by Lizzy Grey
Lifting her off him, he set her down and left the shower, grabbing the condom and flinging it into the toilet. Pulling a towel from the rack, he put it around his waist and left the room. She quickly turned the shower off, picked up the towel from the radiator, and tucked it around her body as she followed him.
“What is it?” she asked as he went into the kitchen and thumped the worktop.
“I’m no better than all the rest of the pussy-chasers you’ve been with.”
“No,” she cried. “I love you. I love you kissing me. I love you inside me. And it put off my craving for alcohol for a little while.”
“How do you feel?” he asked, smoothing wet hair off her face.
“A bit shaky,” she admitted. “I usually have a bottle of vodka for breakfast.”
He winced. “Have some coffee instead?” he offered and she nodded.
“Jamie,” she said as he poured it. “I know I’m supposed to be giving up drinking for me, but I’m going to do it for us. Because I love you.”
“I shouldn’t have fucked you.”
“That wasn’t fucking. What you did to make me come slowly was incredible. Only you can do that to me,” she told him and saw him flush as he passed her a mug of what smelt like industrial strength black coffee. Her hand shook, she almost spilt it and she put the mug down. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Let it cool for a minute and then I’ll help you.”
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “I don’t know how I’m going to react to no alcohol. I don’t know how my body is going to react to no alcohol.”
“I’m going to take you home and Marcus and I are going to book you into that clinic.”
“You will come and see me?” she begged.
His face fell. “I probably won’t be allowed to.” Tilting her face up, he gently kissed her lips. “But I will write. I love you. Want some coffee now?” She nodded and he held the mug to her lips and she drank. “More?”
“Let me try,” she said and he placed the mug in her hands. She raised it to her mouth and gulped the contents down before her hands began shaking again and she quickly put the mug down on the worktop before she dropped it. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she gave him a little smile. “I used to knock back the vodka like that. I’d better get used to doing it with coffee. Do you have a hairdryer?”
“Yes, it’s in the bottom drawer of the bedside locker on the right. Ask, if you need help.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his lips and went into the bedroom. With hands which shook of their own accord, she dried herself and her hair, then got dressed. It took ages but she was determined to do it herself and she smiled apologetically as she fought with her stockings as he came in and got dressed.
“Let me.” He crouched down taking the stockings from her and put them on her feet, before rolling them slowly up her legs. He slipped her shoes onto her feet then he kissed her lips. “There.”
“Thank you. Is there any coffee left?”
“Yes.” With an arm around her waist, he brought her to the kitchen and poured her the rest of the coffee, watching as she put both her shaking hands around the mug and gulped the contents down. “I can make more?”
“No, that was delicious, thanks.”
“Okay, let’s get you home.” He went to the sofa and picked up her handbag. “The sooner you’re in that clinic, the better. Especially with your medical history.”
Picking up his car keys from a glass bowl on a table at the door, he brought her down in the lift and out onto the street. “My car is only around the corner,” he assured her as she walked beside him. In a small car park, he beeped open a black Ford Focus and helped her into the passenger seat. As he was getting into the driver’s side, she began to shake uncontrollably, fumbled for the door handle and threw it open. She vomited noisily onto the tarmac and hauled herself back into the car shaking and sweating.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped before having to lean out again as she threw up. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to be sick again?” he demanded, pulling her back inside.
“No, I don’t think so. I just can’t stop shaking.”
“Right.” He started the car. “I’m taking you to hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“Freya, you had a heart transplant. I’m not taking any chances. What is Marcus’ phone number?” He pulled his smartphone out of his jacket pocket, jammed the phone onto the hands-free device, then punched in the number as she recited it. “Is that Marcus Wakefield?” he demanded as soon as the call was answered while driving out of the car park.
“It is.”
“My name is Jamie Watson, I’m a friend of Freya’s.”
“A friend?” Marcus began.
“Just shut up and listen,” Jamie snapped. “Your wife is an alcoholic. She is experiencing alcohol withdrawal symptoms and I’m taking her to hospital.”
“Hospital? Christ. Which one?”
“The nearest one is St Thomas’. Get your arse down there. Now.” Jamie ended the call and she felt the car surge forward. Jamie stopped the car behind an ambulance outside the Accident and Emergency Department ran around to the passenger side and lifted her out. “I need help here,” he shouted as he carried her inside.
She was placed on a trolley and wheeled straight into the examination room, hearing Jamie speaking to a nurse, then she drifted.
“Mrs Wakefield?” Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she opened her eyes. Who was Mrs Wakefield? She was never called Mrs Wakefield. Where was Jamie? “Mrs Wakefield, your husband is here.”
“Jamie?” she murmured.
“The withdrawal symptoms are quite severe,” she heard the female voice speaking to someone else. “She has been suffering hallucinations and is very disorientated, so some of the things she says may shock you. The sweating and shaking are also symptomatic of alcohol withdrawal.”
“Freya?” Marcus’ face loomed over her. “Freya, it’s Marcus.”
“Where’s Jamie?” she murmured. “Where’s Jamie? I want his cock inside me.”
Blood drained from Marcus’ face. “It’s all right, darling, I’m here now.”
“I want Jamie’s cock inside me now,” she insisted and Marcus straightened up.
“Can’t my wife be sedated?” he demanded to someone.
When he moved out of view, she groaned. “Where’s Jamie?” she asked again. “I want his cock inside me…”
Opening her eyes, she found herself in a private hospital room with a drip in her arm and hooked up to a heart monitor. The door opened and a female nurse came in.
“Mrs Wakefield, good morning.”
“Morning?” she repeated through dry lips.
“It’s Friday morning. Do you feel hungry at all?”
“I don’t know. I’m very thirsty, though.”
“Let me help you with some water.” The nurse poured some water from a jug into a cup, put a lid on the cup and inserted a straw into a hole. “Let’s sit you up a bit.” She raised the bed until Freya was almost in a sitting position, held the straw to her lips, and Freya sucked gratefully.
“Thank you.”
“Your husband is outside, and he brought you some bits and bobs,” the nurse said, nodding to a small suitcase. “Would you like to see him?”
“I suppose so, but is there anyone else here?”
“No, just your husband.”
Her heart sank and she watched the nurse leave the room and Marcus come in a minute or so later.
“Freya. How do you feel?” he asked carrying a chair to the bed and sitting down.
“Still a bit shaky. Have I really been asleep for two days?”
“Well, not asleep, no.”
“I don’t understand?”
He examined his hands. “Freya, one of the alcohol withdrawal symptoms is hallucinations. Unfortunately, you suffered from them quite severely.”
“Oh.”
“Everyone here now knows that you like Jamie Watson�
�s cock inside you.”
Blood began rushing into her face. “Is Jamie here?”
“No, but we did speak the morning you were brought in, and one thing we did agree on is that you need specialised treatment. Once you are discharged from here, you will be admitted to The Thames Clinic.”
She nodded, relieved they hadn’t rowed over her. “Okay. Do Mummy and Daddy know I’m in hospital?”
“Yes, I rang them, and they will visit you in the clinic. To say they are shocked is an understatement.”
She couldn’t care less. “Really.”
“Did you spend the night with Jamie Watson before he brought you here?”
“Did we have sex, you mean? We slept in the same bed. No sex. We made love in the morning. In his shower. It’s huge. His shower as well as his cock,” she clarified and two pink spots appeared in Marcus’ cheeks.
“You could have told me what he is.”
She frowned. “What he is..?”
Marcus pulled an irritated expression. “An escort. Did you hire him?”
“No, I did not.”
Content with her answer, he sat back in his chair. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Amanda and Liz hired him for me.”
He shrugged. “I don’t understand?”
“He relieved me of my virginity on my last birthday,” she explained, giving him a cheeky smile when his eyes bulged.
“Christ,” he whispered.
“When will I be discharged from here?”
“Tomorrow, probably. They want to make sure you’ve stabilised, or something.”
“Good. I hate hospitals. Can I use your phone?” she asked, pointing to his jacket. “I want to ring Jamie.”
“The use of phones is prohibited in here.”
“Well, could you bring me to a pay phone, then?”
“No,” he replied stubbornly. “Not with all those wires attached to you.”
“Well, could you buy me some magazines from the shop, please? Or is that not allowed either?” He got up and left her room, returning twenty minutes later with what looked like all the magazines from the hospital shop. “Thank you. You do know the doctors and nurses keep calling me Mrs Wakefield?”
“Want me to tell them to bow and curtsey and call you milady?” he asked as he placed the stack of magazines on the bedside locker.
She pulled an exasperated face. “No, but—”
“Freya, let’s not ask for even more trouble. You’ve shot your mouth off quite enough already.”
Chapter Ten
The following morning, Freya was transferred to The Thames Clinic. It wasn’t anywhere near the river but she didn’t care. She had a lovely room and she walked slowly to the window and looked out over the mostly lawned gardens. Over the past couple of days, her body had gradually stopped shaking, so she didn’t have to avoid holding reading material in her hands by laying it on her lap. She was to be assessed soon, so she had better settle in and make herself as much at home as she could.
She unpacked her suitcase, hoping Marcus himself hadn’t packed it – or looked in the bottom of the wardrobe – where ‘Jamie’ the vibrator still lay unused in his box. She had specifically asked for her eReader, a haven for her imagination over the weeks and months she had spent in hospital and at home recuperating from her heart transplant operation, but was told that it wasn’t allowed. Only self-help and recovery books were permitted and she would never be bored enough to read any of those.
That done, she sat on the edge of her single bed, wondering if she should find a payphone and call Jamie. She had just got to her feet when the door opened. It was time for her assessment.
An hour later, she returned to her room emotionally drained and lay on her bed. Trying to explain why she started drinking without mentioning that her marriage was a sham or that it led to her craving cock as well as alcohol had been exhausting.
She still craved cock. But only Jamie’s now. Did he know she was in the clinic? Had he tried to call her? She hadn’t been allowed to bring her iPhone, her room didn’t have its own telephone, and she hadn’t seen a payphone in the lobby as she had walked through. She wasn’t allowed visitors for a week which, apart from the lack of Jamie, relieved her.
Her daily schedule was structured and focused on learning about addiction, recovery, and sober living skills. Her personal time was spent in her room, the community room, talking with staff or other patients, working on treatment assignments, writing in her journal, or just napping. To her surprise, she found that she had very little time in which to be bored.
On her ninth day in the clinic, her heart sank when her parents came to visit her.
“Why?” was her mother’s first question. “I just don’t understand. I’m so shocked.”
“How are you?” Her father kissed the top of her head.
“A lot better, thank you, Daddy.”
“Who is Jamie?” he added. “Marcus said you were brought to hospital by someone called Jamie.”
“He’s a good friend.”
“Are you and Marcus not happy?” her mother demanded and Freya turned to her. No more secrets, she’d been advised by the clinic, so she decided to be blunt.
“No, not really.”
“Why?”
“He’s dull, Mummy. Completely and utterly dull. Terminally dull, actually.”
“You are going to try and make the marriage work, though, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, Freya.” Her mother bit her bottom lip in an effort not to cry.
“What, Mummy? You seem to be more upset that my marriage is in trouble than the fact that I’m an alcoholic.”
“Oh, Freya,” Mrs Thompson began to weep. “What’s happened to you?”
“I’ve grown up. And isn’t it about time?”
“Are you happy with this clinic?” her father intervened. “We can move you—”
“No,” she interrupted him. “I’m very happy here. Everyone is brilliant. I’m coming along in leaps and bounds.”
“When you are discharged,” her mother pulled herself together and began again, “I think you should come home for a while.”
“No, Mummy, when I leave here in a fortnight, I will be going to my current home.”
“To try and make your marriage work?”
“Sarah.” Her father laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Whatever happens, Freya, your mother and I will always love you.”
You wouldn’t if you knew what I’ve done, she thought. “Do the newspapers know I’m in here?” Her parents eyed each other and she took it as a yes. “Do they know why?”
“Freya, it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” she snapped. “I know I’m an alcoholic but I don’t want everyone knowing it and I’m sure you don’t want to be known as the MP with the alcoholic daughter.”
“People are being very supportive.”
Her lip curled. “I’m sure they are.”
“Elizabeth and Amanda have been in touch,” her mother told her. “Poor Elizabeth was in tears, she’d had no idea. They send you their love.”
Freya looked away. “They talked me into marrying Marcus. Tell them to keep their so-called love.”
“Freya.” Mrs Thompson patted her hand. “You’re still a bit… upset.”
“Do the newspapers know about Jamie?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her father frowned. “What is he to you, Freya.”
“He’s my lover,” she announced. “I’d spent the night at his apartment.” Her mother clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t worry, Mummy, it’s not just me. Marcus has a lover, as well. You may as well know that Marcus and I will be getting a divorce as soon as we can.”
“Oh, Freya.” Her mother began crying again.
“I’m more assertive now, Mummy. I will always be grateful for all you’ve done for me but it’s time I made my own way in the world.”
Two weeks later, Marcus collected her from
the clinic after breakfast and brought her home.
“I’ve asked for some tea,” he said, placing her suitcase on her bed.
“Thank you, I’ll come downstairs in a few minutes.”
“If there is anything you need, Freya, just ask.”
“I will, Marcus. Thank you.” The door closed, she retrieved her iPhone from her bedside locker and entered Jamie’s number.
“Freya.” He answered after two rings. “You’re home?”
“Just in the door.”
“How are you?”
“I feel a bit strange,” she admitted, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Good strange, though. Thank you for bringing me to hospital.”
“I should never have given you all that coffee.”
“It doesn’t matter. When can I see you?”
“Freya, you’ve been in the newspapers. We need to be very careful for a while. Probably until well after your divorce. Please don’t come to the apartment.”
Her heart sank, she’d been aching to see him for weeks. “Where, then?”
“The Cranford Hotel. I can book a room there as Simon Harrison.”
Her eyes closed momentarily with relief. “When?”
“Whenever you feel you’re ready. Get used to being home again for a few days.”
“Can I call you?”
“Of course you can,” he said softly. “I love you.”
“I’ve missed you so much,” she told him, hoping she wouldn’t cry.
“I know but I couldn’t ring the clinic, you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Call me before you go to sleep tonight?”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She ended the call and opened her wardrobe. Taking the cardboard box out, she put it on her bed and lifted ‘Jamie’ out. Running her fingers along his length, she raised him to her mouth and touched the tip with her tongue before returning him to the box.
Liz and Amanda called that afternoon and she reluctantly received them in the drawing room.
“Oh, Freya,” Liz burst into tears and Freya just about suppressed a groan. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say anything?”
