To Hell & Back - (Part 4)

Thanks for the title, KatieG!

Juliann





Hunter filled another hot water bottle with the steaming water boiling on the old stove. After corking it and wrapping it in a soft towel, he quickly went to McCall's side. She was curled in a ball on the couch, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she cried softly into the pillow.

"Here, let's trade," he told her as he gently pulled the slightly warm bottle from her grasp and replaced it with the hot one. He took a cool cloth from the bucket of clean, cold water on the floor and laid it on her forehead, trying to cool her off. Her frail body was drenched in sweat as she shook from the painful stomach cramps that plagued her.

He had managed to get her clothes off of her and replaced them with clean ones, but that seemed to be futile as they ended up being drenched within the hour anyway.

"Drink this," Hunter ordered, bringing a glass of ice water with a straw to her lips. She managed one sip and then turned her head away, refusing to look at him.

She was still angry with him, he knew. Her pained gasps shook him to his core. He had been through this before, but he couldn't remember it being so painful to watch. Perhaps it was because his buddy at the time was as big as Hunter, or perhaps because he had some comrades to help him out. Perhaps it was because he loved her more. All he knew was that this was only the beginning.

***************
"I hate you for this, Hunter," McCall whimpered as she vomited into the bucket on the floor. She was now too weak to stand, and Hunter held one hand on her forehead to steady her and had the other around her waist, holding her tightly.

"Don't fight it, Dee Dee," he told her as she retched again. He couldn't figure out for the life of him how she could be so sick when she wasn't taking anything in. Her body trembled in his grasp.

"I'm gonna die," she cried as she fell against him. He helped her stretch out onto a clean sheet that he had draped onto the couch for her. Her skin had taken on an ashen color, and her eyes remained unfocused, her bloodless lips dry.

"You're not going to die," Hunter told her gently as he stroked her cheek. "I won't let you."

Before she could answer, she groaned and rolled to her side and began to throw up into the bucket again. Hunter held her dark, matted hair back from her face, blinking back unfamiliar tears as he watched her suffer.

Tears rolled down her face as she choked, gasping for air as her body took over. "Help me," she whispered to him in a pleading voice. "Please, it's not fair," she pleaded. She turned her head to the bucket again as Hunter held the cool cloth to the back of her neck.

The onslaught continued through the next 48 hours. He was dead tired, and he rubbed his eyes as he watched her sleep. It was 8 a.m., and she hadn't been sick in over an hour, and the violent tremors that racked her body seemed to have stopped. She was an absolute mess, her body worn out into a state of unconsciousness. Hunter prayed for the worst to be over.

He went into the bedroom of the cabin and put clean sheets onto the bed, hoping he would be able to clean her up and let her rest.

But it was wishful thinking as a blood curdling scream came from the living room where he had left her. He ran into the room and found her screaming at the top of her lungs, sitting on top of the back of the couch, her back pressed against the wall. Her body shook violently as her terror-filled eyes darted back and forth around the room.

"Snakes!" she screamed at no one in particular. At first Hunter thought a garter snake had gotten into the cabin, but he quickly realized that she had begun to hallucinate.

Between her dehydration, no food for days and withdrawal from the Vicodin, she was seeing snakes that did not exist. Hunter came up to her cautiously, afraid of frightening her further.

"McCall, look at me. There aren't any snakes," he told her gently. She didn't look at him. In fact, he wasn't even sure she heard him.

"Look! They're coming in," she said, her dark eyes moving at an alarming speed. "They're coming, they're coming, it's gonna bite me, they're gonna get me," she repeated over and over, her voice high and shrill.

He remembered that there was probably only one thing that scared Dee Dee McCall to death, and it was snakes. He watched her scramble further up onto the back of the couch, beating on her own feet and arms at the creatures that didn't exist. "Get them off me, get them off me!"

Hunter grabbed her from the couch and winced as he felt her fingernails dig into the back of his neck as she clutched him. "Oh God, they're going to get me," she wailed, burying her face into his neck.

"There aren't any snakes," he told her over and over. "I've got you."

He held her for at least an hour, slowly reassuring her that there were no snakes. She began to relax in his arms, a silent lucidity overtaking her dark eyes. He carried her into the bedroom and carefully stood her on her feet.

"I'm going to draw a bath for you. Do you think you can handle that?" he asked. She nodded slowly, looking around for her things. He handed her the robe he had packed for her. "Get undressed while I get the water started," he instructed.

He turned on the water, and after getting it to a temperature of his liking, put the cork in the bottom of the bathtub and opened up a purple bottle that he had taken from McCall's bathroom. He poured its contents under the running tap, smiling as he watched the bubbles froth, the scent of lavender filling the small room.

He heard McCall enter, wrapped in her robe.

"That looks heavenly," she said softly. Hunter cleared his throat. "Do you need help or can you manage?" he asked. She nodded her head and motioned for him to leave, signaling she wanted some privacy. "I'll be out here waiting for you," he said, still not entirely sure that the worst was over.

A few minutes later he heard the water slosh, and he couldn't help but peek inside. She was reclined in the tub, bubbles up her neck as she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

He let her sit in there for about 30 minutes, and when he looked again, found her still reclined in the water, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest telling him she was relaxed and probably asleep.

"Can you wash my hair for me?" McCall asked, startling him. "I'm so tired," she said, folding her arms over her chest in an attempt at modesty.

Hunter took the shampoo from her bag and grabbed the hand-held shower nozzle, turning the water on again and wetting her head with the warm, clear water. After he worked her dark hair up into a lather, he rinsed it. A pink flush had overtaken her face.

"Thanks," she said. "Now help me up." Hunter gulped. It was obvious that she was exhausted. He grabbed a big towel and wrapped it around her as she stood up, trying to avert his eyes. He wrapped her robe around her and then guided her back to the bedroom.

He took a clean nightgown from her bag and brought it down over her head, thankful it was big enough to cover her and the towel together. She let the towel drop to the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed, drying her hair with the towel.

Hunter handed her a comb and watched her wince as she tried to get it through her snarled hair. Finally, she finished, her shoulder length hair curling at the ends as she looked at him expectantly. "Now what?" she asked.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

She groaned. "Please, no food," she said, waving him off with a shaky hand. "I just want to sleep." Hunter pulled down the sheet for her and watched her curl underneath it. He covered her with another blanket and then pulled the drapes to create the illusion of darkness. Her soft breathing told him she had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

With a heavy sigh, he stripped off his own clothes and strode into the bathroom, standing under the shower until the water ran cold. He shook his head as the events of the past few days unfolded in his brain. It seemed so unfair, yet he knew it had been the only way. He only hoped that the worst was over.

He stepped out of the shower and dried off, putting on a pair of clean shorts and nothing else. She hadn't moved. He eyed the large bed -- the only bed -- and the clean, cool sheets beckoning him. "You owe me, McCall," he said with a smile as he stretched out on the far side of the bed, folding his arms behind his head and lacing his fingers together. And he, too, succumbed to slumber.

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Hunter awoke with a startled feeling. He could hear crickets, and knew from the pitch blackness that it was in the middle of the night. He heard activity in the bathroom, and realized McCall was out of bed. He heard the toilet flush and then heard water running in the sink and the sound of her brushing her teeth.

He looked at his watch. It was only 10 p.m. They had been asleep the entire day, and other than occasional tossing and turning from McCall, the last 12 hours had been uneventful.

He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep as she ventured back into the bed. But his eyes snapped open when he felt her body curl up to his, her arm folding over his bare chest and her legs entwining with his. They had shared a bed in the past, but had never come so close to touching.

"Dee Dee?" he whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"Are you okay?" he asked. He heard her yawn.

"I'm fine, thanks." And then she propped herself onto her elbow and gazed into his eyes. Her own dark ones were bright as she brought her finger to his lips and traced them. She bent down and kissed him gently on the lips.

Hunter snapped to attention. "What the hell?" he thought to himself as his eyes closed with a will of their own. She rolled on top of him, chest to chest, and kissed him again. His body involuntarily betrayed him as he wrapped his arms around her thin frame, gently stroking her back as she moved her kisses to his throat, specifically the spot that pulsed rapidly between his neck and collarbone.

He groaned as she kissed him again, and this time, he took the initiative and rolled her to her back. He felt her arms wrap tightly around his neck as she returned his kiss fervently. All Hunter knew was that the woman beneath him was soft and pliant, the scent of lavender still on her skin and on her hair.

Her soft moan of pleasure delighted him. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, more than he had ever imagined. He reached under her nightgown and tentatively cupped her breast, feeling the tender softness under his hand. Her eyes opened and she looked at him with bright eyes as he stroked her.

"I missed you, Steve," she murmured against his mouth as he kissed her.

Hunter's heart dropped as he pulled from her and looked into her face. And then he looked closer into her eyes. While her eyes were bright, they still had a faint remnant of glassiness. It dawned on him that she had no idea with whom she had initiated this sexual encounter, yet another side effect of withdrawal. Damn.

"You're killing me, Dee Dee," he whispered to her. And how to not break her heart by telling her he wasn't Steve? He gave her one last kiss and then pulled away, pulling her nightgown down over her waist at an attempt at modesty. He couldn't take advantage of her, that was for sure.

"What? Where are you going?" she asked, still breathless. He didn't have the heart to say he was headed for a cold shower.

"I'm just tired," he told her, hoping she'd take the hint and still believe he was Steve. "How about tomorrow night? I have to get to work anyway, I'm late."

Her bottom lip protruded in a pout. But she took the hint and curled onto her side, her eyes closing in sleep once more.

Hunter turned and went into the living room to make a fire to ward off the mountain air's slight chill, but realized there was no wood to be found. "What a better way to ease sexual frustration than by doing my best imitation of Paul Bunyan," he chuckled to himself. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, turned on the outdoor spotlight and grabbed an axe from the shed. He chopped five cords of wood as he tried to get the image of his sexually frustrated partner out of his head.