With a churning stomach and heavy steps, I amble into the emergency ward. Vienna is ending a call with someone, and thankfully, for a beat, there’s a lightness in her gaze. But when she sees me, the dread is back.
Before I can tell her that all’s gonna be fine, Mary says to my fake wife, “Everything is done, Mrs. Teager. You can now go home with your husband.” She removes the IV from Vienna’s hand and places a bandage on her wrist. “I’ll get you a wheelchair.”
Once alone, Vienna doesn’t waste a second throwing the blanket off her. I don’t blame her for not being gentle with the hospital linens. After hearing the news, I’m sure the last thing she wants is to spend any extra time here.
Gingerly, she gets up, holding the edge of the bed. My feet remain glued to the side, but my grip tightens on the papers. I’m able to resist the urge to do anything like rush to hold and support her only for a second until she hobbles.
“Here, l-let me help you.”
My hand curls around her waist, and an unfamiliar shiver crawls up my spine.
She puts her sprained ankle forward but immediately grimaces. “Ouch.” She grabs my bicep. I can’t help but feel like a blessing has just been placed before me, and it’s now my responsibility to keep her safe.
“Mary is bringing the wheelchair.”
“No, Zane! Please, no wheelchair.” Her voice trembles as she looks up at me, her painful gaze doing indescribable things to my insides. “I…have to do this. Please.”
I hate that walking without a wheelchair equates to having some control on things, which are rapidly slipping away from her. Pride soars through me as I nod.
Hand in hand, we plod toward the parking lot. I open the passenger door of my car, and before helping her inside, slide her papers on the dashboard. Trying to think about the best thing to say to her, I circle the hood.
My fucking throat feels arid more than ever, and I grab a lozenge from the inner pocket of my jacket before sucking on it. When I open the driver’s side, my hand halts on the door handle as Vienna skims through her file.
Fuck.
I quickly get in and am about to take the pages from her when she turns in her seat to face me. Her eyes are as wide as saucers. “This is today’s bill?” Her index finger repeatedly taps on a page.
I don’t need to look down to confirm. “Don’t th-think about money r-right now. Focus on getting bett-ter.”
“What are you saying, Zane? I don’t even know what the cost of a biopsy is, or the expensive treatments that will follow.”
My chest constricts as her teardrops fall on the paper sitting on her lap.
“It’s too much,” she mumbles to herself. “I can’t do this alone.”
I can feel the dark pain engulfing my own heart as she cries next to me.
Everyone in my family says I’ve a magical, calming power. But I don’t feel it right now as Vienna’s teardrops continue to shred my insides. I try to think of a response that will lessen her pain. But it isn’t easy. All her worries are warranted. I rack my brain trying to think of a solution where she won’t be crushed under medical debt and also not be alone.
I look at her as she absently plays with a lone thread of her denim jacket. Her face is scrunched; she’s probably trying to find a fitting solution.
I clear my throat once.
“I’ve a proposition.” I swallow deeply before shifting in my seat. My brain screams at me to shut up, but I focus on my heartbeat, which is lighter for a second. “Marry me. The hospital already th-thinks I’m your husband. I c-can add your name t-to my insurance. That’s-s one less th-thing for you to w-worry about.” I run my hand through my hair before peeking at her. “Also, you w-won’t be alone.”
She opens and closes her mouth a few more times as she struggles to find her words. Heat tingles my face and insides.
You dumb fuck, why would she marry you?
She’s in a temporary crisis. Once recovered, why would she want to stay tied to you?
With huge, wild eyes she looks up at me. “But what do you get in return?” she whispers.
Her question catches me off guard, and it takes me a while to comprehend her words. I jerk in my seat. “Noth-thing. I’m not making any lewd prop-position.”
“Zane! I know that. And that’s the reason I’m asking why would you do this.”
“Because you’re my fr-riend,” I reply simply, as if I didn’t just propose to her. I don’t tell her that I’m unhappy when she’s unhappy. It’s like I borrow some of her pain and feel it as my own.