The Body #3: Rogue and Euphemia

Chapter 4 (Euphemia): Anguish And Guilt

My eyes popped open in the middle of the night, my heart racing. Another bad dream I didn't remember. All I knew was that I'd suddenly jolt myself awake, my adrenaline pumping, tingling with that unsettling feeling you have after a bad dream. I'd had these weird episodes more frequently right when I first got home from the hospital, often a couple of times a night, but they'd tapered off as the days went on, to one a night and now it was every couple of nights. Rogue had tried to soothe me each time I awoke with a gasp, but I shrugged off his hands, mumbling that I was fine and wanted to go back to sleep.

How dare you try to offer me comfort now? Now, when it doesn't matter.

My estimated two-week recovery had turned out to be three-and-a-half weeks. It was only at the end of the last week that the bone-deep exhaustion had finally started to fade, and I could walk longer distances without feeling like I needed to rest. My PT assured me that losing as much blood as I had could do that, but despite the tiredness, my arm was coming along well.

Despite my asking him to go back to work, Rogue refused. Instead, he just worked on his computer in the room with me, legal briefs set to the side, stopping every half hour to see if there was anything I needed, making sure I got up and did five minutes of walking every half hour to rebuild my strength. He made me breakfast, lunch and dinner, and although he ate with me, I didn't talk. He'd tell me about things that were happening, asked if I wanted to go for a short drive, maybe to get ice cream, walk with him around the compound. No, thank you.

He'd tried bringing me flowers, but I told him the smell was making me sneeze and he should just give them to Winnie or put them in the common room at the clubhouse. Anything he suggested, I rejected; when he tried to engage me in conversation, I gave quiet, one-word answers and left it at that. Since he was constantly present and wouldn't leave me alone, it was only when I was in the bathroom that I could text my friend to make my escape plans.

When he was showering in the morning or in the kitchen making my meals, I walked extra laps around the room; anytime he stepped out for a minute or two, I got up and walked or texted my friend.

But the one thing he noticed was that, other than Dayton, nobody came to see me. The brothers came over to talk with Rogue, just shooting the shit, and they said hello to me, but none of the ol' ladies or girlfriends stopped by.

"It's strange nobody's been by to check on you. Maybe Dayton put the word out that you shouldn't have visitors yet, but I can get some of them to stop by, tell them it's OK for you to have a visitor or two for a few minutes."

Maybe that bitch you protected has turned all of the women against me with her lies.

"No," I said. "I'm not feeling up to it."

He pulled off his black glasses he wore to work on his computer and tossed them on his desk before he walked over to me, concern drawing his brows together. He knelt down by my chair where I was sitting, looking out the window. Making plans in my head.

"Euphemia, please tell me what's going on. Did the doctor say anything at your checkup that I should know about?"

I'd refused to let him in the room with me when he'd taken me for my appointment. It'd frustrated him to sit in the waiting room, it'd even made him angry, but no way was I going to let him hear my conversation with the doctor. Other than the fatigue and the expected pain from my injury, which was improving daily, I was doing incredibly well.

Despite the sadness filling every last inch of me.

I also used the time while I was waiting for the doctor in the exam room to finalize my exit strategy. When I'd walked back out to the waiting room, Rogue had smiled wide, hurried over to me and asked how it went.

I'd shrugged and muttered a half-hearted OK, then walked out to his car, ignoring the hand he held out to me. Rogue had walked right beside me, and opened my car door so I could get in, did my belt because that was still tricky for me to manage, then gently closed the door.

"Do you want to go get lunch?" he asked, so much hope in his voice that I wanted to smack him.

"I'm not really feeling up to sitting in a restaurant. The doctor's appointment tired me out."

"What'd he say about the fatigue, Effie? Is there anything we can do to help it?"

Not leaving me to bleed out on the floor after being shot would probably be a good starting point.

"He said it just takes time and in another month, I should be feeling better."

In another month, I'd be gone, hiding in plain sight.

"Do you want to stop and get some fast food? Or I can run in some place --"

"No. I just want to head back to your place."

"Our place, Euphemia," he said. He always corrected me, even before the shooting, when I'd referred to it as his place. But even with the joint our, he still hadn't made me his ol' lady. He'd never given me a cut proclaiming me to be his.

Just that suddenly, I was tired as he pulled into his driveway. Dayton and her ol' man, Bat, lived next door to Rogue, and I saw Dayton in the front of her house, raking leaves. We waved and she came over.

"What'd the doctor say?" she asked, friendly and concerned.

"I'm still going to be tired for a while, but I'm doing OK."

She smiled at me, and it seemed like a genuine smile.

"Thank you again for saving me," I said gratefully.

"You don't have to say that every time you see me," she said.

"You saved my life, Dayton. It means a lot that somebody would care enough to check on me and then do everything to save my life."

She froze, and I felt Rogue lock up right behind me. Then, as quickly as it happened, they both relaxed.

"I'm glad I was able to help you," she said, and she seemed sincere.

Of all the ol' ladies, Dayton seemed to spend the least amount of time at the club house, and I always assumed it was because she preferred to be outside, working on her garden. She was always pulling weeds, planting, watering and deadheading her plants that had bloomed. Her hobby may have helped her to miss the shooting but enabled her to get there so quickly once the shooters drove away. The club house was built at the center of all the houses on the compound, so no house was more than one hundred fifty feet from it.

We said good bye and walked into Rogue's house, and I noticed that Angelica was standing on her porch, three houses down, watching us. If I were going to be here long-term, this would have bothered me more. I'd ignored it as best I could before the shooting, but now? It just plain pissed me off, and I reminded myself that soon it wouldn't be my problem.

Once we were inside, Rogue lightly touched my good arm. "Euphemia, I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you at the shooting."

Rogue seemed to be taking a page out of my How To Tell A Lie And The Truth At The Same Time handbook.

"Where were you?" I asked innocently. "We haven't really talked about that day."

"I was taking care of club business. I'm sorry, Effie. I should have been there for you."

Club business? Is that what we were calling Angelica now?

"It doesn't matter. No use crying over spilled...blood."

God, the look on his face. Anguish and guilt were not a good combination.

He'd be wearing a similar look on his face only two days later when I laid everything out for Rogue and the entire club at dinner.

Right before I disappeared.