The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(137)
The trauma room falls silent. I stand and stare at all of the dark red blood on the tiled floor that leads a trail out of the room, following the path of the trolley Cam is on and all I can think is, carnage. Once again, I’m faced with a scene of complete an utter carnage. How ironic that that word has come to mean something so much more to me than the name of my husband’s band during my life.
I stare at the blood as a doctor or a nurse tells me what’s happening, I don’t know what they are saying. I don’t hear their words. I can hear sounds, doors opening, wheels squeaking, machines bleeping, but I can’t or won’t hear words. And then my dad and Jimmie appear and I hit the floor.
I don’t pass out. My legs just refuse to hold me up any longer. I spend the next two hours in silence, in an almost catatonic state. I wrap my arms around myself, too afraid to let go in case I disappear inside that huge gaping hole that has once again been punched inside my chest, my life, my world. Then Marley appears in the waiting room and puts Harry in my arms and I know that no matter what, I can’t fall apart. I have the support of a large and loving family, but in that moment, Harry has just me. He is all alone and totally dependent on me and me alone. So I sit and I hold him close. I feed and I change him. I take comfort in the warmth and the smell of his chubby little body, and thank God, I at least have this small piece of Cam with me.
Epilogue
The sensation of a stubbly chin rubbing up the inside of first my left, then my right thigh is dragging me from sleep. I’m bone tired and don't want to be awake yet. I try to close my legs and am met with a bite to my clit. I shudder and try to force my eyes open, but they aren't having any of it. I start to drift off to sleep again while enjoying the sensation of feather-light kisses travelling up my body. I feel calm and relaxed and give myself over to the sleep that I crave.
“Kitten, you need to wake up now.”
I lick my lips, but don't open my eyes. Why am I so tired?
“If you don't wake up, I'm gonna f*ck you again.”
“Mmmmm,” is the best I can manage as I nod my head, my eyes still closed.
“In the arse, Kitten. If you don't wake up, I'm gonna tie you up and claim that arse of yours.”
My eyes fly open and are met with a familiar brown pair.
He smiles. “Good morning.”
I rake my fingers through his hair. “Whyyyyy?” I whine. God, I hate early mornings.
“We have a plane to catch.” He laces his fingers and rests his hands across my boobs, then rests his chin on his hands as he looks up at me. “Have you had a good holiday?”
I smile at him. “I’ve had a great holiday, but I think you and me need a nice quiet weekend away somewhere to recover.” He gives me a lazy smile.
“You know that won’t happen. You’ll arrange it all, but then at the last minute, you won’t be able to leave the kids; same as every other time we’ve tried to get away by ourselves.” I swallow down the lump that’s unexpectedly appeared in my throat.
After Cam was shot, I saw a counsellor for months as I was a mess of Georgia proportions and was eventually diagnosed with adult separation anxiety. I’ve gotten a little better, but I still have an unreasonable need to know where my husband and children are pretty much all of the time.
When the doctors finally came and told us that Cam had survived the surgery, they said the damage wasn’t as severe as they had first thought. Because of the awkward angle and Cam’s muscle density, the bullet had gone into his chest and through into the top of his right arm, only nicking his brachial artery. He had still bled out his entire blood supply and had been transfused with twelve units while they tried to stabilise him and during the surgery. As well as his heart stopping three times, he also went into anaphylactic shock on the operating table, probably caused by the rate at which blood and fluids were being pumped into him. When the doctor came and explained all of this and concluded that Cam would most likely pull through, I held Harry against my chest and finally let go of my tears.
*
That all happened over five years ago now and our life since then has been so much more than I could ever have hoped or dreamed it could be in those first dark days.
Cam remained in an induced coma for two days while his body recovered and repaired itself. During that time, plans had to be made for Tamara’s funeral. Her dad was a drunken mess and kept referring everything back to Cam. There was no one else to take charge, so I did what I thought Cam would want me to do and arranged a funeral for her. I didn’t do it because I wanted praise or recognition. I did it because it’s what Cam would’ve done and because she was Harry’s mum, and one day, he might want to know about his mum’s funeral.
With the help of Mum, Jim and Ash, we picked a coffin and headstone and arranged a church service. The only people to attend were Tamara’s Dad and my family, who were there to support me, and on Harry’s behalf.
Cam started to be brought out of his coma around the third day after his surgery. By day five, I was threatening to put him back in a coma, permanently. He was the worst patient I had ever known, and I’m sure the staff of the Royal Free Hospital felt exactly the same way. He was miserable, short tempered and did nothing but complain. He refused to take his meds as he didn’t like the fact they made him sleepy and refused point blank to allow the nurses to give him a bed bath.