Tara could hear a steady, rhythmic sound interspersed with faint conversation. It wasn't a whisper; it was just distant—far enough to be discernible but not enough for her to know two women were talking. Her body felt numb, her mind foggy.
Lifting her right hand, she touched her eyes. Her fingers felt cold against the bruised, warm eyelids. A whiff of disinfectant filled her nose. She moved her fingers over her face, feeling each feature closely. It hurt. As she lifted her other hand, she felt a shooting pain run through it. Something was sticking into it—an IV line.
‘Oh! You’re up. I thought another day would go by without hearing your voice.’
It was Stella.
‘Uh … Stella?’ Her lids were too heavy for her to open her eyes.
‘Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.’ Warm fingers gently circled her wrist, and pain shot through her body. She muffled a groan.
‘Am I in a hospital?’
‘Yes, dear.’
It all came rushing back to her. The pounding, the pain, the feeling of being mashed into pulp, the gush of warm blood down her neck, and the thud.
A tear left a meandering line along the wrinkles in the corner of her eye. It stung.
She felt Stella's breath, her warmth, leaning close. A soft cloth wiped the tears from her eyes and nose. Those she held found a way through her nose.
‘Stella.’ Her own voice came from somewhere deep.
‘Yes, love?’
‘Andy?’ She choked back tears.
There was a long pause.
‘He’s in the ICU,’ hushed Stella.
Then, in a firmer tone, ‘You should have hit him harder.’
The slow drone of the air conditioning, the rhythm of the monitors, the distant conversation, a siren far away, Stella's perfume, the sterile stench of disinfectants, the smell of her own blood—her senses were becoming keener.
As Andy dragged her by the arm, a brass unicorn was the only thing within her reach. She had grabbed it with her other hand, and before he could react, with all her strength, she had hit his head. Once, twice, thrice … until he lay motionless. Then she called the police.
She remembered when she first met Stella. She looked lovely in her blue scrubs, accentuating her pale blue eyes, her blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail, and her full lips pink from the gloss.
She smiled. ‘Stella McNeal. I just moved from OB GYN.’
‘Tara Thames.’ She instinctively brushed the curls away from her face, showing the bruises from last week.
Stella gasped and said, ‘You have to leave him. Like, now.’
Tara smiled and walked past her. ‘See you around.’
In the following year, there wasn't a single day that Stella wouldn't entreat her to walk out on Andy. But Tara always brushed it off.
It was getting worse. But as Andy bruised her body , Stella healed her heart.
A week ago, she had told Stella that she would tell Andy. She was leaving him.
Stella said, ‘There’s no need for it. You don't have to tell him. Just walk away.’
‘But I owe him an explanation.’
‘You owe him nothing!’ Then, realizing how much Tara needed her, she added, ‘I fear for you. Please, just leave quietly.’
A familiar clatter next to her bed brought her back from her reverie. The nurse had just dropped an empty vial into the bin. She felt the sting of the antibiotic as it slowly entered her veins. She pursed her lips, biting the scab; warm fluid oozed.
A wound had opened.
‘Oh Tara.’ Stella stifled a sob. Tara felt a damp towel wipe the blood off her lip.
‘Stella.’
Stella’s voice, usually upbeat, sounded broken. Tara regretted not having listened to her sooner.
She hated herself for years of inaction.
‘Can you hold me, please? I’m scared.’
Stella edged closer, lying next to her. Tara imagined how beautiful Stella must look right now: her big blue eyes, flushed cheeks and blonde hair cupping her perfectly oval face with a tiny dimple, one that appeared when Stella would smile just a little.
That dimple—it was like a child, eager to be scooped in his mother's arms. A trickle dropped onto her warm, flushed cheek. Stella was crying.
‘You know what I want to do now, Ste.’ She called her Ste, sometimes.
‘What?’ Stella's voice was a whisper.
‘I want to open my eyes. I want to see your angelic face, and look into your deep blue eyes.’
Stella was sobbing.
She held out her hand, and Stella grasped it tenderly. ‘Come closer, will you? I want to look at you.’
Tara opened her eyes a slit. Her lids were heavy. She could feel Stella’s breath, her perfume mixed with sweet perspiration.
The distant ambulance, chatter in corridors, paging announcements, and loud nurses and doctors shouting orders were all fading. The room was cold.
A steady beep filled the sterile silence of the room. A nurse came in and turned off the monitors.
Shivani writes romance and women’s fiction. She is a fan of investigative journalism and is fascinated by literary fiction. She has recently completed an undergraduate diploma in creative writing from Oxford University and is currently working on an auto-fiction.
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A powerful story Shivani. Thanks for sharing!
Wow visceral piece!