Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending (27 page)

Life

I’ve always considered my childhood, the reason for me being everything I was, both the good and the bad. Any strength I possess, I earned from my ability to withstand being drug through hell, time after time being broken, only to emerge from hell every brutal time stronger. Scarred, but stronger all the same. On the other side of that coin, it’s the scars left behind, the shattered pieces I glued back together after every horrible perversion I experienced which caused my nightmares to slowly creep into my strength and invade any sacred peace I held closely to me in life.

Don’t pity me. Don’t feel sorry for me. Everyone’s life is different. Everyone has
their own issues and obstacles to overcome in life. Some worse than others; but it still doesn’t take away from the lessons.

Everything I experienced in my life led me back to Wesley Jacobs. Led me to the first and only boy I’ve ever loved. Wesley healed me. When I was wrapped in his arms, I became whole again. Wesley’s love is all consuming; it’s beautiful, courageous, fierce, and it was utterly precious. I will cherish the tiny moment in time, when I was his and he was mine, now and into my next life.

I was broken and scarred by the sins of others before Wesley came into my life and broke the ugly sins that bound me and held me as a prisoner. After he broke every piece of ugly I had left in me, he wielded me - bending me until changing everything I ever believed of myself, and then he covered me in his praise and protected me in his love.

So no, don’t pity me. Yes, I may have lived in hell, but in the end, it led me to being fiercely loved by a beautiful, strong man I fell in love with at twelve years old. How many women can claim they had a snippet of time in their life being loved by a man who is the epitome of their
perfect, who is truly their soul mate?

Life is so poetic.
The course and rhythm of it, the pulls and pushes, the give and takes, when what’s been reaped from what we’ve sewn.

When what nourishes us, heals us, and strengthens us sadly becomes the very thing that
which destroys us.

All my life, I considered myself broken. What’s worse than being shattered? No one wants a broken thing. No one can love someone
whose broken. I know now there is a difference in being broken and being destroyed. When you’re broken, you’re just broken; but when you’ve been destroyed…There’s no coming back.

Broken people are still living
, destroyed people are not.

Destroyed Angels

Trina, Eve, and Bo just left. It’s
only Derrick and me in the waiting room. I keep telling him there is no need to stay, but he shakes his head mumbling, ”I’m fine.”

Stella has been in surgery for over six hours. The admitting ER physician came in to call the time of death. As he walked through the door, the flat line on the heart monitor spontaneously indicated an
agonal rhythm, a blip of a random heartbeat, meaning her heart began beating again while the ER nurses continued their CPR efforts. When the physician saw this random heartbeat he immediately reacted. She was instantly prepped for emergency surgery.

And over the last six hours, she has died on that OR table eight times… But today, she’s come back to life nine.

I don’t care how many times she dies on that table, but she better come back every time. I can’t live this life without her. I won’t. So as long as she keeps coming back, I’ll refrain from blowing my head off, right before I fall from the top of my building.

I will not live without her.

Derrick nudging me brings me from my thoughts. When I look over at him, he nods and I follow his line of vision. I see the doctor headed in our direction and I leap from my chair. “Doc, how is she? Can I see her? I need to see her. Now.”

“She made it through the surgery. To be honest with you, I don’t know how. Sometimes, especially with cases as critical as Stella’s, as a physician - a surgeon - there’s only so much I can do. And frankly, it’s just a last ditch effort, a last resort that has me doing any and everything I know to do JUST to get through the surgery alone and my patient still be alive. In Stella’s case, I scrubbed in for her surgery wholly prepared to give everything I have to keep her alive and truly believing that it was an impossible feat. Everything I did, her body responded to almost miraculously. Now, Wesley - we wait and pray she lives through her hour of recovery. After that, we wait and pray she makes it through the night.” He pats my shoulder and smiles. “I want you to stay steadfast; but Wesley, try not to let your hopes get too high.”

“Thanks, doc. What room is she in?”

“Wesley you don’t want to see her right now. Just head home, get some rest and come back later.” He moves to walk around me and I stop him, grabbing him by his shoulders, shaking my head.

“Room. Tell me what room she is in. Do not tell me what I want, where to go, and that I need rest. You tell me what room she is in.”

“Recovery room three.” I spin and head towards the double doors.

When I see recovery room three, I take a deep breath to calm myself before walking in.

Nothing. Nothing could have ever prepared me for what I see.

Tears hit my eyes and I choke on a sob. “Angel?” I whisper across the dimly lit room.

I step closer towards the bed as my eyes scan her bandaged body, when I see her black and purple hand resting on top of the white sheet, I sit beside her, gently pick her hand up and cradle it in mine. Tears
blur my vision before streaming down my face in rivulets as I sit there, staring at her tiny battered hand in mine. “I’m so sorry, I tried to protect you, but I’ve never protected anyone before and I failed you. I knew there was something. I just didn’t know what it was. I’m so sorry.” Laying my head on the bed next to her hand in mine, I gently kiss it and try in vain to hold back the sobs. “Please, I know I’m a selfish bastard, I know I let you down, and I know I’ll never deserve you; but please, Stella, don’t leave me…Angel, please don’t die and leave me here alone.”

The sound of the door opening and closing behind me causes me to sit up and rub my hand down my face wiping away the tears before looking to see who’s walked in.

“Hi. I’m Dr. Hughes, Stella’s obstetrician. The attending physician consulted me after the SAFE RN finished collecting any evidence they may have found during the rape assessment.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Agony slices through my already shredded chest. “Crucify me now. She was raped? A-fucking-gain?”

Why in God’s name is this woman still alive? How? How can one person bear so much excruciating torment, time after time, and continue to live?

Stella may have made it through the surgery, and she may make it through the night. If she makes it out of all this alive, there’s no way she’ll ever be the same.

“You’ll have to wait and see what comes back after they’ve run all their tests. But, usually if they do a rape kit, rape is suspected. I’m sorry. And I do need to do an assessment. If you’ll step out, I’ll have the nurses let you know when I finish.” She smiles. She won’t be smiling for long.

“No. There isn’t any reason for you to be sorry. And no, I’ll not step out. Anything you need to do to Stella, you can do with me sitting right here. I’m not leaving her side, and I’m for damn sure not leaving this room, is that understood?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m about to perform a trans-vaginal ultrasound to verify IF she’s still pregnant. So no, sir. It is not understood. Do I need to have security called? Because I will in order to protect my patient’s privacy.”

This bitch doesn’t seem to get it does she?

I keep Stell’s hand in mine and lean my other elbow on my knee before narrowing my eyes on her, “Dr. Hughes, let me be more clear. Stella is mine. That includes her pussy and her baby. Now, if the hospital policy states that the father of a woman’s baby cannot be present during the ultrasound of his own child, then I would probably call security if I were you, because you’re going to need help removing my six foot four, two hundred pound ass from this chair.”

I guess the hospital’s policy was in my favor. After Dr. Hughes puts
Stell’s casted legs in some leg holders she turns on the ultrasound machine. “Mr. Jacobs,—“

“Dr. Hughes, please—That’s my father’s name. Wesley’s mine.”

Yes. I apologize. I know I’m being a total dick. But you have NO idea what the hell I’m going through! What if she lost the baby? I want that baby, that’s my baby. I made it, it’s mine. What if it’s already gone? What if it isn’t go—Oh my God…I’m about to see my baby. If it isn’t already gone. Please don’t be gone, little baby.

“
Oookay. Wesley, I don’t want your hopes to get up. Stella has, well we aren’t certain she’ll live through the night. If she’s still pregnant after what she’s gone through, it will be a miracle alone. And if she is able to carry this child to full term with the stress of recovery and rehab… I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Please keep those things in mind, okay?”

I can’t stop the dread. It just keeps coming and coming, more and more, and my damn cup
runneth over with dread eons ago! I can’t handle anymore!

But I do. Even though I swear I can’t take it, I do and I continue to.
Because I refuse to accept defeat. I refuse the alternative option. I will sit in my Hell of dread and pain, knowing I could lose Stella any second, knowing I could have already lost my baby and I will remain here, because I can’t live without Stella.
That
is what I cannot do.

Wisteria, Hope & Lilacs

A diamond starts out as nothing more than a lump of coal
. And a lump of coal will only ever be a lump of coal unless it withstands extreme amounts of pressure and heat over very long periods of time. It’s the lump of coal’s perseverance and ability to defy the long burning and insufferable burden, to handle the pressure nature bestows upon it, that transforms the once sad little lump of coal into a flawless diamond.

Am I flawless
? Bitch please, have you been reading? I’ve been to Hell; literally, emotionally, mentally, and physically…More times than I can count.

And somehow, I endured while bearing the weight of transgressions life
laid upon me.

I endured and I persevered.

“Angel, if you don’t get your ass in gear, I will bend you over the vanity and spank that ass until it is covered in my palm prints, is that understood?”

“Wesley, first of all you are holding our son in one arm and burping our daughter in the other
. Secondly, if you think threatening to spank my ass is going to work, you’re mistaken. I have absolutely no problem cancelling today’s plans…especially if it leads to my having a reddened ass. Capisce?”

He lays Aiden down on our bed before turning to stalk towards me, narrowing his eyes on mine while continuing to coax a burp from Ava
. “Did you just fucking ‘Understood?’ me in Italian? Oooohhhh… You just wait, Ms. Reese. Your ass is mine!”

I look at the man I’m marrying today in the reflection of the mirror while tracing my lips with lip-liner and pause to ask
. “Baby…What will you do when you can no longer call me Ms. Reese?”

He blinks for several times before answering
. “Not call you Mrs. Jacobs! That’s for damn sure. Hang on, actually, no. Fuck that,” He grins, “I am digging the hell out of Mrs. Jacobs.”

I roll my eyes laughing
. “You’re giddy, aren’t you? ‘Mr. No-forevers-and-no-wedding-bells’ is excited about getting married today.” After finishing my makeup I walk over and take Ava from him. As soon as her belly makes contact with the front on my shoulder a little burp leaves her perfect little mouth.

“Giddy isn’t the word I’d use
. I don’t get giddy, angel.”

“Of course you don’t.
” I inhale the smell of my daughter and sigh before lying her down next to her brother.

After I lean over kissing them both, Wesley’s big hands grab my hips before pulling my back against his front
. His arms slide around my waist and tighten as his lips brush the nape of my neck and the tops of my shoulders. His breath whispers across my skin causing goose bumps. “I get excited thinking about you being my wife. I get elated, happy.” He sucks my earlobe into his mouth and circles it with his tongue. His hips rock forward causing his cock to harden against my ass as his teeth sink down on my earlobe. “I get hard as fuck when I think about you being my wife.”

My head lolls back onto his shoulder as butterflies take flight in my stomach.

We’re going to be late. But I don’t give a damn. “Wesley…” I moan gripping his thighs.

“
Mmmm.” I feel him step away a second before his hand connects with my bottom. WHACK. “Gather your things and meet me at the church.” He stops at the door. “And Ms. Reese, don’t make me wait to become your husband any longer than I have to. If you’re late, I will bring you to the edge of release, over and over without allowing you to cum and after I’ve shoved you full of mine…I will leave you. Aching. For. More. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.
” I smile.

And so, on Friday May
1st , 2015, a year after my last bout in the ninth circle of Hell, Wesley and I are married under a wisteria and lilac filled white tent. With only our little Aiden and Ava, and Derrick, Trina, Eve and Bo there to witness a marriage that never should be, occur.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
. As soon as I see Stella step onto the white carpet entering the tent, my body physically reacts and I move towards her. Derrick, my best man, grabs ahold of my arm. “Come on man, calm down. She’s supposed to walk down the aisle, not be dragged down it.”

“Jesus, she’s fucking beautiful.
” The words fall out as a whisper.

I vaguely hear him chuckle as my eyes devour her completely
. Her head is bowed and when she looks up, she smiles, and in that moment my entire world tilts from its axis.

There is no sane reason for me to be granted this happening
. The odds were so stacked against us. Torment, fate, agony, the laws of physics, even death tried to stop this - us. The end stared us in the face. And we stared back, fighting just like my angel always has. We fought every step of the way for everything we have.

On the day Stella lived through the surgery she shouldn’t have, the doctor told me not to get my hopes up
. The pregnant lady doctor told me the same thing. I heard that phrase a hundred thousand times about a hundred different things. ‘Don’t get your hopes up when we take her off the ventilator, she’ll probably not be able to breathe on her own.’, ‘Don’t get your hopes up when she wakes up, she’ll most likely experience some memory loss that could vary from none or minimal to severe, where she doesn’t remember anything at all.’, ‘‘Don’t get your hopes up, she’s responding well to her physical therapy, but the possibility of her walking again is unlikely.’, ‘‘Don’t get your hopes up, both babies are doing well inside momma, that doesn’t mean they’ll do well outside momma. Especially since they had to be delivered early.’

But they didn’t understand, hope is all Stella and I had to hang onto
. Hope was the only thing that kept us fighting. When the Gods or the fates seem so determined to prevent you from the only person you love, hope is your last…hope.

And now, here I stand watching Stella Jolie Reese walk down the aisle to become mine from this day forward
. Pride, happiness, and bliss swell inside my chest. When she’s within my reach, my hands cup her face before I lean down kissing her until we’re both out of breath. Smiling with my lips still against hers and my hands still cupping her face, I tell my bride, “You’re so damn beautiful, angel. I love you so fucking much. I swear to Christ I will spend all my life trying to make you happy. Do you understand me?”

“I do, baby
. And I love you too. Now, are you going to marry me or are we just gon—“ She gasps when my arms circle her waist and tighten, pulling her up to my height.

“Oh I’m going to marry you, and then I’m dragging your little ass to the nearest somewhat secluded area and fucking you straight, angel.”