Page 17 of Kill For Me Kill For You
‘It’s fine,’ whispered Amanda. If she’d spoken any louder, Wendy would’ve heard her voice tremble and threaten to break.
‘How about I buy you a drink?’ said Wendy.
Amanda nodded, said, ‘Vodka tonic,’ and took the seat at the bar beside Wendy, who ordered from the bartender. The two women sat in silence for a time, although it didn’t feel awkward to Amanda. It was as if Wendy knew the woman beside her needed a moment to beat down the pain.
The bartender placed Amanda’s drink on a beer mat and slipped away.
‘You said something in the group that I found interesting,’ said Amanda. ‘You said something about forgiveness. That sometimes people don’t deserve it.’
‘That’s right,’ said Wendy, ‘but let’s not go there yet. Neither of us are drunk enough for that conversation.’
Wendy raised her beer bottle, Amanda took her drink and as they clinked glasses Wendy said, ‘I say we get good and drunk first. Then we can talk all you want.’
7
Ruth
Early evening turned to night, but it was difficult for Ruth to tell. There was no clock on the wall. She asked Scott what time it was and he checked his phone. Her windowless private room in the hospital was kind of a bunker. Scott stayed with her after the police left, but they didn’t talk. She ate a little soup, but it made her feel queasy. Probably the painkillers. She dozed on and off, for how long she couldn’t tell. It was hard to focus after her meds.
‘What time is it?’ she asked.
Only Scott hadn’t heard her. His head was turned to one side on the green leather chair, and his chest was moving slowly in the rhythms of sleep.
Ruth dug her fists into the bed by her sides, and slowly pushed herself into an upright position. It messed up the pillows behind her, making it uncomfortable. With her right hand she reached down to the side bars of the bed, looking for the bed control. She had remembered one of the nurses using it earlier to elevate her head for the soup, before slowly letting the bed recline so Ruth could sleep.
Her fingers alone couldn’t locate it, so she leaned over to see where it had gone. It felt as if someone had inserted a fishing hook into her stomach and had begun to tug on it as soon as she leaned over. No sign of the bed control, but she saw something else that struck her with biting surprise. Suspended from the bed was a bag half filled with a dark orange liquid. There were flecks of red in that bag too, as if someone had dripped a red pen into it. A line ran from the bag up and under the bed covers. She sat up straight, felt between her legs. A catheter. That was the uncomfortable feeling she had registered earlier on.
‘What are you doing? Lie down – you’ll break your stitches,’ said Scott, getting to his feet.
‘I’m fine. I was just looking for the bed control,’ she said.
Scott lifted the corners of the covers, found the white plastic bed control and adjusted the head of the bed so Ruth could sit up a little more comfortably. Gently, and without being told, he placed his arm under hers, held her up while he fought with the pillows, then carefully lowered her onto them.
‘That’s better,’ she said.
‘You don’t need to worry any more. I’m here. I’m . . . I’m never going to leave you again,’ said Scott.
Forcing a smile, Ruth felt another wave of fear coming over her. She blinked, and her eyelashes spilled a tear on her cheek.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said.
And they held each other. She was glad to have him close, feel his arms around her.
He couldn’t have known anything bad was going to happen to her. Scott had proven himself to Ruth over and over again. Even when at first she’d had doubts about him.
They had been dating for almost a year. A week away from their first anniversary and Scott had booked a table at her favorite restaurant in Chinatown. A small mom-and-pop place with cheap tables and rickety chairs that did noodles and pork bao buns and not much else. They had both arrived at around seven, in their suits, straight from the office. The restaurant only had twelve tables, and the last one by the window was reserved for Scott.
‘You look great,’ he said.
He always complimented her. Never failed. They looked through the menu and ordered. The meal was on Scott – he’d made that clear. Even though Ruth earned a lot more, he’d insisted.
Scott fidgeted with his chopsticks and napkin. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something,’ he said.
Ruth had felt a nervous swirling sensation in her stomach at those words. Her relationship with Scott had been better than she could have imagined. He had booked a table – there was something clearly working on his mind. He was getting up the nerve to tell her it was all over. Ruth could feel it coming.
‘I quit my job today,’ he said.
‘You what?’
