there?” Yvette says, as she steps into my office, behind me.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she says. “Buy me some plane tickets too.”

  I turn to look at her with surprise. “You just had surgery.”

  “I’m perfectly fine, and I want to be there with you to deal with this. He hurt me too, you know. I want to punch that asshole in the fucking face.”

  “I would prefer if you don’t go anywhere near him,” I tell her gently.

  “It’s not your choice to make,” she says angrily. “Look at what he did to my body, Gabe. Look at me. I deserve to be there too, to see him brought down.”

  “Okay,” I tell her, turning back to my computer to purchase the plane tickets.

  She walks over slowly, using her cane shakily. She places a hand on my shoulder. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  “What’s that, Evie?” I ask as I select her flight.

  “This is going to sound really weird. But Gabe… when I was sick with COVID and thought I was going to die… I actually wanted you and Milla to get close. I told her to call you partly because I could already tell she was perfect for you. I just looked at her and knew. She was so sweet and caring… pretty, but she clearly had no idea. She didn’t even seem to brush her hair.” Yvette laughs softly… almost fondly. “She looked like a walking disaster. But she spent every drop of her energy on making me feel loved and cared for. And she did. There I was, in a foreign country, far away from my family, far away from you… and this stranger made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Like I had a sister, or a mother, a friend… a guardian angel. Someone who would look out for me. And she did.”

  I pause my typing and turn to look at Yvette, and I see some tears slipping from her eyes. But she wipes them away and smiles. “I made her call you, because I thought that she would be the perfect person to take good care of you, if something happened to me. And be a good mother to those babies you always wanted, that I could never give to you.”

  “Evie…”

  “Let me finish. When I woke up from my coma and saw her… totally transformed. Her hair was brushed, and she was wearing some makeup. And it was there sitting on her finger… Camille’s ring on Camilla’s hand. It was perfect for her, like it belonged there, like it had always been there. I somehow already knew I had lost you. I wanted so badly to be happy for you two, but I was so weak and scared… I couldn’t let go in that moment. I buried it in my mind, tried to pretend it wasn’t real. I ignored it and lied to myself so I could survive. I just needed to be near you again, more than anything, more than I wanted to be alive.”

  I reach up to take her hand in mine. “I wanted you near me, too, Evie.”

  “But you also needed her.”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that. It hurts like a fucking bitch. But I understand.”

  I take a deep, shaky breath. “What are we going to do now?”

  “I don’t know,” Evie says. “And it doesn’t matter. When I woke up from my coma, Veronica and all the other nurses told me that Milla risked her career to get me awake. That she fought against Mike, who was insistent that I stay sedated and stay on the ventilator. And I’ve been lying to myself that I don’t remember, because it was too difficult to admit what really happened, but I remember it all.”

  Her hand is shaking, but her voice is strong.

  “I remember her sitting there every night and talking to me for hours. She gave me something good to hold onto. I remember Michael hurting me, too. I remember the sound of his voice, and his hand around my neck. I remember everything he did to me. Feeling trapped in my own body, unable to move. Unable to even open my eyes. Milla lowered the sedation without permission. She fought for me, so I’m going to fight for her.”

  “Thank you,” I say to my wife, staring at her in awe. I am amazed by her strength.

  “It’s not about you, Gabe. It’s about me and Milla. Besides, I said some truly awful shit to her, and she better fucking be okay so that I can apologize. Get me on a plane.”

  Part III

  Milla and Evie

  Chapter 36

  Milla, a few days before

  I don’t know who needs to hear this… but please have sex with your man before you get married to him. He might have a weird fetish you don’t know about, like being a necrophiliac.

  You just need to know these things. Peek under the hood before you buy the car. Please.

  This is one life lesson I learned the hard way.

  I thought the worst that could happen when you peek under the hood is that you discover his penis is small. But I was wrong. The penis is a gateway to a man’s soul—it can tell you everything you need to know about him. Is he a good person? Or is he sexually depraved? Is he kind? Or is he a major creepazoid?

  Scenario: He might want to inject you with paralytics so that you can’t move during sex, because that’s what he finds hot. You being similar to a corpse. You might start to suspect that the reason you’re getting the best sleep of your life with his arms around you… is because he’s making you beverages with roofies in them.

  He might have met a hot girl on Tinder, and found out she was going home to France… then purposely gotten her sick with COVID-19 while he was vaccinated. He might have caused her heart to stop and forced me and the other nurses to put her into a coma even though she didn’t need the ventilator. Even though I knew there was a chance she was strong enough to recover if we just flipped her on her stomach and let her lungs expand.

  He might have done all of that so that he could keep fucking her every day at the hospital while she was unconscious. The best part of comatose bodies? They don’t decompose like the ones in the morgue. Yvette was the perfect victim for him.

  This is all conjecture, crazy thoughts that enter my mind when I can’t move. When I’m too heavily sedated to even drag myself out of my own vomit. Waking up covered in the contents of your own stomach is an excellent way to make a person rethink her life choices. I’m having a lot of interesting thoughts.

  The good news is… at least I woke up at all.

  But is it good news? I remember how happy Yvette was when she woke up. I should also be happy to still be here right now, and try to forget everything that’s happened. Focus on the next step. Getting out of here. Getting these drugs out of my system. Getting the hell away from Mike.

  But then where do I go? Tears spring to my eyes when I remember the state I was in before Mike started getting close to me. I had no job. Only one friend, who is surely so busy with work and her kid that she won’t even notice me missing.

  And the person I love most—I couldn’t even call him on the phone.

  Tears spring to my eyes.

  “Gabe,” I whisper out loud into the empty room. It’s all I can do.

  The worst part of this whole situation is not even what Mike did to me. It’s the fact that this marriage gave me something good to hope for, just for a second. It gave me a beautiful Sunday morning. A pleasant dream of having more lovely Sunday brunches in bed with my husband. And now that’s been ripped away too. I knew it was too good to be true. Just a fantasy that I could have something normal and nice. I’m right back where I started. Worse than where I started.

  I came here looking to be responsible and heal myself, not to suffer more scars. I wanted to start a future with someone. I came here hoping to build a life, and I found death. The person I married prefers me dead. That’s how much of an awesome wife I am. He couldn’t go 24 hours without asking me to pretend I was dead.

  I can’t help blaming myself. I probably should have looked for Michael’s wife and tried to talk to her about her experiences of being married to him, and why she left him. She could have told me about this. She could have saved me. But this is what happens when women don’t talk to each othe
r or help each other.

  Why didn’t Yvette tell me? She could have warned me, too. But she kept the identity of Sexy Babe top secret, acting like she didn’t even know Mike. I guess I was always destined to end up with Yvette’s unwanted leftovers.

  In addition to my earlier advice about looking under the hood—before you marry a guy, talk to the girl he used to be with. See why she left him. Double check to confirm that he didn’t murder her. Just a suggestion. Oh, wow... I was just letting my mind wander, but what if Mike’s wife isn’t okay? Where is she? What if he made a mistake with the drugs and overdosed her?

  What if she’s still comatose somewhere in this house? What if I’m part of a collection of sick wives? Dread creeps into my chest, and I am so creeped out, I wish I could run the hell away from this house. Fear prickles my skin like little spiders crawling all over me. And there might actually be spiders—I don’t know, I can’t feel my body or move my head to look at it.

  “Okay,” I whisper to myself softly. “I’ve watched too many horror movies. Calm down, Milla.”

  But keeping your first wife locked up somewhere in your basement or attic isn’t a new idea. It isn’t even specific to horror movies. Even Jane Eyre’s man did that. And he was the hero of that book. Gross.

  Really, being heavily sedated all day isn’t going to be great for an overthinker like me. I don’t think I’m as strong as Evie was. I was already on antidepressants and going to counseling before this all began. I was already inches away from stepping in front of a subway train.

  If this is the best that life has to offer me, why would I want to continue like this? Why would I even want to fight so hard to get out of this situation, and go back to a life where nothing ever goes well for me? Why the hell would I ever want to go on another date again, if this is what happens when I try?

  Look at what happened with Gabriel.

  Look at what happened when I married the safe, reliable doctor.

  It’s not like Mike is someone I just met. This is a man I’ve probably spent thousands of hours working beside. For years. How can I ever grow to trust someone else again?

  I don’t have the energy to spend years getting to know someone, just to end up drugged and paralyzed, passing out in my own vomit. It’s all a waste of time. People can be so awful to other people. Maybe the subway train was the best idea I’ve had in years.

  I should let Mike do whatever he wants. I should just stay like this. I wasn’t really alive before, anyway. What kind of existence was that, just staying alone in my apartment, watering my plants? I have a cactus. They survive for a really long time without water. They don’t even need me. They definitely don’t notice that I’m gone.

  When Yvette was first sedated, I remember thinking for a while that I wish I could switch places with her. I remember thinking that she had so much to live for, and I had nothing. That I deserved to be half-alive. That it was more suited to me.

  Well, here I am, now. Unable to move. Be careful what you wish for.

  Do you want to know the worst part?

  I kind of miss Mike.

  I also hate his guts and want him to burn in hell for what he did to Evie, and what he’s currently doing to me. But the room is so quiet. I only have my thoughts, driving myself mad.

  I don’t want to be alone anymore. Here, or anywhere.

  Maybe Mike is just the best I get in life. And I have to find a way to live like this. I chose to marry this man. I made my bed, I vomited in it, and now I need to lie in it. At least someone is coming home to me tonight. At least there will be someone beside me. I should look on the bright side of things.

  A single tear slides down my cheek.

  Chapter 37

  “Oh, Milla… you’ve been sick everywhere.” I wake up to Mike cleaning vomit off my face and the bed. I try to move, and my hand has more flexion than before, all the way up to my elbow. I think that maybe I can stand. I must have slept for a while, and the drugs are wearing off.

  “I think I had a bad reaction to whatever was in the syringe,” I lie to him, groaning. “Those drugs must not agree with my body.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” he says gently. “Don’t worry, I will try something different next time.”

  “I feel filthy. Do you mind if I take a shower?” I ask him.

  “Sure, go ahead. I’ll change the bedsheets.”

  I still have some trouble getting up, and the room spins around me. My head is throbbing. But I need to get up. I need to move around. I have been stuck on that bed in that one position for god-knows-how-many hours.

  “Do you need help?” Mike asks.

  I hate to admit it, but I do. But I don’t want him to come near me or touch me. “Where is my phone?” I ask him dizzily. “Can you bring it to me?”

  “You don’t need your phone to shower,” Mike says with a frown. “Who do you want to call, anyway?”

  “It’s just a habit to check my messages,” I tell him softly as I rub my head. “Sometimes I play music while I shower.”

  “There’s a voice activated music system. You can talk to the speakers in the shower and ask them to play whatever you like.”

  “Oh, thank you. That’s convenient,” I say with defeat.

  “Go and freshen up,” Mike says gently. “I’ll be waiting here when you get out. Maybe we can get something to eat.”

  “Okay, Mike.” I push myself to get up, and dizzily stumble toward the bathroom. I also badly need to brush my teeth. I try to look around the room, but I have no idea where my cell phone is. He must have moved it, and that drives me a bit crazy. When I enter the bathroom, I place both hands firmly on the cold quartz countertop to keep me balanced, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  I don’t even recognize myself.

  Even if I had my cell phone, who would I call? Veronica? And tell her what? That she was right. That the whole wedding was a joke. That I failed yet another thing with another guy. That my life is even more pathetic and hopeless than we originally thought. I smile sadly at my reflection.

  There are worse marriages out there, right? Right? Gabe was able to stay in his marriage through thick and thin, no matter what. Is that what you’re supposed to do? Maybe I can do the same.

  * * *

  When I exit the bathroom after my shower, Mike is standing there with another needle.

  “I got a gift for you,” he says softly.

  I want to run. I want to scream. I want to beg him not to do it. “Is it okay if we skip the drugs today, please?” I ask politely.

  “It would really mean a lot to me if you took them,” Mike responds.

  I close my eyes briefly. “Mike… I really just love being able to walk around.”

  “And you can always walk around another time,” he says, stepping closer. “For now, I think we should spend some quality time together. This is just an enhancement. I think it makes it more… spiritual.”

  Some tears slide out of my eyes. I want to fight. I want to yell. I want to leave. But I can’t find the strength. “Can we just… not use drugs?” I ask him. “Please. I don’t want to.”

  “Why are you crying?” he asks, and he seems to be growing a bit angry. “Don’t you trust me? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Mike… I trust you, but this is not necessary. It’s not normal.”

  “Not normal?” he asks. “What do you know about a normal relationship? You never even met your last boyfriend in person, right?”

  I nod slowly.

  “You’re taking antidepressants and doing counseling, Milla. You are just suffering from too much depression and anxiety—that’s why you can’t relax and enjoy this. Normal couples experiment with each other all the time. Play out all kind of strange fantasies. It’s healthy.”

  “Mike,” I say quietly. I look to the door. I consider running. But where am I running to? This is the life I chose, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was choosing.

  He’s right. I am depressed. And although part o
f me wants to fight and run, another part of me gave up a long time ago. I’m already so dead inside.

  Is being Mike’s sedated sex toy really worse than being flattened under a subway train? I haven’t exactly been taking very good care of myself, so maybe… maybe this is still better than what I was doing before. It’s not a bad thing if I give him what he wants, and he gains some happiness from it.

  So what if I’m miserable. Haven’t I been miserable for a long time, anyway?

  “Don’t worry about anything, Milla,” he says, stepping closer with the needle. “You’re going to love how it feels, baby.”

  I stare at the needle with apprehension. No, Mike, please, says a little voice inside my head.

  Tears are streaming down my face.

  “Okay, sure. Go ahead. Do whatever you want.” That’s what I say out loud, in surrender.

  “Good girl,” he says, stepping forward and injecting the needle into my arm. He kisses my forehead. “You’re going to feel so good. You won’t feel any pain. I promise.”

  This time, when my limbs turn to jelly and I start to black out, I welcome it.

  I don’t have any pressing reasons to be conscious right now.

  Chapter 38

  I once had a nightmare about falling into a coma, when I was a child. Except I was too young to understand the word coma so I thought people were talking about a comb. It was the only similar word I knew. I understood that they were saying the person was trapped in their body and unresponsive. So, my childhood imagination caused me to dream about falling off the side of the bed—and magically getting my soul sucked into a hair comb that was lying on the floor.

  The nightmare was basically me running around in a giant hair styling tool, trying to get free. Like I was shrunken down to being ant-sized to fit in the comb, and from my perspective, the comb was the size of a house. I screamed at my parents to alert them to the fact that I was in the comb, but they didn’t notice or hear me.