A BITTER PILL TO SWALLOW
Donovan was a bit on the perplexed side. He had spent an entire evening on the phone with Larkin and then back off again. She still sounded exhausted, and any time he tried to say something about it, she'd argue against him vehemently, swearing it was all in his mind. Five minutes later, she'd call back and apologize only to go into the same cycle again moments later. The last call came around nine that evening and for that moment, Larkin had hung up on a solemn note. She had begged off and said she needed to go to bed. After hearing her tonight, he could not argue with that. He simply wished she'd go to the doctor. However, she wouldn't hear any of that, either. Donovan was experiencing his own brand of mood swings as well. He was upset and lonely on a near daily basis. He knew Larkin felt the same. Otherwise, why in the hell would she have such severe and erratic mood swings? Donovan growled a little and brought his body slowly up to his feet. It was Saturday night and the team was beached again. There was absolutely nothing going on anywhere in town and he was spending another long forty-eight hours without his Selena. Fuck it. He tromped into the kitchen and pulled down a fresh bottle of red wine. He dug around for a glass and filled it to the brim. He drank it off within seconds and quickly poured another. He knew it was a bad idea to drink so much wine so fast on an empty stomach, but right at the moment, he didn't give a ripe fuck about that either. By his third glass of wine, his brain felt a little fuzzy, and he decided it was time to lay off it for a while. He moved over to the couch and gazed at the phone. He was so very tempted to call Larkin again. If he did that, it would only set her off, and he didn't want her any angrier than she was the dozen or so times he'd already pissed her off. And just how did I do that? He honestly didn't know what he had done or said. The most innocent shit set her off. Donovan sighed heavily, quite tempted to have another glass of wine, but he fought it with everything he had in him. If he drank to the point of inebriation, he would surely call Larkin and get sloppy on the phone. As if you're not sloppy already. He covered his eyes with his hands and leaned back on the couch. Just as he was about passed out, he heard a soft knock on the door. Selena? Oh, shut up, you damn puppy dog. It's not Selena. She's still in D.C., still having her whacked out mood swings. Whacked? Since when did he use the term 'whacked?' He laughed a little. He was surely losing his mind.
He stood and approached the door, hesitating for half a minute before he grabbed the doorknob. For some unknown reason, he nearly didn't open it. Considering what would follow in the next two or three weeks, he often wished he had listened to that sixth sense. However, he was halfway drunk and his judgment was shot to shit. He opened the door and saw that his visitor was Bailey Devere. He nearly laughed when he saw the bottle of red wine in her hands. What in the hell did she think she was doing? Although they had made a grudging truce, Donovan still didn't like being near her all that much.
Biting his tongue against the rude comment that wanted to spill forth, he said, "Good evening, Bailey. Do you need anything?"
"Not really," she said with that weird, vacant little smile of hers. "I actually wanted to thank you for helping me the other night. You look like a man who enjoys red wine. Am I right?"
He shrugged. "I've been known to partake a time or two. Actually, you don't have to thank me for anything." She was standing out in the damn hallway waiting for him to invite her in, but he had no desire to do so. However, what would it hurt to have a drink with the strange woman? Perhaps if he did that, she'd finally give up and go away. Otherwise, he would have to tattoo 'taken' on his right shoulder. Shaking the thought away before he began laughing his ass off, he said, "Please come in, we'll have some wine." Fuck it.
Devere entered the apartment and he shut the door behind her. "Show me where your glasses are and I'll open her up."
With little interest, Donovan pointed out his kitchen and then sat down on the couch again. He buried his face into his hands for a brief moment while he listened to Devere beating and banging around in his kitchen. He couldn't help thinking that letting her inside his apartment was the worst mistake he had ever made. One glass of wine and then the bitch was history. When she approached, he uncovered his face and looked up into hers. There was something, something behind her eyes, but he couldn't touch it. What the hell? He took his glass of wine and watched as Devere approached the couch and sat down. It was awkward and he had no desire to converse with her. He knew nothing about this woman and wanted to learn less. Feeling the need to get rid of her as quickly as possible, he drained half the glass in one large gulp. He noticed how she was watching him carefully, just barely sipping at hers. He should have known at that moment that something wasn't right. Yet, he finished off the wine anyway. Immediately, his head began to feel fuzzy and he was disconnected from the real world. He watched as she leaned toward him, pressing her lips against his. It was the most disgusting thing he had ever experienced in his life.
He pushed her away. "Wait a second," he mumbled, his brain fogged, "This isn't happening. Get…" He had been in the middle of demanding that she get out, but the words didn't quite leave his mouth. In fact, nothing left his mouth for several hours.
A sliver of light entered the bedroom like a sharp ass knife. It buried itself to the hilt in Donovan's half-lidded eyes and he groaned against the intrusion. His head thumped sickly and his mind felt detached, numb. What the hell happened to me last night? He couldn't remember anything past drinking two or three glasses of red wine. How had he gotten to bed? Hadn't he fallen asleep on the couch? He didn't remember walking in here and couldn't recall getting undressed. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't move. It felt as if he had gained three hundred pounds. Taking it inch by inch, he began to move a little in bed. It was at that moment when he realized he wasn't alone. Selena? No. The body was heavier than hers. When Larkin was in bed with him, she was normally wrapped around him, but something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Struggling now, Donovan forced his body to cooperate with him. He dragged himself up to a sitting position so he could get a good look at his bed partner. Oh dear God. Please tell me I'm dreaming. Please God; tell me I'm dreaming. His swung his legs over the side of the bed, the movement causing pain to wrack his body and zing through his head. He had not one stitch of clothing on and it was more than obvious what happened. Yet, he didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. Please God. Please tell me I didn't fuck Bailey Devere. He wanted to get up and find his pajama bottoms, but he couldn't move any further than the bedside. He groaned out loud when his eyes identified an open condom packet lying in the floor close to his side of the bed. No. I won't believe it. I wasn't that damn drunk. I won't. I refuse. After he sat for five or ten minutes, his head cleared the slightest bit. He moved slowly toward his dresser drawer. When he leaned over to pick out his pajama bottoms, his heavy head overbalanced him, and he nearly fell forward. He reached out and tried to steady himself on the dresser. However, it didn't work. He fell backward on his ass and moaned pitifully. Donovan dug out the item he needed and struggled into them. For a moment, he sat in the middle of the floor with his legs crossed before him [like Selena]. Oh God, Selena. How am I ever going to explain this to her? What the hell was he doing? What the hell was going on in his mind? His hands ached to go around Devere's throat. You are the one who fucked up, Donovan. You fuck up like this a lot, don't you? At least with Paige, you had somewhat of an excuse. What's your excuse now? He couldn't look toward the bed, even when he heard the woman coming awake.
Devere turned in the bed where she could get a good view of Donovan. She smiled a little when she saw him sitting in the middle of the floor looking so very useless and helpless. She couldn't wait for his reaction when he saw her. She turned back around and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She didn't know what to put on, because her clothing was folded neatly in the bathroom. A grin came across her lips when she spied Donovan's shirt. She wondered how he would react to her putting it on. Oh well, might as well put it on and see, huh? She snagged the shirt and tossed it over her head. Standing up, she yawned and ran her hands through her hair. She stood and stared at him, waiting for him to speak first. There was no way she would say a word until he did.
"I want you out of here," he demanded in a low, severe tone. "I'm giving you five minutes to get your shit and get out." Each word he spoke rocked him, causing small explosions to go off in his head. His system was shot, overloaded. "Get out," he said through clenched teeth.
Unbelievably, she laughed. "Okay, I'm going. Before I leave, I just want you to know that you were wonderful. I never came so hard in my life." Laughing, she made her leave.
Donovan gritted his teeth together and began to shake. If she hadn't gotten her things and left, he would have joyfully killed her. He still didn't believe he had slept with her. He wanted to go back to bed, but he couldn't stand up, and doubted that he could walk. Giving up for the moment, he passed out on the floor, completely oblivious, not knowing anything for several more hours.
The only thing that brought him out of his deep coma-like state was the shrill ring of the phone. It had succeeded simply because the noise was splitting his head in two. He couldn't stand it. Blinking owlishly, Donovan glanced around at his surroundings. It had gotten dark again. He barely remembered his exchange with Devere earlier, but he clearly knew what had transpired. It didn't happen. You didn't fuck this woman. You didn't. You wouldn't do that to Selena. But he had cheated before, hadn't he? He covered his eyes with his hands again and moaned pitifully, a litany of 'oh God, oh God, oh God.' He had momentarily forgotten that the phone was ringing. He hoped he could make it before it stopped. Bringing his body unsteadily to its feet, he reached the bed and tried to snag the phone, but he was a few seconds too late. Once the ringing stopped, he reached over and grabbed it, checking out the Caller ID. Donovan's heart nearly stopped and then broke in a million pieces. Selena. How the hell could he talk to her? What the hell would he tell her?
Closing his eyes and sighing heavily, he dialed her number and listened to her phone ringing. Please answer the phone. Don't tell me you've gone to bed. I need to hear your voice. When the phone was answered, he said, "Selena? I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone."
"Frank? What's wrong? You sound messed up," she said.
You have absolutely no idea. "I am, a little," he whispered. He ran his hand over his face and settled it over his eyes again. He would not talk to her about this over the phone. "I need you, Selena. I need you so much. These last two weeks will be the worse two weeks of my life."
"Frank, you're scaring me. What is it? Talk to me," she demanded.
"I won't do it on the phone. I must wait until you arrive." She wanted to say something, to ask again if he was all right, but he didn't let her. "Selena, don't say anything, don't ask. If you do, I'll spill it right here and now, I won't do that to you. I just want you to know that I love you. I don't mean to scare you, but this is something that we need to talk about face-to-face."
"O-okay," she uttered, "I still don't like the sound of it, Frank. I wish you would tell me," she implored. "I'm going to spend two damn weeks worrying my ass off about you. Baby, talk to me now, please."
"No," he said, "Don't worry, as ill as you've been, you don't need it. You may only hear from me scantily, Selena, because there's a lot going on here, a lot I have to figure out and get settled. I love you, just know that."
Without waiting for her to say another word, he hung up. He brought himself up to his feet and realized that his foggy head was going to allow him to walk across the room. First, he would get dressed, and then he would find Bailey Devere. He would demand that she tell him what the fuck she had done to him last night. There was no way he would have willingly fucked her, no way at all. She must have slipped something into the wine; it was the only explanation. As he dressed slowly, a bit of his memory came back, specifically when Devere had come to his door. He had been brooding, missing the hell out of Larkin, and had a pretty good buzz going from two or three glasses of wine he had had before she came over. She had poured them each a glass from her bottle and then she tried to kiss him. After that, everything was a blank. What the hell did the bitch do to him? Staggering a little, he stepped into his shoes and then entered the living room. He hoped the damn bitch was home. He would kill her if left to his own devices. Still unsteady on his feet, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Gathering his strength and holding onto his rage, he made his way four doors down.
Devere opened her door and smiled broadly. "Came for another round," she asked.
Donovan didn't hesitate. He took hold of the woman and shoved her into her apartment, making sure that he left the door wide open. There was no way he was giving her an opportunity to yell rape. He didn't immediately release her and she didn't try to escape. "What the fuck did you put in that wine," he asked through clenched teeth. "There is no way I would have fucked you without something. There is no way I fucked you at all."
Her smile didn't fade one iota. "Come on, Frank. Don't be like all the other men in my life. I thought you were different. I didn't think you were the fuck and run type. You fucked me and you fucked me good. There was nothing in the wine; you just needed a piece of ass. I did nothing, I was the receiver, and you were the one who fucked around on your woman. Don't take it out on me because you fucked up."
He glowered down in her face, fixing her with an enraged, black look. "I'll find out and when I do, so help me God, you'd better pack your shit and leave. I'll make your life hell and believe me, I know how to do that. Don't speak to me, look at me, or say my name again ever." He released her suddenly and then wiped his hands on his jeans as if he had touched something dirty or slimy.
* * *
Larkin had been in bed when Donovan called earlier. Actually, all her free time was spent in bed here lately. As soon as he hung up on her, she sat up and stared at the phone. There was something in his voice that worried her immensely. She had never heard him so despondent, so full of pain. What worsened it for her was the fact that he wouldn't talk to her, he was protecting her from something and it was pissing her right the hell off. Could she let him suffer and stay here two more weeks as if nothing was happening? Could she do that to the man she loved? She shook her head. Hell no. At that moment, she made a decision and didn't give one ripe fuck about the consequences. Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and stabbed out a number.
* * *
Donovan returned to his apartment with a blinding headache, but he still felt incredibly groggy. It didn't seem to be like a typical hangover, there was something more to it. He wondered if he could get his hands on the wine bottle. She would have tossed it out by now, Donovan. Don't be a fucking idiot your entire life. He went to the sofa and plopped down on it. Once again, he buried his face into his hands. He'd give anything to erase the last few days. When he told Larkin, she would never forgive him, and would leave immediately. Way to go, you stupid fuck. What would he do? What the fuck would he do? After a long moment, he brought himself up to his feet and went into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet that housed his selection of wines. One by one he took the bottles and poured the contents of each down the drain. He never wanted to drink red wine again. When his task was finished, he went back into the bedroom and made two phone calls for the night. He spoke briefly to his boss and said he needed two or three sick days. He couldn't work like this, not as fucked up as he was. His next call was made to his doctor for a drug test. He couldn't be seen for two days, but that was good enough for him. As soon as he knew what the hell was in his system, Bailey Devere would rue the day she came to Chicago. After he hung up, he took the phone off the hook and crashed down on his bed. He missed Larkin, missed her more than he had ever missed another human being in his life. However, he had thoroughly fucked up and didn't know what would become of his relationship with Larkin after he told her what happened. He couldn't lose her, couldn't lose another love, not like this. He grabbed a handful of his pillow and squeezed hard, wishing fervently that the pillow was Devere's fucking throat.
* * *
Larkin had tried a million times to call Donovan, but she received nothing more than a busy signal. She knew he wasn't talking to anyone; he had likely taken the phone off the hook. That thought alone worried her even more. What the hell is happening to you? Goddamn it, Frank, I wish you would have said something to me. Of course, he never would. However, she was about to fix things and fix them for good. Giving up on calling him, she dashed out the door.
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To be continued…