Raw and Broken Ch. 04

One corner of Malcolm's mouth turned up slightly as he shook his head. "I told them I had a family emergency. Which I did. In twofold."

I blinked at him then nodded. "Oh. Okay."

"You have a habit of having those," Becca said with a sigh. She too attempted a grin. "Best not let it become a regular occurrence, or else I'll start to think you're cursed."

"I'm not cursed, I'm blessed." Malcolm gave her a kiss on the lips and then hugged me, kissing my forehead. "I'm just glad I didn't have any classes yesterday morning and I could be here for you."

I nodded against his chest as he kept one arm around me on his left. Becca mirrored me on his right. We were still sitting like that when Dr. Lister walked in after over four hours since we'd last seen him. He was still wearing green scrubs with a matching cap over his hair.

"Mrs. Rockland, I was able to reduce the swelling on your husband's brain on the right side. I took samples of the tumor to run additional tests. But based on his symptoms and from what I saw on the CT scan, it's probably an oligodendroglioma. We did the MRI first to see if there are any other affected areas, but I won't know the results until at least tomorrow."

"What are his chances?" Malcolm said.

I silently thanked him for having his head on his shoulders today. For being my voice. I feared that if I opened my mouth, only blubbering would come out.

Dr. Lister hooked his thumbs on the pockets of his scrub pants. I stared at his hands for a moment. Imagined them cutting into Drake's head...poking about his brain matter. But I raised my eyes when the doctor sighed.

"I'll be honest, if it is the glioma, they are usually incurable."

"Are you saying my brother is going to die?" Becca said.

"It's possible. But we will do everything we can to prevent that."

I turned my face into Malcolm's chest, expecting for the tears to start again. But I was completely deflated. I had nothing left in me.

Malcolm put his arm further around me. His hand held my head against him, partially covering my ear. I know he hadn't intended it, but in a way, it felt like he was trying to protect me from hearing the bad news. "Are we talking weeks? Days? Months?"

"It's hard to tell. Years, possibly. Further tests will tell us what stage the tumor is in. But know that even if it's the only tumor and we were to treat it, this type tends to reoccur. They get worse."

"I want to see him," I mumbled, sitting upright.

Dr. Lister stepped aside and gestured with his hand to go ahead. "I'll stop by later."

I settled back into the wheelchair, thankful we still had it. I'm not sure what I expected to see, but when I was wheeled into Drake's room, he looked like he'd been in a fistfight with all of the cuts and bruises on his forehead, nose, and the right side of his face.

Then there was the breathing tube coming out of his mouth. And the white gauze wrapped around his head like an 80s sweatband. His hair had been shaved on both sides. He looked as if he'd cut his own sideburns and had gone too high. The shock that remained stuck up above the bandage. He didn't appear to have any casts on his arms or legs, which made sense. None of the doctors had mentioned any broken bones or internal injuries.

I felt numb as I watched his chest rise and fall. He looked peaceful. But by the pallor of his scarred face, he looked...helpless. Not like the strong, controlling Master I knew. Or thought I'd known.

"Good afternoon, I'm Melanie," a red-headed nurse said as she entered. She gave us a soft smile, and Malcolm made introductions for us all.

"Is he in a coma?" The last word was a whisper as it left my mouth.

"A traumatic surgery like the one he had is very exhausting for the patient," Melanie said. "He just came out of recovery. It can take some time to wake up."

That was neither a 'yes' nor 'no' answer, which frustrated me. I needed solid answers, not guesses.

"Why is he on a ventilator?" Becca's voice cracked, and she turned to hide her face against Malcolm's shoulder. "Dr. Lister didn't mention—"

"It's just to help him breathe." Melanie placed her hand on Becca's back but was watching me. "Did anyone explain what happened in the ER?"

We all shook our heads.

"Mr. Rockland was unconscious at the scene, so the EMT had to intubate him. When he arrived, his heart stopped."

My own did the same for a moment.

"We got it started again," Melanie said, "but Dr. Lister decided to keep him on the respirator just as a precaution. At least until he wakes up."

I heard Malcolm ask something else, but I tuned out their conversation as I stood and moved closer to the bed.

Other than his steady breathing—or rather the hissing of the machine connected to him—the only movement Drake made was the occasional twitch of his eyelids from whatever he was dreaming about. The one hand not covered with tubes and tape was lying palm up on top of the white blanket, his fingers slightly curled.

I scooted to his right side and gently laid my hand in his. I flinched at the coolness of his skin. How his fingers didn't react. I wanted him to close his hand around mine. To reassure me that he was going to be okay, regardless of what the doctors and nurses said. Neither happened.

I gently brushed his hair off his forehead. My hand paused as it passed over the left side of his temple. A combination of part cry and part growl came out of my mouth as I remembered the image we had been shown downstairs. Beneath my hand was a deadly blob, hidden under skin and bone and brain matter.

How long had it been there? How much had it affected my husband? Changed him from the person he really was? And had I ever known that person?

Then I wondered if alcohol played any part in the tumor's symptoms. Would a casual, social drinker turn into an inebriated man who couldn't recall simple activities while under the influence...like having sex? Not only once but twice? Were there other instances I hadn't known about?

A lone tear trickled down my cheek. I dared to believe this tumor was the reason behind everything I disliked about Drake. Dr. Lister had handed me a scapegoat on an oversized piece of film. I was eager to accept it.

I knew Drake had been in the lifestyle for years before meeting me. He'd already been a good Dominant when he'd started honing his skills under Malcolm. He was loving and caring toward me. Patient. Overprotective, even, at times. He'd been the same way with Becca after her first ordeal with Brian.

While I had known he had cheated on me at some point in the past twelve months before we'd gotten married, the first time I had truly noticed a change in his behavior was regarding his decision to collar me. I'd never seen him be so adamant about something before. Then in the minutes before the ceremony...how he'd reacted to Becca? It had frightened me, but only just a little. I'd been more anxious for the ceremony to start. To show my devotion to Drake... How callous of me.

"Daphne?"

I flinched and stared at Drake's face. His eyes remained closed. His hand was still limp under mine. Then someone touched my shoulder, and I shrieked.

"Shh, it's okay," Malcolm said as I turned around. "It's just me."

"I thought..." I glanced at my husband again.

"The nurse said he may not wake up for a few hours. Why don't we go home for a bit? I'm sure you'd like to take a shower. Maybe try to rest a little?" Malcolm gestured with his head toward the hallway.

"But what if—"

"You need to take care of yourself as well," Becca said. She gave me a sad smile and turned the wheelchair towards the door. "Your chariot awaits."

I was going to object again, but a hot shower and a soft bed sounded amazing right now. Once I was rested, I would be able to cope better. I leaned down to place a kiss on Drake's cool cheek. It took every ounce of energy left in me to not shake his shoulders and scream for him to wake up.

"I still love you," I whispered in his ear. "I'll be back soon, Sir."

###

Becca sat in the backseat with me, holding my hand as I rested my head on her shoulder. No one spoke while Malcolm drove us back to the beach house. As they both helped me inside and upstairs.

My legs finally gave out—and a strangled cry emerged from my throat—when I saw the blood-stained wall and carpet on the second floor.

"Shh, Daphne," Malcolm said, his arm moving from around my shoulders to under my arms as he practically carried me to the bathroom where I had been trying to get to twenty-four hours ago. "We'll get it cleaned."

"Do you think you're up for a shower?" Becca flicked her fingers at Malcolm. I saw him nod at her in the mirror. He helped me sit on the toilet lid before he left us alone. Becca was reaching towards the shower handle when she paused. "Or would you rather have a bath? But you'd have to make it up to our bathroom. Then again, it's a spa tub, and I don't want you to drown on me."

I mumbled that I could do the shower. I managed to undress, and my legs were able to function enough to get me into the large, tiled stall. But once I was under the hot streams of water, all I could do was stand there, naked.

Becca suddenly disrobed down to her underwear and joined me. I felt the tears welling up again as she washed my hair. The salty drops intermingled with the water as it hit my face. I didn't object when she told me to sit on the little seat in the corner.

"I know, sweetie. I know. You cry it out." She knelt down, and I saw her shoulders shaking.

"Becca?"

"Yeah?" She kept her eyes downcast as she put soap on the washcloth and started washing my feet.

"Thank you. For everything."

"Don't mention it. It's what families—"

"No, I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if this had happened—"

"Shh. It happened here for a reason. You needed us. We needed you." She swiped the back of her hand at her nose before she switched to my right foot. "We'll get through this together. All of us."

We were both silent for several few minutes as she slowly washed my legs, arms, and then my front side. When she had me stand so she could wash my back, I bit my lip. I leaned my arm on the wall and rested my forehead against it, trying to form the right words.

When she was done, I turned around. "I have a secret...and I'm not sure I should share it."

Becca snorted. "I'm afraid to ask."

I put my hands on her shoulders. "Don't hate me, okay?"

"Daphne, I swear if you try to kiss me—"

"Am I a horrible person to not want Drake to wake up?" I said at the same time.

We both stared at each other for a long moment. The water suddenly turning cold broke us from our daze. Then we both shrieked and hurried out of the shower to dry off.

Becca waited until I was sitting on the edge of the bed in the guestroom where Drake had stayed before she spoke again.

"Take this." She handed me a glass of water and one of the pills Dr. Baxter had prescribed. "First off, I'm glad I wasn't turning you on. You had me scared for a moment."

I shook my head. "Straight as an arrow."

She sighed as she sat beside me. "And second, I'm not sure how to answer your question. My instinct is to say 'yes, you're horrible' because he's my brother. Of course, I don't want him to die."

"But?"

"I would miss him if he were gone. I don't know if it would solve anything. I don't want to say he deserves it, because no one deserves to die. Well, murders do. And maybe rapists." Her nose scrunched up. She was probably thinking about Brian. She shook her head. "But anyway, Drake has done some terrible things to this family. Mostly to you—probably more than you've shared. You were right to not just forgive and forget. But I'm glad you are trying to fix things. Our parents raised us to persevere through the hard times. Especially, in marriage. I know it's not the norm these days. Everyone's getting divorced or sues when something doesn't go their way. Marriage isn't supposed to be easy, though. You have to fight sometimes. Get angry. If you stick together and work through it, you come out stronger on the other side. It's part of the vows you say. Why say them if you don't actually intend to live them out?"

I nodded. "I have never considered divorce. Not even when the whole Jimmy thing came to light. It was the worst thing Drake had done to me so far. On a certain level, while not a physical blow like Jimmy had thrown at me, Drake's actions were still damaging. But I hadn't been married to Jimmy. That's what made it different to me. I made a lifelong promise to someone, and I refuse to just leave. A lot of people would say I am weak for wanting to stay with Drake. A glutton for punishment. Literally. I disagree. I'm like you. I was taught to not give up on something you really want. And I really want to be with Drake. I think he can still be the man I fell in love with. He just needs to be around the right people. Like now."

"Some would probably say I'm horrible because I want you to stay together. That I have ulterior motives." Becca gave me a sad smile. She gestured for me to turn around and began combing out my wet hair. "But my only motive is loving you both so very much. I would have understood you walking away if Drake didn't want to fix your marriage. But he did. As did you. Even if it doesn't work out in the end, I am glad you are at least trying."

"Me, too. But if he comes through this and decides he wants out...I can't stop him."

"I know."

I closed my eyes as I relaxed both from the medicine and Becca's gentle motions. "Thank you for believing in us. You and Malcolm have been the best support. No matter what happens, I'm glad we're out here and have you guys."

"I think you were a great couple when you met," Becca said, her voice softer, as if she were thinking to herself aloud. "He got off track somewhere. Became someone I didn't recognize. Although he cut us off, I refused to abandon him. We have always been willing to be there for him. He just had to reach out. But I guess in this lifestyle, men can confuse stubbornness as dominance."

I picked at the wording on the T-shirt Becca had brought me from my room. Drake had custom-ordered it after I'd done a striptease to "Sexy Back" for him. The bridge from the song was emblazoned on the back with the song title on the front. I'd only worn it around the house as a result of the suggestive words, but I had gotten a lot of use out of it as I loved to clean in it. Okay, I'd worn it a few times during a session, too.

"I still love him, Becca." I glanced back at her, my eyes glossy. She nodded then turned my head back around. "I can't help but think this tumor is what caused him to act the way he did. To be so irrational. Over-controlling. But I also fear that part of it was the true Drake. What he really wanted was finally coming to the surface the longer I've been with him. And, if it was...hell, I've questioned how contrite he's been so many times, my head hurts. Has it been a ploy just so I'll stay with him? A way to convince you I'm okay with him so he can take me home?"

"Yeah, I know. I've wondered myself at times if he's been faking it. Maybe not all of it, but...he did such a drastic turnaround. I could tell he was ready to throw you over his shoulder and take you kicking and screaming to the airport. Then suddenly, he's pouring his heart out to us? I've never seen him act like that before. But if what you say is true, what could his motive be? It would take a lot of determination to keep up the charade for this long."

"I thought it was the baby." I pressed my hand to the slight mound in my belly. My empty belly. "When he didn't show up last night, I was certain he wasn't coming back. It killed me to think he didn't want me because Lily was gone. But to find out this morning he had come back? I figured I was wrong and was the irrational one. I hate to keep second-guessing myself with him."

"Daphne, I don't know what to say. I worried the same thing myself last night. Both Malcolm and I tried to call Drake. But the dead battery explains that. Or at least it gives a valid reason for why he didn't respond. I, too, refused to believe my brother would abandon you. But as the hours went on... Maybe it was the tumor. Or maybe it's just who he's become, like you said."

"Anyone ever tell you two that women worry too much?" Malcolm said from the doorway.

I nodded. "More than once."

Malcolm crossed the room. "I thought you were going to get some rest?"

"Yes, Doctor." I glanced at Becca and frowned. "I'll try not to think about what we talked about."

"It's forgotten." She patted my hand and stood up. "We'll just take it one day at a time. See what happens, okay?"

I nodded and watched Malcolm close the blinds. When he pulled the curtains over them, I said, "Could you lave the window open a little?"

"Sure." He adjusted the window coverings to allow the autumn breeze to slip in.

I snuggled under the blankets with Becca's assistance and closed my eyes. The crisp, ocean air felt wonderful against my face. I sighed, relishing the resulting chill as it raced through my body.

"We'll be around if you need us." Malcolm squeezed my shoulder.

Becca gave me a kiss on my forehead. "We love you, Daphne."

"Love you, too," I mumbled.

Before I could even think of Drake, exhaustion—and that little white pill—took me to a dreamless land.

###

For the next three days, my morning routine consisted of getting up to take a shower, eating some breakfast, and staring numbly out the window as Becca drove me to the hospital. Then we sat in Drake's room watching his seemingly lifeless body for any sign he had woken from what Dr. Lister now admitted was a coma.

Malcolm would join us after work. He brought us food, which we barely touched. Tried to incite positive thoughts when our discussions turned pessimistic. Made sure we went home to get our rest. Basically, he was the rock for both of us to cling to in a churning sea of the unknown.

Becca always had her laptop to work on her novel. I had grabbed a book from the upstairs library at her house. Both were mostly props because we would be quiet for a short time then suddenly mention a memory of Drake. We usually cried, wiped our tears, and returned to our silences until something else jogged one of our brains and the cycle started over again.

Malcolm took care of contacting Drake's employer to explain what was going on. Becca had called her mother and other brother, Alexander. They would be here Sunday and would take lodgings at the beach house that Drake was renting. Becca said they had made arrangements to stay through Thanksgiving, which was in two weeks. If Drake had not improved by then, we would discuss what to do next.

On Saturday, Dr. Lister told us the biopsy results confirmed Drake's tumor was an oligodendroglioma. It had not metastasized, which was good. However, the fact that he had not woken yet did not bode well. The doctor said all we could do was wait and make Drake comfortable.

We'd gotten a later start than usual on Sunday, mostly at our collective decision to sleep in. We could all use the extra rest. What was one less hour sitting around staring at a bunch of machines?

The car ride over was quiet as usual. I think we were all psyching ourselves up for another day of reminiscing and crying. We were trying not to get our hopes up but still had faith that today would be the day we'd see some sign of improvement. Same as we told ourselves each day before.

Malcolm pressed a metal pad on the wall outside of the ICU, and we waited for the automatic doors to swing open. The department was arranged with rooms along the outside of a circular hallway. At the hub was the nurse's station. Drake's room was directly across from the entrance, but a wall of buttons and lights blocked a direct view. Melanie, the nurse we'd met on Wednesday, had told us the lights lit up and flashed when an alarm went off in one of the patient rooms.