Still need a divorce

Still need a divorce

WEEK TWO

For the past week, he had been trying to talk, at first, it was just a single word. Then it got to two words and then the next day it was three but now he could make a whole sentence. He had only talked to nurses, whenever I am in the room, he is either asleep or staring up at the ceiling mindlessly.

If I tried to get closer to him, he'd squirm in his place, displeasure always too prominent and I'd withdraw my hands immediately as if I had burned him.

I tried talking to him but he doesn't give me a response, he only has an occasional hum sometimes. He could now wiggle his toes, raise his hand just slightly, and move his neck around.

It was fucking painful to see him like this but the need to make him all better was fucking more. I sat beside him on the bed, playing with the short strands of his hair, getting them away from his forehead.

His eyes slowly fluttered open and he looked up at me. His lips parted and he frowned at me. He looked around the room before his eyes settled back on my face.

"W-who are you?" he asked, his voice scratchy, tired.

My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach as I shook my head in disbelief. No, this cannot be happening to him, to us. It's like I'm living in a nightmare that I can't wake up from. I love him, and I'm so scared of what may happen now that he has woken up from a coma with disorientation and possible amnesia.

How many times do I have to lose him and get him back again and then fucking lose him again?

I touched his face and caressed his cheeks.

"Nikolai, you don't remember me?"

He shook his head, slightly, his fingers twitching, "No... I—" he raised his hand and touched the nasogastric tube in his nose, "Who are you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, I had an ache in my gut,

I felt like I might commit a fucking massacre right now. Maybe, it was karma, my karma and he fucking has to pay the price for it. Why couldn't I be the fucking one to get shot instead of him, at least I fucking deserved it.

I hung my head, "Fuck..."

"Asshole..." he whispered.

"I know I'm the biggest there is..."

"Mhm, I hate you..."

"No, you d—" my gaze shot back to his face, he looked at me with a frown before his lips slightly tugged upwards. I furrowed my eyebrows. "Are you messing with me?!"

He coughed, clearing his throat, "Maybe..."

My eyebrows fucking flew above my head. "Seriously, Nikolai, you are fucking with me at this fucking moment?!"

He again looked around the room, he was staring at the machines and continuously touched the feeding tube. "When are they going to take this out?"

"You did not just pull this fucking stunt on me after fucking waking up from a fucking coma after two fucking long-ass months."

He swallowed, licking his lips, "You want to drink water?" I asked and he nodded.

I poured some water into a glass and made him drink it with a tablespoon, a gloss shined over his eyes once more and I let out a dry breath. He was hating this, hated being this helpless and at other people's mercy.

Once he was done, I put the glass of water back on the nightstand and caressed his cheek, it was like I have heard him talk after a year. I smiled at him.

"Why are you being so n-nice to me? I thought you hated me..."

"I can never hate you, baby boy."

"But—"

I cut him off, "Let's not talk about this right now, alright? We have all the time in the world, right now you need to focus on getting better."

"Dante is dead, isn't he?" he asked.

I let out a breath. "Yes..."

A hint of pain flashed in his eyes, "Vladimir and Antonio?"

"They are alive, very much alive."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, he did it a couple more times like he was having difficulty asking about something, "And Marco?"

His name ignited a blazing fire inside of me. "Vladimir snapped his neck and I threw his dead body to my hounds, I'm pretty sure, they are still gnawing on his bones."

"Everyone died?"

I took a deep breath, he was asking about the rest of Salvatore's men. The pain in his voice told me how much he cared about them. He surely didn't know that Leah once kidnapped him and ordered her men to rape him and ruin his ass, "Not all, a few are alive but they are in my captivity. I want you to deal with them yourself after you've healed."

"Paul?"

"He's fine and alive..."

"Y-you d-didn't kill h-him?"

Fuck, he was having so much trouble speaking simple words.

"You love him, you care about him. I wanted to but I didn't."

He again tried to nod, "I want to meet them..."

I held his hand that relentlessly trembled and covered it with my other hand, "No, what you need is to get better first. Then I'll take you wherever you want, whenever you want."

\---

WEEK THREE

He sat on a chair with my help and then started to cry. The doctors had removed the nasogastric feeding tube, but he was still on a liquid diet and couldn't eat on his own.

I touched his lips with the spoon urging him to part them. He just cried harder and squeezed them close even more, "Nikolai, proper nutrition is fucking important right now. Do you want to walk again? Then you need to eat!"

Sniffling, he opened his mouth before taking in the spoon.

"I can't feel my legs..." he cried harder, "It's like they are there but they are asleep, I feel when someone touches them and I can't walk. I can't—"

I touched his leg, running my hand up and down, "It will be fine in a few weeks, I hired a physiotherapist for you. It's going to be alright, baby boy..."

"I hate this..." he whispered as I put another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

"You're getting there, it will be fine."

He sniffled, looking at me with a frown. "Why are you doing this?"

I stared at him, "Doing what?"

"This... taking care of me as if everything is just fine and dandy between us." I sighed, "You're my husband, aren't you?"

He gave his head a gentle shake, "I don't think so... no after what happened."

"I know you weren't behind it."

"And if you didn't? Would you still have taken care of me?"

I fed him once more, "Maybe..."

"No, you wouldn't have," he said with such confidence that it aggravated me. He let out a humorless laugh, "What is it? Guilt?"

I gave him a hard look, "Maybe, I just love you too fucking much and I have no fucking control over my fucking brain when it comes to you."

His eyes cut to me with a mocking glare, "Love me? What's love without trust, Alessandro?"

I softly put the spoon into his mouth, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Give me a divorce then?" he said, and the look in his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

He fucking hated me.