The Sick Wife Page 3

  My eyes widen even further when I see the photos Sexy Babe sent of his… er, package. And the salacious invitations he’s typed out for her over the past few weeks to cum over 2nite and instructions on what to wear. What to bring. Rope so I can tie you up and make you beg. Lube so we can try…

  Whoa.

  I press the button to lock her phone, feeling very guilty for snooping. I have never snooped into a patient’s personal life like this. I mean, the nature of the job causes me to be exposed to a lot of private and embarrassing information, but this is a new low for me. This was unnecessary and I’m not even sure why I was so curious.

  But at least now I have some ideas on how she got sick. I am willing to bet that Sexy Babe wasn’t into practicing social distancing.

  “Sorry, Evie,” I whisper to the comatose woman, touching her leg. Great, now I’m calling her by her husband’s personal nickname for her. I really need to get some sleep and eat something.

  I shake my head, forcing myself to turn around and leave the room.

  Chapter 4

  I am finally wearing my soft pajamas and lying on my couch with a bag of Cheetos… but it’s not as satisfying as I hoped it would be. I’ve popped one or two into my mouth, but they just taste stale—empty calories that could never provide my body what it needs.

  Instead, I’ve mainly been googling Y’s husband and reading about his career. He’s not on social media, so I can’t stalk him there, but I’ve been staring at his professional photos for a bit too long.

  Gabriel Delacroix.

  He looks to be in his early to mid-forties, and incredibly handsome. I am deadly exhausted, and have another shift starting soon, but I can’t stop staring at this man. And, I must confess, making faces at the strange names of the books he’s written.

  STOP PRAYING, START ACTING. Why faith is a lie that keeps you from success.

  Well, that explains that weird conversation we had earlier. He wasn’t joking about being nihilistic. That looks to be one of his earliest books, from over ten years ago. I wonder if that was the sort of philosophy that made Yvette fall in love with him. I can see the appeal. A cool, smoking, intellectual bad boy. Kind of irresistible.

  STOP CELEBRATING HOLIDAYS. Finding joy in everyday life.

  Well, that’s strange. It sounds like he forgot too many birthdays and anniversaries, and needed to develop some kind of clever justification for it. These seem more like popular self-help books than philosophy, but what do I know.

  DEATH IS FINAL. Let go, stop grieving and start living.

  Wow. That seems a bit harsh, doesn’t it? I suck the cheese off a Cheeto, absentmindedly. Super dark and depressing. How would he feel if someone told him to let go of Yvette?

  LOVE IS DEAD. The end of marriage as an institution.

  I am not sure why, but a grin tugs at my lips. Eventually, a huge smile overtakes my face until I am giggling softly. That book was published fairly recently. Well… I guess it’s no secret that he’s having relationship troubles. I would love nothing more than to open a bottle of wine, and sit here sipping and relaxing while reading these books—I am itching to take a closer look at the complex, frustrating insides of that man’s brain.

  After seeing the titles and descriptions, and realizing how gloomy and edgy he is, I’m almost grateful that my life has been empty and devoid of love. Gabriel seems like way too much to handle. Poor Yvette! How did she ever live with him? Who wants to be married to a guy writing books about how LOVE IS DEAD?

  Although… if he ever glanced at some of her text messages to Sexy Babe… I wince at the thought. Okay. Yeah. If I was Gabriel and I saw some of those dick picks on Yvette’s phone… well, I could definitely see how that would inspire a whole book about love being dead. But he did say that he was responsible for breaking her heart, over and over. For destroying her health. What if he cheated first? What if everything going on with Sexy Babe is just Yvette coping with her pain? Just a symptom or a response to whatever he did? What exactly did he do?

  This couple is somehow more interesting to me than Netflix. I glance over at my kitchen, really tempted to get up and pour myself a glass of red, but I know I don’t drink enough water. Those long shifts at the hospital without anything to eat or drink are wreaking havoc on my health. I know I’ll feel like shit after having any alcohol at all—I tried it once, after a double shift when I lost three patients. I’ve never needed to get drunk so badly.

  I experienced the worst hangover of my life, and my first attack of gout at thirty years old. My feet were killing me and I couldn’t walk without feeling like I was being stabbed by needles, for days. The dehydration is not a joke… although I am dying for the comfort of some Cabernet. It’s just not a luxury I can afford at the moment. Not something my body can handle.

  I put aside my phone, and sigh, sinking into the couch. I’m not sure I even have the energy to drag myself over to the bed. And my apartment is very, very small.

  My eyes have closed and I am already half asleep when my phone rings. I pick it up and look at the strange number in confusion. It’s a video call? What?

  I am too drowsy to make sense of it, and I can only just barely push myself up into a seated position before answering. “Hello?”

  It takes a second for the image to appear on the screen, and I am mortified. Of course. It’s the handsome man I’ve been internet stalking for hours… and I look like this.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him quickly, panicking, realizing I don’t even have the luxury of a mask to conceal my lack of makeup and lipstick. I feel very naked and exposed in my powder blue pajamas. I rub the back of my hand over my eyes. “I’m not at the hospital. There’s no news about her yet…”

  “I need to know your name,” he says simply.

  This makes me pause. “You do? Why?”

  He stares at me hard, his forehead tightening with deep lines. “I don’t know,” he responds, hesitantly.

  I bite my lip. It might be the same reason that I’ve been googling him all night. Crap. I’m in trouble.

  “Well, what’s your name?” I ask him, like I haven’t just read thirteen biographies. Like I’m trying to hold onto some kind of sense of propriety.

  “Gabriel Samuel Jean Delacroix,” he answers. “I’m 42 years old, and I teach at the Sorbonne.”

  “My name is Camilla,” I respond.

  “Oh,” he responds, and I see a flash of emotion in his eyes. “My mother’s name was Camille.”

  “What happened to your mother?” I ask him softly. It’s the second time he’s mentioned her.

  “Lung cancer. It was her dying wish that I stop smoking,” he explains. Then he sighs. “Also… she wanted me to marry Yvette. I’ve tried to make it work for so many years, just to honor my mother’s memory. In case she’s looking down on me.”

  “But I thought Death is Final,” I say teasingly, before realizing that I’m not supposed to know his entire body of work after meeting him a few hours ago. Crap.

  A grin lights up his already handsome face. “I knew it! You googled me.”

  Shit. Well, that’s embarrassing. “Just a quick Google search. Like three seconds—I just skimmed the top few articles, nothing too in depth.” A hot blush darkens my cheeks, and I’m sure he knows I’m lying. I can see the victory painted all over his face. “So, why are you calling me, Professor Delacroix?”

  “I’m not sure, Camilla,” he says honestly. “But I suppose… no one has told me to ‘shut the fuck up’ in a very long time.”

  “You deserved it.”

  He smiles at me.

  I smile back at him.

  We just stare at each other for a good, long minute, with both of our eyes shining stupidly. Both of us smiling like idiots until our faces hurt.

  Oh, god. I’m in trouble now.

  Pray for me.

  * * *

  I can’t keep myself from reading Gabriel’s books at every chance I get.

  I spend days soaking up every word. I am fascinate
d by him, and craving to know more. I flip through the pages hungrily, wondering about what happened in his life to make him so cynical and cold.

  But the best part is when he calls me, and I can learn about him directly. I feel such a rush of excitement to see his name lighting up my phone. And he’s calling me… a lot.

  “This book is kicking my ass today,” he says with a groan. He stretches back in his office chair. “How’s Yvette? Any improvement?”

  “Not yet. Her lungs will need more time to heal up. What are you currently working on?” I ask him.

  “It’s inspired by the pandemic,” he explains. “Working title: SOLITUDE IS SPIRITUAL—how isolation and avoiding all other human beings can soothe your soul.”

  I try to restrain myself from crinkling my nose, but I have to make a face. “Gabriel, that sounds like the smelliest steaming pile of... inaccurate information that I’ve ever heard. There’s a study that compares the negative health effects of loneliness to smoking and obesity. The isolation is literally killing people, causing all kind of psychological issues, stunting the social development of children…”

  “Yes, yes, but isn’t it also more peaceful?”

  “Not for me,” I tell him. “Watching people die all day is… really violent. And then I have to come home and be alone, with no one to hug or complain to. It’s like the horrible moments follow me around and they’re just always swimming around in my head. I don’t have real people… I have ghosts.”

  “Interesting,” he says, and he actually puts down the phone so he can type on his keyboard and make some notes. “Maybe I could interview you for my book. Have you ever considered getting a roommate or a pet, or doing some social activities to ease the loneliness? Like a workout class?

  “Well, my place isn’t big enough for a roommate. I work too much for a pet. Most social classes are cancelled right now… but I have thought about getting a plant of some sort. Probably a cactus, so it won’t die easily if I work long hours and forget about it for a week.”

  Gabriel’s face lights up. He smiles and his brows raise, creating adorable lines on his forehead. Oh my goodness. I’ve never found a man’s forehead wrinkles to be so cute, and I am staring way too much.

  “I happen to be a cactus expert!” he declares. “Put on some warm clothes and take me to your nearest cactus shop, and I will help you pick out the perfect cactus. I promise you won’t be disappointed by my succulent skills.”

  “I would love to see your succulent skills,” I tell him as I get up to follow his instructions. And then I blush at how unintentionally naughty that sounds. Why does this feel like a video-date? Going to a cactus shop together? It’s rather sweet and special. But where do I even find a cactus shop? I’ll figure it out—Gabe is way too excited, and I’ll buy any prickly green thing he tells me to buy, just to see him smile.

  * * *

  I put the cactus beside my bed, near where my cell phone charges, and I look at it happily every morning and night. We gave it a name together… it’s called Arthur. So far, it is actually making me less lonely. One night, Gabriel video calls me after a long shift, when I am so tired that I barely made it to the bed. I can’t even brush my teeth.

  “You look so beautiful, Milla,” he says softly.

  I laugh at him. “I look like shit.”

  “You look perfect to me,” he tells me. And then he bites his lip. A strange kind of expression comes into his face, and I feel heat creeping into my neck and face.

  “Gabriel,” I say softly, and my tiredness fades, replaced by something else.

  “Can you… undo just a few buttons on your pajama top?” he asks me in a hoarse voice. “I just… want to see a little more of you.”

  The question makes my whole body respond, and heat floods my abdomen. It’s strange to me, a dizzying sensation—I haven’t felt desire for anyone in years. My hand lifts to follow his request, and I am blushing hotly, feeling guilty and excited at the time.

  He stares at the bit of skin I’m exposing, and I can see that he’s aching for more. “Milla,” he whispers. “You’re stunning.”

  “Should I take it off?” I ask.

  “Please,” he responds. “I want to see all of you.”

  He doesn’t know this yet, but I’ll probably do anything he asks. I’m getting addicted to feeling close to him, and making him happy.

  Chapter 5

  It’s just a whirlwind of falling, and I’m not sure how I let it happen to me.

  In a matter of days, everything changes completely. I no longer feel like a dwarf or a random forest animal. I’m not an insignificant, supporting cast member—I’ve somehow become the princess in my own story again.

  Gabriel calls me every moment he can. Under the pretense of checking up on Yvette, at first.

  But we both know the truth, although we are scared to say it out loud. We become friends, and make each other laugh. We call each other out on our bullshit. Challenge each other. I read every single one of his books, and laugh my ass off at how much garbage he’s written, trying to convince himself and the whole world that he’s some super tough, cold, badass… but it doesn’t fool me. Not for one second. He doesn’t believe that LOVE IS DEAD or DEATH IS FINAL. It’s all some macho persona he crafted for the public.

  I see the sweet, sensitive boy underneath that hard shell.

  And the connection only grows between us. The attraction is intense. Every minute that we aren’t able to spend on the phone, while we are at work or around other people, we text. We have conversations about everything on the face of the planet, everything that matters to us. It isn’t long before I start to feel like he knows me better than anyone. He becomes the closest person to me, in my life… and I become the same to him.

  The difference in me is noticeable to everyone. The sudden bounce in my step. I begin humming—actually humming and smiling to myself, while doing menial, disgusting tasks around the hospital. The patients think I’m insane, because I’m grinning like an idiot while emptying their bedpans. The doctors think I’m high, and the other nurses are positive that I’ve stolen Veronica’s cocaine and sprinkled it all over my cornflakes.

  I begin to wear some eye makeup, just in case Gabriel randomly video calls me. Just a splash of eyeliner and mascara, but it makes a big difference to my confidence. I start taking care of myself more, and actually brushing and styling my hair in the morning. Lots of little things that I hadn’t even realized I no longer bothered to do. I begin to feel normal again, and much more like myself. Not just myself pre-pandemic… myself at my core, before anything bad ever happened to me. Before I ever had a shitty relationship, before I ever had my heart broken. Gabriel makes me feel brand new, healed, and hopeful.

  He has woken up all the parts of me I thought had died long ago.

  Even Dr. Mike started noticing me more and inviting me out for coffee.

  I find it a bit strange that Mike is showing me attention now, after ignoring me for years—but I guess he is recently divorced and just starting to date again. I declined his offers to grab coffee, because it feels like I’m already seeing someone. Gabriel is all I can think about.

  Gabriel’s face, his voice, and his body are always on my mind.

  Oh my god… his body. These days, most of our video calls involve both of us removing all of our clothing. He’s so confident being naked, and I love the way he moves. Sometimes he even leaves the video call on while he showers, and it’s just the hottest and most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. I feel like I’m right there beside him, and we always somehow end up having phone sex. Video sex? I don’t know what you call it, but even though it’s a long-distance, virtual thing where we touch ourselves instead of each other…. it is so hot. So, so hot.

  And so satisfying. Almost magical, really.

  I can’t imagine how it would feel to actually touch him.

  But I need to interrupt this happy montage of perfection.

  I’m an adult.

  I’m not an idio
t teenager. I’ve been through this before, I’ve seen it all before. And I tried so hard to stop it from happening. I tried so hard to slow it down. I tried to be logical and I tried to be reasonable. I tried everything I could to prevent myself from acting like a totally brainless, naïve, trusting child.

  I have seen greater women than me brought down by love. My own mother killed herself because of the way my father mistreated her on a daily basis. Thank goodness his dementia has progressed so far that he can no longer remember all the hell he put us through. He can no longer remember being the first and original Huge Fucking Asshole of my life—so much that it killed the woman he loved. I’ve liked my father a lot better since the dementia erased some of his cruelty. But I can never find complete forgiveness within me. So, I mostly leave him to rot in a long-term care facility… and can’t even bring myself to visit regularly.

  I promised myself that I would never fall in love with someone like him.

  Even though I may have seemed desperate, unhappy, or lonely… it wasn’t all because of low self-confidence, or thinking I was inferior. It wasn’t all due to being unlucky in love. It was fear. A large part of it was just my choice. I was terrified.

  I am still terrified. Afraid to fall. Afraid to lose all common sense, and make a terrible decision like the ones I’ve always watched everyone around me make. Like my parents did. Even Veronica, who I love dearly, has royally screwed up when it comes to relationships. She’s a single mother to a daughter who is too shy to speak. And she knows her little girl is not doing very well. That’s the real reason she tries so hard to appear happy and cheerful. It’s all an attempt to heal her daughter’s wounds, caused by her ex’s abandonment.

  I’m afraid to do the same—choose the wrong man, and hurt a child like that. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Gabriel who made me feel this way? Someone I mistrusted from the start. Someone I knew with every fiber of my being was dangerous. Someone who admitted that he had already caused another woman serious harm. So much harm that she ended up on life-support.