Denied

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  intervene and drag them apart.

  And the whole time, I’m crumpled on the ground in a pathetic mess, my head pouring blood, my eyes pouring tears. Both men are so consumed by the determination to win, they’ve lost sight of what they’re fighting for. Now I’m injured, blood’s gushing down my face, and I’ve still not been noticed as they wrestle in the holds of Tony and Dave.

  ‘Stay away from her,’ Gregory snarls at Miller, letting up on his persistent struggle against Tony.

  ‘Only when I’m fucking dead!’

  ‘Then I’ll fucking kill you!’ Gregory breaks free and launches himself at Miller, taking him and the doorman to the concrete. I wince at the sounds of hard knuckles connecting with flesh, blood spraying, and clothes ripping. But even though Gregory is well built, Miller clearly has the upper hand, showing the fighting skills of someone trained.

  I’ve seen him show this kind of punishment before, except it was a limp bag of sand hanging from the rafters of a gym that was subjected to his brutality. Not my treasured friend. Both of them have forgotten about me, neither noticing that I’m injured and distressed on the pavement. Their rationality has been clouded by caveman behaviour and bashing horns.

  In my dazed state, I struggle to my feet while the spectacle continues. My steps forward are tentative. I need to stop this, but then my arm is taken and I’m being pulled away. I look up, seeing Tony focused, with purpose directing me to the road. He flags a taxi down and makes to put me inside.

  ‘Tony, I need to stop them.’

  ‘I’ll sort it. You’re best off out of the way,’ he snaps harshly, encouraging me into the cab.

  ‘Please stop them,’ I beg as he slams the door.

  He nods, a nod that I find reassuring as he leans into the window and hands the driver a twenty. ‘Take her to A and E.’ And then he’s gone, stalking away, rampant with fury. As the driver pulls away from the horror scene I’ve caused, he eyes me in his rear-view mirror, prompting me to reach up and feel the top of my head. I wince, tears continuing to fall, more from despair than pain.

  ‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ the taxi driver asks, looking concerned.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I rummage through my purse for a tissue but give up when one’s handed through the small hole in the glass. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem. Let’s get you to the hospital.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmur pitifully, resting back in the seat and watching the blurred lights of London by night zoom past the window.

  The driver drops me off at A&E and gives me his mobile number to call him as soon as I’m done. After checking myself in, I sit among the masses of Saturday night drunks, all injured, some ranting, some throwing up.

  Four hours later, I’m still sitting in the waiting area, my bottom numb, my head banging. I get up and make my way to the toilet, looking down and seeing my ice-blue dress soaked with blood. My reflection in the mirror once I arrive in the ladies’ reveals even more of a mess. My hair is matted and my right cheek caked in dried blood. I look as pitiful as I feel. After staring at myself for too long and not bothering to remedy my sorry state, I exit into the waiting area again, just catching the tail end of my name being called. I look across the room to see a nurse scanning the waiting area.

  ‘Here!’ I call, hurrying over, thankful my time in the drunk-infested space is up. ‘I’m Olivia Taylor.’

  ‘Let’s get you sorted out.’ She smiles kindly and directs me into a cubicle, swiftly pulling the curtain across and settling me on the bed. ‘What have you been up to?’ she asks, frowning at my blood-coated face.

  ‘I fell,’ I mutter feebly, which isn’t far from the truth.

  ‘Okay, lovey,’ she says, taking a sterile pad from a packet. ‘This may sting.’ I pull in a shocked rush of breath as it connects with my head, and she hushes me like an injured child. ‘There, there. It looks worse than it is. Some glue will sort it out.’

  I’m flooded with relief. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Perhaps better footwear is called for.’ She smiles, looking down at my heels before continuing to glue me back together.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to the nurse chat away, offering the odd agreement or answer to her questions every now and then. My face is cleaned up, but there is nothing that can be done with my hair, so I pile it up gingerly, securing it with a loose tie that I find hiding at the bottom of my bag. My dress looks like it’s ready for the dustbin. I look like I’m ready for the dustbin.

  Once I’ve been seen to thoroughly and checked for concussion, I’m discharged and left to find my way home. But I don’t call the nice taxi man because one pulls up, just as the automatic doors swing open, exposing me to the chill of the early hours. I shiver and wrap my arms around my body, trying to squeeze the shudders away as I hurry to the cab. I hop in, but before I can pull the door shut, there’s a body blocking it, hindering my attempts.

  Then a palm is resting on my nape and internal sparks begin to fizz. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  Chapter Seven

  Despondency and the look of determination in his eyes prevent me from fighting him. I haven’t the energy to fight him, so I let him pull me from the taxi and lead me away.

  ‘Get in,’ he orders when we arrive at his car parked haphazardly nearby.

  I do as I’m told and let him shut me in. He climbs in and shocks me when he starts pulling at his wreck of a suit. ‘Fucking mess,’ he mutters, looking out the corner of his eye to me. He’s probably taking in my own dishevelled state, the fool. On a mild shake of his head, he slams his Merc into gear and pulls away from the hospital way too fast, but I don’t say a thing. I’d be stupid to say anything. He looks homicidal, totally deranged. And I’m wary of it.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, pulling a sharp left onto the main road.

  I don’t answer, instead focusing forward. He knows the answer to that question.

  ‘I’ve asked once.’

  I remain quiet, absorbing the continued fury emanating from his messy form.

  ‘Damn it, Olivia!’ He punches the door window, sending me on a startled jump in the passenger seat. ‘Where are your fucking manners?’

  I chance a cautious glance at him, seeing a sweaty brow and that loose curl jumping across his forehead from his shaking. ‘I’m fine,’ I whisper.

  He takes a calming pull of breath and glances up to the rear-view mirror. ‘Why is your phone turned off?’

  ‘It’s broken.’

  He looks across to me before flicking his eyes up to the mirror again, then taking another sharp left. ‘How?’

  ‘I threw it at the wall when you texted me,’ I don’t hesitate telling him. ‘Because I was mad at you.’

  His face turns to mine and drinks in my blank face for what seems like for ever. Then his hand releases the gearstick and starts to slowly come towards my knee until he gently and cautiously rests it on my bare flesh. I look down at him rubbing lazy circles before I pull my leg away and return my stare forward, leaving his hand dropping to the leather by my leg. He quietly curses and, in my peripheral vision, I see him looking to the rear-view mirror once again. My hand shoots out to grab the door when he takes another vicious turn into a dark alley on yet another quiet curse, and I instinctively glance out the back of the car. Does he think someone’s following us?

  I’m just about to speak when the car screeches to a halt and Miller is out, quickly making his way to my side and opening the door. He offers his hand. ‘Take it,’ he demands, and I hesitantly reach forward, sensing an element of urgency to his tone. I’m grasped and pulled from the car before his hold shifts to my neck.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, my feet moving fast to keep up with his determined strides. ‘Miller?’

  ‘I’ve had too much to drink to be driving.’ He brushes off my question and heads to the Tube entrance across the street, his eyes darting around constantly. ‘Now’s not the time to be difficult, Olivia.’

  ‘Why?’ I’m l
ooking around nervously now, too.

  ‘Trust me.’

  He’s jumpy and it’s frightening me. ‘What have you done to make me do that?’

  ‘Everything,’ he answers immediately, making me frown up at him as my legs continue to keep up with his fast strides.

  We enter the station and I’m released momentarily while Miller clears the turnstiles with an easy leap, not prepared to waste time at the ticket machine. He turns and grabs me, lifting me over with no regard for security or onlookers. Then my neck is reclaimed and we begin descending into the bowels of London, taking the escalators fast and frantically.

  ‘Miller, please,’ I plead, my feet killing, my head banging.

  He halts, turns, and scoops me into his arms. I gasp. ‘I apologise for making you walk.’

  I look down at him, the close proximity and sudden artificial light giving me a clear view of his face. His cheek is bruised and his lip grazed. But he’s still breathtaking. And my reactions to his beauty and touch are still evident. I’m hypnotised by him, my heart being hijacked by a violent, determined thrum, which has nothing to do with my exertion. I don’t like these responses to him. They’re dangerous.

  The platform is empty and we’re no longer on the move, yet he doesn’t place me down, choosing to keep me secure against him.

  A whistling breaks through the silent air, indicating the arrival of a train, and when the doors slide open, he carries me into the car and rests his backside on one of the raised cushions at the end of the carriage. He finally places me on my feet, spreads his legs, and pulls me face-forward to his body, our chests colliding, the internal sparks firing off wildly. His breathing is strained as he feels the back of my neck and pushes me further into him, like he’s trying to morph us together. The severity of his grip stops me from trying to escape. Do I want to escape? I can feel a familiar ease descending, which is obscene, given Miller’s strange behaviour, but my subconscious is also working hard to remind me of . . . everything. Yet in the same breath, Miller is working hard to try and make me forget, and his tactic for doing this is by immersing me in his body and attentiveness. Worshipping me.

  ‘Let me taste you again. I beg you,’ he murmurs into my neck, starting to kiss his way up to my jaw. The familiarity of his slow-moving lips makes me close my eyes and plead for strength. ‘Forget the world outside and be with me for ever.’

  ‘I can’t forget,’ I answer quietly, my face nuzzling into his mouth automatically.

  ‘I can make you forget.’ He reaches my lips and gently brushes over them, his eyes sinking into mine. ‘You agreed to let no one else have you.’ He doesn’t speak with any hint of arrogance as he pulls away slightly, revealing his wayward curl and too many lovely places for my eyes to focus on.

  ‘I didn’t know who I was agreeing with.’

  ‘You were agreeing with the man who you can’t function without.’ His voice is low and hoarse, his eyes continuously glancing to my lips. There is little point in denying his claim when the words are a mirror of my own, spoken aloud and delivered to him personally. And our separation has only proved it. ‘We were made to fit together. We fit perfectly together. You must feel it, Olivia.’ He doesn’t allow me time to agree, or maybe disagree. He inches forward slowly, carefully, holding my eyes until our mouths meet and he’s humming in contentment. My arms lift and hold him, my body pushes into his, and my eyes close in bliss. We kiss for an age, slowly, delicately, lovingly. I can feel our broken pieces shifting and coming together, the rightness of us fused everywhere cancelling out all of the wrongness of our doomed relationship. I’m allowed to kiss him. I’m allowed to touch him.

  The train begins to slow until we’re at a stop and the doors are sliding open, but a quick peek while maintaining our consuming kiss reveals no one getting off and no one waiting to board. I’m allowed to kiss him. That thought and the sound of the doors snapping into action again yank me from the curious world of Miller Hart and puts me back into a place where everything is . . . impossible. He’s been in Madrid. He’s been with clients while he’s been with me.

  I dive from his arms through the tiny slit of space left to exit, landing on the platform before I can register my sharp movement. Looking back at the carriage, I watch as the train starts to pull away and Miller starts hammering on the door frantically. He’s deranged, panicked and shouting, as I stand deathly still and watch him disappear into the tunnel. My last tear-filled vision is of him throwing his head back on a ferocious roar and propelling his fist into the glass.

  Time seems to slow. I’m numb and useless and running over every reason for me to remain at a safe distance from Miller Hart, while my fingertips run over my lips, feeling his mouth still there. I can feel his body against mine, too, and the lingering burn his gaze has left on my skin. He has worked his way deep into me and I’m terrified there is no shaking him out.

  The front door swings open before I’ve even made it halfway up the garden path, and Nan’s standing looking petrified in her nightie. ‘Olivia! Oh my goodness.’ She rushes down the path to collect me, taking my elbow and leading me into the house. ‘Oh my word, whatever has happened? Oh my goodness!’

  ‘I’m okay,’ I mumble, exhaustion taking hold, rendering me incapable of proper speech. I should make the effort, though, because Nan looks truly beside herself, her usually fixed hair in disarray and her face looking older. She needs reassurance.

  ‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’ She pushes me towards the kitchen, but I freeze on the threshold when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

  ‘Where is he?’ I ask, jolting forward a little when Nan bumps into my back.

  She doesn’t answer, instead overtaking me and pulling me into the kitchen. ‘Come, I’ll make tea,’ she repeats in an attempt to avoid answering my question.

  ‘Nan, where?’ I ask, stopping her from pulling me further into the room.

  ‘Olivia, he’s been out of his mind.’ She tugs me harder until I stumble into the kitchen and he comes into view. Miller’s sitting at the table, looking a mighty mess and really pissed off. Yet his evident displeasure and the irritation it spikes in me doesn’t prevent the simmering want from our train kiss to reignite.

  Defeated.

  He slowly stands, giving me warning eyes. I couldn’t care less. He has no scruples, dragging in an old lady as a tool to get his way. She’s oblivious to the horror that is our dead relationship and, subsequently, my dead heart. I’m about to scream in his face in a desperate attempt to show him my rage at his underhanded tactics, but before I can muster the energy, a sharp pain stabs at my temple, making me clench my head on a hiss and a stumble of my heels.

  ‘Jesus, Olivia.’ He’s in front of me in a second, stroking my face, putting his lips everywhere and mumbling incoherent words, mostly quiet curses.

  I’m too tired to fight him off, so I wait until he’s finished smothering me before pulling away. I penetrate him with cold eyes. ‘Nan, please see Miller out.’

  ‘Olivia,’ she rebukes me gently. ‘Miller has been terribly worried. I told you, you need to replace your telephone.’

  ‘I won’t because I don’t want to speak to him.’ My voice is as cold as my eyes surely are. ‘Have you forgotten what the last few weeks have been like, Nan?’ I can’t believe I’ve been cornered like this again. He has no morals.

  ‘Of course, but Miller has explained. He’s very sorry, said it’s all a misunderstanding.’ She hastily gets three mugs from the cupboard, set on making tea quickly, like it will pacify me. Or maybe the consumption of some good English tea will make everything better.

  ‘A misunderstanding?’ I look at him, finding the usual impassive blue gaze. Ironically, it’s comforting after the maniac I’ve encountered tonight. It’s familiar, which I conclude to be a bad thing. ‘Tell me. What out of everything have I misunderstood?’

  Miller steps forward, but on instinct I step away again. ‘Livy.’ He rakes a frustrated hand through his dark waves and attempts to stra
ighten his wrecked suit. ‘Can we talk?’ he tries, his jaw ticking.

  ‘Come on, Livy. Be reasonable,’ Nan pipes up. ‘Give him a chance to explain.’

  I let slip a little laugh, making Nan frown and Miller’s jaw tense further. ‘Never.’ I turn away, leaving two despairing souls in the kitchen. No one is more desolate than I am, though. I’m crumbling, disintegrating.

  My head is thumping as I take the stairs, my mind crippled with too much to absorb. I’ve never felt more confused and helpless, or angry and frustrated.

  ‘Livy.’ His voice halts me halfway up and I muster the strength I need to face my heart’s nemesis. His eyes are glazed, his shoulders visibly slumped, but that air of confidence still surrounds him. ‘You’ve underestimated my determination to fix us.’

  ‘We can’t be fixed.’

  ‘Wrong.’

  I take the banister for support. His one-word counter is seething with determination and confidence. ‘I’ve already told you, I can’t fix you. And I can’t risk you breaking me beyond repair . . .’ My voice trails off as I reach the end of my declaration. I’m furious that I can’t finish as bravely as I started. I’m already ruined. Not broken, but ruined. Broken is fixable. Ruined is not. Ruined is beyond hope. ‘Good night.’

  ‘You’re mistaking me for a man who gives up easily.’

  ‘No, I mistook you for a man who I could trust.’ I find my way to my room and strip down before collapsing onto my bed and hiding under the sheets. While I know I’m being sensible, the willpower to maintain my strength is crushing me. He’s crushing me.