Lucidity

Chapter 30 - Deal with the Devil

Vincent woke with the salty taste of leather in his mouth. He blinked, felt the grit of sandpaper beneath his eyelids, and blinked again. He was staring at a blood-red leather pillow. He opened his eyes fully, rolling over to better survey his circumstances.

And toppled to the plush carpeted floor. At which point he realized he was naked and that he wasn’t alone.

Sounds of a woman singing off key could be heard over the rush of a shower. He rubbed his eyes, shrugged into a wrinkled, sweat-stained scrub top that he supposed was his, and scooped up the matching pants.

Eve. Although he’d never heard her sing before, it was easy to recognize the faint southern accent. And this was Eve’s office. He leaned on the desk, searching below it for shoes, socks, stray articles of clothing.

His head swam as he straightened once more. The room burst into a kaleidoscope of fragments. His stomach lurched, then settled down once his vision cleared. He licked his lips. Damn, he was thirsty. Parched.

His stomach rumbled. Hungry too. How could he be nauseated and starving at the same time?

He remembered dinner last night—surely he hadn’t stayed after? He couldn’t have, he was on call.

Nevertheless, here he was.

His body ached, in a pleasant way. Had he and Eve...No, not while he was on call—could he have? He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remember. Tantalizing fragments teased his memory: a woman’s laugh; hands stroking him; a woman on her knees, begging.

He stepped into his shoes, found further evidence of the night’s debauchery in the scattered remnants of Eve’s desktop paraphernalia. God, had he taken her on the desk? A whisper image of a woman on her knees, calling his name—the floor as well? And had she really done that for him, to him?

His head pounded as the random pictures flashed through his brain, a private porn video produced just for him.

Except he couldn’t remember a damn thing. The feelings that came with the images weren’t pleasurable. Rather he felt shame, as if he’d betrayed someone.

He moved to the open bathroom door, heard the water stop. He stole a glance inside, trying not to feel embarrassed as he watched Eve step through the glass shower door, her back to him. Two mutually consenting adults, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Then he saw the bruises on her porcelain skin. Fresh bruises. Bite marks, handprints, scratch marks.

Vincent backed away in horror. Had he done that to her? Why? How?

His gaze darted around the room, returned to his rumpled and disheveled appearance. What the hell had happened here last night?

Without a word to Eve, he turned and fled.

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After a quick shower and changing into clean clothes, Vincent still had no answers but felt closer to normal. His head pounded every time he moved too fast and despite brushing his teeth twice, he couldn’t escape the lingering taste of stale, acrid dried venison. A childhood treat he’d learned to despise with time.

Coffee. He needed coffee. He stumbled down the steps, the elevator was far too noisy and his stomach far too queasy, and approached the cafeteria. Then saw a familiar figure in a pair of rumpled scrubs.

Grace Moran. Heading toward the ethics committee meeting. Headache or not, he rushed forward to grab her by the arm. “What are you doing here?”