Page 89 of Reckless Desires

“No. Endometriosis doesn’t just go away. There’s no cure.”

“She’s just supposed to manage the pain?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” There’s a pause. “Look, I’ll get her doctor to send a script in for some meds that help manage it.”

“Good.” I hang up.

By now, I’ve searched endometriosis and have read up on it. I look up at a sleeping Lily as I enter back into the bedroom. Her body still seems tense even though she’s drifted into slumber.

I sit on a chair facing the bed and watch her sleep as though it will help. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s ashamed of this, but why? I sit in that chair all night just watching her. The fact that I can’t fix this bothers me.

I’d rip my own heart out if it meant it would cure this awful ailment. That thought alone shakes me to my core.

The sun hits the shades, aching to get into the dark room. My eyes never left Lily. Her breathing begins to change and she shifts her body—she’s waking up. I remain in the chair, just watching. She stiffly rolls onto her back and opens her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she places her hand on her pelvis. Lily breathes through the pain. I’ve seen it plenty of times while torturing someone as they endure the pain by controlling their breathing.

She wipes away tears streaming down her face. When she turns her head, she makes eye contact with me. She struggles to sit up in bed but manages to do so. She sits with her back up against the headboard and knees to her chest, her face pale.

“You look like shit,” she says.

“You should take a look at yourself.”

Her eyes dart to the ashtray of cigarettes. “Spent the night giving me second-hand smoke?”

“A little smoke in your lungs I’m sure won’t compare to what you’re already dealing with.”

“And what am I dealing with?” she challenges, as though she’s forgotten I put her into bed last night.

“You tell me.”

She looks away. “I’m fine. Just back pain. Herniated disc.”

I watch her pretend she isn’t in pain while she places her feet on the ground, barely able to get out of bed.

“Herniated disc,” I repeat. “Interesting.”

She shoots me a look. “I’m tired and not in the mood to deal with your attitude.”

“A bath is waiting for you.” I nod toward the bathroom. “It was scalding hot but should be to your liking now.”

She gives a look of gratitude but doesn’t say a word, just makes her way to the bathroom. I stay behind for a moment before reaching the door of the bathroom. The tub is full of rose petals and stems of lavender at the corners of the tub. Lily’s back is toward me, and she’s struggling to get out of the dress that she didn’t change out of before crawling into bed last night. I walk over to her and help. She whimpers in pain but still pretends nothing is wrong. I pull the strings of her dress, undoing it. Unzipping the zipper, I catch her staring at me in the mirror. We remain frozen, eyes locked together.

After pouring a few hours into understanding how to cope with endometriosis pain, I read about laparoscopy—a type of surgery that a woman can have to remove the scar tissue. Worst-case scenarios involve removal of the uterus or of the ovaries. As I stand here, my gaze falls onto her torso as she pulls her dress down, and I notice marks that I assumed were beauty spots. Now I realize they are actually scars. I find my arm wrapping around her waist, my thumb tenderly touching one of the faint marks.

Lily pulls away from me, pushing my arm as she makes her way to the tub. My hand catches hers, and I hold onto it as she steps into the water and settles in. She lies back against the tub, letting the water swallow her body. The heat from the water rises.

“I’m not going to drown,” she comments as she watches me lean against the counter with my arms crossed.

“Good, because I can’t swim.” I try to lighten the mood, but her smirk fades quickly.

“I’m hungry.”

“Breakfast will be ready soon.” She doesn’t know I already ordered that the house only contains and serves food that will lower inflammation. I pull a bottle from my pocket and open it, shaking a pill into the palm of my hand. I had one of my men pick it up as soon as the pharmacy opened. Lily watches me fill an empty cup at the faucet with water and kneel at the tub to hand them over to her. She gulps, at first resisting, but taking them as though she knows better.

I sit on the closed toilet seat, watching her in silence. Lily ignores me.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” I blurt out.

“Who said I’m ashamed of anything?” she shoots back, despite the look of truth hidden beneath her exterior.