Rock'n Tapestries (2 page)

At
first, freezing to death was horrible.  My teeth clattered together like
castanets. My body shivered so violently trying to warm me that I pulled a
muscle in my neck.

If
I can just find something to cover myself...
Desperate, I began opening the boxes of food and
removing the large plastic bags.  Was plastic a good insulator?  I’d find out. 
It was all I had.

It
helped, but it wasn’t good enough. I‘ve never been so cold in my life. I didn’t
want to die this way, but I knew it was inevitable.

How
much time had passed since I closed the door? There was a point where I just
ceased to care.  After a while, I began to warm up. I stopped shivering. Things
were soft and dreamy, and I was drowsy. I threw the plastic off and relaxed
down onto the floor, limp and boneless, and tried to go to sleep on the
tropical beach I now appeared to be lying on.

Pain
was my next experience.  So much fucking pain.  And shouting. 
Stop with the
noise already!
  I was languid and sluggish, and some asshole was touching
me.  I wanted them to go away.

They
didn’t go away though. In fact, there were soon more hands on me, shaking,
poking.  More shouting. I heard someone ask if I were dead.  I tried to tell
them I wasn’t, but my body wasn’t taking orders from my brain.

I
heard and felt plastic being pulled away, then I was lifted up in someone’s
warm arms.  My chest convulsed as I tried to draw a breath.  I hadn’t needed to
breathe on my tropical beach, but I did now.  It hurt like a bitch.

“Call
9-1-1!” someone yelled.  Blah blah blah. 
Don’t you know? It’s too late for
9-1-1.  Let me die.

Someone
else knew it was too late, but they weren’t willing to let me die without a
fight.  “She’s too cold. We can’t wait for the goddamned ambulance! She’ll be
dead by then.  Wrap her up in my coat.  I’m taking her to the fucking hospital
myself!”  Then I heard him—my guardian angel was male—mutter under his breath,
“Son-of-a-bitch, Chelsea. Fuck!”

Don’t
bother, dude. I don’t care.

Somewhere,
in the frozen tundra of my gray matter, I knew this voice. The night air bathed
my face as my rescuer ran outside with me.   He clutched me tight against his
chest, wrapped in a coat that smelled all too familiar.  I tried to remember,
but it was painful.

Things
filtered into my cognizance as I thawed.  I was laid across the back seat of a
car by gentle hands. My hero was frantic, continually pleading, “Don’t die.
Don’t die. Please don’t die.”

The
car smelled familiar too. I inhaled sharply. I was startled by how quickly it
came to me.  Lemon and a man’s cologne I had no name for just then.  

I
know who this is!
 
I was overwhelmed with blind panic. In my mind I flailed, screamed, and escaped
from the car.  I couldn’t make it happen though. 

I
pried my frost-encrusted eyelids open, had a peep at the back of my hero’s
head, and then squeezed them shut again.

Damnit!

I
was lying half-dead in the back seat of a car driven by Asher Pratt.

Now
I know the skeptics among us would ask, 
Who didn’t see that coming?

Me.

My
next coherent experience was a smell.  My mother’s perfume, Dolce Vita.  I
loved everything about my beautiful mother, but I especially loved that
perfume.

I
forced my eyes open and looked up into her blue ones.  Mom bent over me, cooing
and clucking.  I could hear soft hisses and beeps off to one side, and I knew
what that meant.  I was in the hospital, hooked up to machinery.

My
father was off somewhere else in my room, muttering under his breath.  He was
going to sue and make no mistake about
that.
  Nobody puts his little
girl in danger.  My parents are awesome.

I
must have faded out again, because my mom grabbed my face and forced my gaze
back to hers.  “Chelsea, wake up this instant!”

“Mom.”
My voice sounded as though I’d gargled with Clorox.

She
started to cry, and it made me feel bad.  I remembered everything, right up
until I’d wrapped myself in plastic and laid down on the floor.  I’m just one
of those people who has weird things happen to them. This time it nearly killed
me.

Daddy
was suddenly at the other side of the bed, peering into my face.

“Why
can’t I move?” I wanted to.  I couldn’t.  “Am I paralyzed?  Did they amputate
something?”

“No,
baby.  They needed to bring your core temperature up as fast as possible, so
they wrapped you in electric blankets. “My father was as pale as snow, his
brown eyes large with fear.

I
picked my head up and looked down the length of my body. 
Wrapped
was an
understatement.  I looked like a butterfly pupa in a cocoon.  The only thing
sticking out of the blankets was my face.  And I was still cold. 

I
nodded and dropped my head back onto the pillow.

“The
doctors said you were within fifteen minutes of dying.  I’m going to sue that
miserable boss of yours for having a defective freezer.” My father’s hands were
wrapped so tightly around the safety bars of my bed that his knuckles were
white.

“You
can’t! I’ll get fired!”  I don’t know that it came out as the shout I intended,
but I put as much force behind it as possible.  Near-death experience
notwithstanding, I didn’t want to lose my job.  I’d made some good friends at
Tapestries.

“Don’t
upset her, Greg.  We can talk about this later.”  Mom smoothed my hair away
from eyes.

Daddy
scowled and moved out of my line of vision.  “God, Barb, what would we have
done if we’d lost her?”  I heard my dad’s voice catch.  I’m an only child, and
I knew what he was thinking. “It’s inconceivable.”

My
thoughts drifted to a different subject as they talked.  “Where am I?”

“Presby
hospital,” my mother said.

 “How
did I get here?”  I knew very well how I’d gotten there.  I just wanted to have
it confirmed.

“That
boy you used to date.  Asher.  The one that plays in the band. He put you in
the back of his car and brought you here. It’s a good thing he did.  The
doctors said the ambulance would’ve been too late for you,” Mom told me.

I
nodded, closed my eyes, and sent out my Asher-tingly senses.  I couldn’t feel
him in the room.  Good.

“He
was gone when we got here,” Dad said from the foot of the bed.  “I’m going to
buy that son-of-a-bitch the best steak in Pittsburgh the next time I see him.”

No. 
No.  No, you’re not.  We’re done with Asher Pratt!

I
was too fuzzy to fight about it, and I could appreciate my dad’s enthusiasm.  I
was glad to be alive, even if the person I despised most on this planet was
responsible for it.  I had a lot of stuff I wanted to do yet.

A
nurse came in and bent over to peer into my face. She was a stern-looking
woman, with one of those old-fashioned, stiff white nurses’ caps pinned onto
her graying hair.  “How do you feel, darlin’?” she asked with a slight Southern
accent.

I
turned my head to look at her. “Not bad.” I was still talking with a croak.  I
wondered if my vocal cords had been damaged.

“Well,
you certainly look much better.  My name is Cathy.”  The nurse smelled good and
had a kind smile.  She fussed at the blankets that had me immobilized on the
bed.   “I just need to make sure your core temperature is up where it should
be.”

“When
they brought you in, it was eighty degrees.” My father blew out a breath. 
“They couldn’t believe you were still alive.”

“Well,
it’s ninety-five now.  She’s going to be fine.” Cathy threw a smile at my
father.  He looked as if he were going to puke.

I
was suddenly exhausted.  My eyes rolled back in my head, and the voices in the
room sounded muffled and far away.

“She’s
tired. Let’s go home and let her get some sleep.” My mother kissed me on the
cheek. Dolce Vita surrounded my nose.  I felt the corners of my mouth tug up
into a slight smile as I opened my eyes and said goodbye.

“Visiting
hours are just about over anyway,” Cathy the nurse said.  “We’ll take good care
of her tonight. I promise.”  I heard her fiddle with the wires on the machinery
next to me.

My
dad kissed me then.  The stubble on his chin raked my cheek, and that made me
smile too.  I’d never take the simple things for granted again. 

“Bye,
baby doll.  We’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. Then my parents were gone.

Cathy
dug under the blankets and placed the little button to summon the nurse in my
hand.  “If you need anything, darlin’, just push this.  I’ll be here all
night.”  With a pat on my shoulder, she left, turning the light off behind
her. 

I
lay quietly for a moment, listening to the sound of my own breathing and the
blood gushing in my ears.  The soft hiss of the oxygen cannula I had in my nose
was comforting. I like a little white noise to lull me to sleep.

 I
could hear the traffic down on the street below, horns honking, people calling
to each other. I never paid much attention to any of it before. It was music to
my ears now. I was alive.  My eyes closed, and I let my body relax into the
bed.

“Chelsea.”

I
almost didn’t hear it—it was just a whisper.  It melded with all the other
noises I was hearing, yet it stood out as if it’d been shouted from the
rooftop. My ears remembered. My body remembered. My nose remembered.
Unfortunately, my heart also remembered.

I squeezed
my eyes shut and stopped breathing. I heard footsteps come to the side of the
bed.

 
Jesus.
That’s it!
He was wearing Paco Rabanne cologne.

 “Chelsea,
are you awake?”

Asher.
I’d have to face him.  Chelsea the Human Pupa certainly wasn’t going to be able
to flee. I didn’t feel very brave, but I opened my eyes anyway.

Asher
Pratt stood above me, peering down into my face, looking like the child of an
angel and a god. His electric sexuality was as strong as it had ever been.  He
was Brad Pitt, with equal parts of Rob Lowe thrown in for good measure.

I
let my gaze drift over him. Asher was tall, but he was rock-star lean. He was
the kind of guy that low-cut jeans are made for.  His white shirt was
unbuttoned halfway down the front.  He leaned over, and it was all I could do
not to shove my eyes down that tempting view.  I knew what was down there.

Flat
abs and pecs with just a hint of definition, always smooth and hairless under
my tongue, except for that little line of dark hair that started just below his
navel and disappeared down behind the zipper of his jeans…

I
jerked my gaze back up to his face.

He
smiled when he saw my eyes were open, and my traitorous heart went
squish
. 
He leaned over, rested his elbow beside my head, and stroked my hair with his
other hand. 

“God,
you almost died.  The planet almost had to spin without Chelsea Whitaker on
it.  That is just wrong on so many levels.”  I could hear the catch in his
voice, but I knew what a liar he was. I didn’t believe his concern was genuine