Page 90 of Deal with the Devil
I reach a trembling hand between my legs, coming away with fingertips dripping blood.
As dark as it is in the room, I know that’s what it is. And I know what’s happening.
Another endo flare-up at the worst possible time.
I blink hard, trying to force my body to move, but the pain is debilitating. My muscles lock up, legs useless as I go to stand and drop to my knees on the floor.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had an episode this severe, one so intense tears prick at my eyes and the pain becomes so strong it feels like I might pass out.
But who can I depend on right now? I’m all alone, held captive by a tyrant who won’t even let me breathe fresh air.
I only have myself to rely on.
Biting down on my lip, I crawl forward one limb at a time, dragging myself inch by inch toward the vague dark outline of the bathroom door.
At least I can fumble for my medications and maybe curl up under the hot spray of the showerhead.
But I’m not sure anything will help.
With the duress and stress I’ve been under lately, it’s not a surprise it’s triggered a hormonal shift and resulted in a severe flare-up.
My body’s imploding on itself, shutting down, and I can’t even blame it.
I reach the bathroom door and push it open as a wave of dizziness washes over me. It occurs to me as my vision swims and I notice the bloody handprint I’ve left on the bottom of the door, I’ve probably left a trail of blood.
I’ve probably been bleeding quite a lot if the soaked sheets were any indication…
On an already empty stomach, dealing with what I’ve been dealing with, everything starts to spin.
The pain tears through me and the dizziness makes it impossible to crawl any further. It feels like barbed wire is ripping apart my uterus from the inside, tearing me apart bit by bit. My shaky limbs crawl to a halt, no longer able to go on as stubbornness gives way for realism.
This is bad, and I need help. Even if it’s a long shot.
My throat is raw and achy as I open my mouth and cry out. “Help! Someone, if you hear me. HELP!”
The pain is relentless, attacking me in sharp, stabbing waves.
My body can’t stand it anymore and neither can my arms and legs. They give out all at once. I collapse to the bathroom floor, barely registering I have.
I’m blinking, the room starting to go fuzzy. It’s like I’m looking through smeared glass.
It’s as everything gets blurrier and blurrier that the bathroom door swings the rest of the way open and a tall, dark figure rushes through. He’s in a black button-up shirt and has horns on his head.
The sight is so jarring and confusing, but I don’t have time to question it—the devil standing over me is the last thing I see before everything goes black.
23
DIAVOLO
It’s beentwenty-three minutes and no news.
I pace the length of the hall outside the guest bedroom for the umpteenth time, scowling behind the devil’s mask. If Dr. Delfino doesn’t come out within the next five minutes, I’m busting the door down and going inside myself.
Private exam or not.
I’d been in my office getting some late-night work done when I heard the cries for help.
At first I thought it was coming from outside. Living in a big city like Newport, it’s a regular occurrence to hear the ambulance or screaming voices coming from the streets down below.
