"I want nothing to do with either of you if you’re going to fight like animals!" I shouted at Jason.
He turned pale, suddenly horrified as he saw his future job prospects, all of our future plans, destroyed. Finally, he understands.
"Caitlin, careful...you’ll tear your stitches," I heard Nathan’s voice murmur behind me.
I took a deep breath, relaxing the iron control for just a moment, and looked down. He was too late – one of the wounds on my leg was bleeding, so I’d already ripped the stitches. I started to crumple as the pain came flooding in, with the realisation that Nathan was behind me, trying to support me.
You started this. You have no idea what you almost did.
"Get your hands off me!" I shouted at Nathan over my shoulder.
"No." His voice was a barely audible whisper in my ear.
I’d rather fall flat on my face now than let you touch me with the hand that threw the first punch. In my fury, I tried to turn on my heel to face Nathan. I wanted to give him an earful, too. Yet as I started to shift my weight, pain and dizziness overwhelmed me. Strong arms lifted me as Nathan’s voice murmured soothingly in my ear.
My eyes tightly closed, I fought to hold onto consciousness, without the use of even my fingernails to claw my way out of the threatening dark.
I needed to reassure Jason, to tell him that everything would be okay. I forced my eyes open to find the room still drained of colour. Stay down. Don’t get up 'til the colours come back or you’ll pass out.
"Jason." I fought to get the words out. "Something else scared me and I was just shocked to be woken up." I stretched out my hand to him, trying and failing to wiggle my fingers as a silent reminder of what he'd risked. Too late did I realise that else I was showing him.
He stared at my bandaged hand and the fingers I couldn’t move, let alone play with. "Oh my God, what did they do to you?" Dreams, career, plans, gone. I could see it in his eyes. He bolted before I could say anything.
I called after him, but he didn’t stop, nor return. He didn’t let me tell him that I would be okay, that I'd recover and everything would go back to normal.
What if they had taken everything from me, even my music? What if my hands were so badly damaged they wouldn’t heal? I could feel my eyes filling with tears and forced myself to think of other things. No need for self-pity. Why was he here, when I knew he threw up at the sight of blood? Why were there flowers in the sink?
I didn’t realise the answer until Nathan stood at my side again, holding the larger bunch of flowers as a peace offering in front of him. "Happy birthday," he said apologetically.
Today I was legally old enough to drink and the only alcohol I’d see was some form of disinfectant. I wonder if you can drink the alcohol handwash? I buried my face in my pillow, laughing hysterically ‘til I cried. A normal girl would have just cried, but I was no longer normal, by any stretch of the imagination.
Part 32
Mike – Simon – Knife – Fighting
"No. She can't have a knife. Chris searched her…" Mike's voice said from the doorway. He moved into the darkness, toward me.
"Stay away from me!" I insisted, waving the tiny blade.
A torch beam blinded my eyes, gleaming on the knife.
"She has a knife!" the smaller man shrieked, pointing.
"I'll kill him," Mike swore, striding over to me.
I brandished the knife, lifting it toward his eyes. "Either of you touch me again and I'll cut your fucking dick off!"
I didn't see the blow that crashed into the side of my face, sending me flying. I hit the concrete blindingly hard and heard the knife skitter away from me.
"I'll do what I fucking well like," Mike answered.
I couldn't see. My face ached and my eyes blurred with tears. I wondered if my jaw was broken.
I heard the scrape of metal on stone. "There, got it," Mike said. A hand closed around my throat. I could see the knife wavering above my face. "Where did you get this, little bitch?"
"I had it in my pocket," I spat. "I've got a bigger one for killing you in the other pocket. Don't need a big knife to cut off your prick."
Mike threw me back down on the floor. "She's all yours."
"What about this cut? And her other knife? I'm not staying here with that hellcat, getting infected or maybe bleeding to death. I'm not touching her again unless you make sure she can't do it again. And a bodyguard to hold her down, too."
Somewhere under the pain, I felt grim satisfaction that I'd scared the shit out of the idiot I'd stabbed. He deserved it.
"Fine. You come with me and we'll see if there's a first aid kit up at the house." A kick connected with my shin. "You stay here, little bitch. Chris is in deep shit. If she doesn't kill him, I will."
Part 33
"Today we’ll take the dressings off your hands. Your fingers should have almost healed up by now." Judith’s expression turned from sweet to sour as she shifted her focus from me to Nathan. "You, out."
Nathan stood up slowly. The question in his eyes was directed at me, not her. Other than that, his face was impassive.
What if my hands are permanently damaged, or twisted? I can’t face that alone. I lifted my chin. "No," I said quietly. "I want Nathan to stay."
I caught the fleeting smile on his face as he sat down again, but it was gone so quickly I don’t know if the nurse saw it. If she did, she probably ignored it.
Nathan stretched an arm across the pillow behind me, as if to exaggerate how little concern he had for what the nurse thought. I wished I was as confident as he was. I leaned back on the pillows so his arm was against my back, hoping I could absorb some of his assurance to blot out my fear. I felt his arm stiffen at the contact and realised his relaxed stance was more brittle than it seemed. Instead of worrying me, somehow I found it reassuring, sinking deeper into the pillows. He responded by curling his right hand lightly around my shoulder, giving it the slightest squeeze.
We’re not scared. Just nervous as all hell, I thought. I swallowed and bit the proverbial bullet. "Do it," I told the nurse as I gave a sharp nod.
I held out my hand, trying hard not to flinch as she touched me. I forced myself to hold still until she let go of my freshly freed fingers. I held them up, trying to work out if all of them had healed properly.
Judith’s slight smile told me she saw the same straight fingers that I did, but that wasn’t the only thing that mattered. "Okay, let’s see how well you can move these. Just bend them, one at a time," she said, looking serious once more.
I was afraid it would hurt. I bent my littlest finger slowly, waiting for the shock of pain to tell me I’d pushed even the tiniest part of my damaged body too far. My nail touched my palm and I almost whimpered in relief.
The nurse nodded eagerly as I tried my other fingers – thumb, index finger, middle, ring, before my little finger again. The first two were fine, so I curled my middle finger with more confidence than the others. The protesting muscles cramped and I bit back a cry of pain. I was more careful after that, but I needn’t have worried.
Judith made a cautious comment about how well my hands had recovered so far and how I could make do without full use of my hands if I had to.
I looked at her in disbelief. She knew as well as I did that her spiel was silly, a hospital requirement to state risks just in case there was some adverse issue arising from my injuries. I bent all my perfect fingers, leaving only the middle one erect – my reaction to getting a standard statement from her when we both knew better.
She tried not to laugh, but I wasn’t similarly restrained. "I’ll be fine. You’ll see."
She muttered something about arrogant doctors as I continued to laugh and offered her my other hand.
I played the fingers of my right hand out on the sheet, to the rhythm of the cheery little tune in my head. I didn’t know where it had come from, but it wasn’t going away. Necessary evil, joy and pain… Idly, I played with words as the silent notes rang in my ears. I wa
nted my left hand free so I could work a bass line beneath the melody, something dark…
"And the other hand?" Judith asked, as if she’d read my mind. I curled my left hand into a fist before splaying my fingers out again. I wanted to play.
I stretched both hands again, as if I was going to play the piano for the first time in two months. Some stiffness, but better than nothing. I looked up to find both Judith and Nathan looking at me expectantly. "Physio with finger exercises next. Won’t that be fun!" My hands ached to be on a piano keyboard, but I’d have to wait ‘til I got home. Then music would be recommended physiotherapy, several times a day. My heart flew in hope. I wanted to play and write and start something new…
Judith touched a wet cloth to my hands and I let her wipe them clean, my mind spinning with a song that I was struggling not to sing. She looked amused. "Do you want me to go see if I can get some bubbly from the kitchen?"
It was a standing joke that there was no alcohol in the hospital, when most of the doctors drank like dried-out fish, so I responded like a normal patient who didn’t know. "I don’t believe there’s any alcohol for drinking in a hospital."
Judith glanced at Nathan and winked at me. "There is – for the candlelight dinners in the maternity ward. I’ll go get you some and you can toast having your hands back with a glass!"
She hurried out before I could say anything. She was talking about the sparkling grape juice, surely – they didn’t give out alcohol in the maternity ward. I hoped for better, though. There was wine for the doctors’ functions in the kitchen all the time. My first legal drink to celebrate having my hands back. I could have danced, if I could have stood up long enough to do so.
"Congratulations," Nathan said, pulling his arm away from me as he sat up properly.
I looked at him, unable to wipe the smile from my face as I held out my healing hands. My ragged nails could do with a manicure, but I’d have to cut them short to play, anyway. I wondered if I should ask Judith for a nail file when she came back.
To my surprise, Nathan carefully took my hands in his, startling me out of my skittering thoughts. He kissed the back of my right hand, then my left. Even his light touch felt strange on my skin, hypersensitised from being covered for so long.
With an effort, I chose not to pull away. "What was that for?"
He looked surprised. "I’m not sure. It just…seemed like the right thing to do." He let go of me and looked away.
Part 34
Sick of looking out of the window at the garden below, I announced my intention of going outside. I wanted to sit in the sun, if just for a few minutes.
Nathan made as many excuses as he could for why I shouldn’t.
Eventually, I tuned out as I realised I could go outside without him – now my hands were free, I could push a wheelchair, even if I couldn’t walk far yet without it.
The surgeon’s dark blue pyjama set I’d been loaned was still tucked into my bedside cabinet, where I’d left it after the trip downstairs to the coffee shop.
I’d never appreciated how easily they slipped on before, with no zips or buttons to complicate matters.
I tried to pull the hospital gown over my head, but it got stuck and I realised I’d have to untie it at the back first. As I dropped it to start on the ties holding it closed, I caught Nathan staring at me wistfully and I realised I’d just given him an eyeful. For the first time in my life, I was glad my boobs weren’t all that big – maybe he hadn’t seen much. Trusting him to have the courtesy to turn his back or look away, I kept getting changed. My fingers were clumsy as I undid the knots, but I wasn’t going to ask him for help.
I glanced at him again and his eyes were still on me, as if he were mesmerised. He’s probably hoping I’ll flash my boobs again, I thought sulphurously, clamping my mouth shut so I didn’t shout at him, no matter how much I felt like it.
Self-consciously, I tried to keep the hospital gown covering as much as possible as I slipped on the dark blue top, followed by the pants.
When I thought I’d be able to keep my temper, I gritted my teeth as I tried to stay civil to Mr Sleazy Roommate. "You could have averted your eyes. It’s considered polite."
He told me he’d been waiting for me to ask for help.
I never ask for help. I’m definitely not asking you. I paused to make up my mind. And I’m going to go downstairs into the garden by myself. Fuck you, you sleazy bastard.
The wheelchair was outside my room. It was a little further than I’d walked in my physio sessions so far, but if I held onto the wall, the door frame and possibly the table on wheels, I knew I could reach it.
I stood up carefully and put my hands on the table that still held my lunch tray. I took a step and found I had to lean on the table more than I’d expected. This hurt my hands, so I let go of the table. Right, I guess it’s the hard way.
I edged my foot forward, gritting my teeth as I lifted my head to focus on my goal. Instead, Nathan’s chest blocked my view as his body barred my way. I glared up at him, but he didn’t move. I could feel my control wavering. I opened my mouth to tell him to get out of my way and the haze of pain descended, turning the world grey and threatening to take my consciousness with it. Get out of my fucking way!
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’ll walk with my eyes closed if I have to.
Before I could take another step, Nathan lifted me off my feet. When he put me down, it was on the edge of the bed, I knew, from the feel of the cotton sheets on the firm mattress.
You bastard, you’re going to make me take those painful steps again, taking me back to where I started. In my fury, I wasn’t game to open my mouth. I just sat there, fuming and ignoring him, as I waited for the pain to ebb so I could try again.
He sat on the floor in front of me, ducking his head until his face was about level with my feet as he looked up at me. The perfect level to kick him if he tries to stop me again, I thought. I’m going to break his fucking nose with my foot.
"If you don’t recover, they win." His words surprised me.
If you’d get out of my way and let me try to walk, I’ll have a better chance at recovery than staying in bed all day.
"I’m getting better," I told him, stating the obvious that he apparently hadn’t seen.
His tone was melting, barely more than a whisper. "If you let me help you, you’ll get better faster. And it won’t hurt as much, either."
I shook myself. I‘ll get better faster if I try to get back to normal as quickly as I can. "I’m not asking for your help," I snapped. I voiced my suspicions. "You know I won’t."
"Who helped you before, Caitlin? Who brought you food, water, medicine? Someone helped you survive." He looked up at me urgently. Do you remember? said his eyes.
Of course. Don't you? Are you sure you want me to remember Chris and what he did? What YOU did?
In surprise and anger, I blurted out the first things that came to my head. "Someone who didn’t wait for me to ask. Someone kind. Someone...I haven’t told the police about." Yet. I left the last word unsaid, regretting every word I’d said.
I waited for him to say something, to ask more questions that I didn’t want to answer. I’d said more than I’d intended to already. Lost in thought, I wasn’t paying attention when he did speak. Something about how he was going to help me?
Enough waiting. "I want to go outside," I told him.
"And how are you going to get there?" he asked, amused.
Well first you’re going to get out of my fucking way if I have to kick you…I bit back that response. "I’m going to get to that wheelchair, take it down in the lift and then outside."
"What if you fall again?"
Not bloody likely. "Then I’ll crawl."
"How will you push the wheelchair?" The bastard was making fun of me.
I held out my hands, struggling not to throttle him with them. Just get out of my way! I tried to remember what the gardens outside looked like. "I can use my hands a little. It’s downhi
ll from the front entrance to the gardens, so that should be easy."
"How will you get back up the hill to the hospital?" he asked.
This was the bit I hadn’t thought through. I had hoped to ask him to come and get me in an hour or so, but now I’d be damned before I’d ask him for help.
I mumbled a response, but he was already laughing at me.
I turned away from him, eying the wheelchair again as I steeled myself for another attempt. Fighting with him sapped my energy and I’d need it if I was going outside.
As if he’d read my mind, he lifted me up again, this time taking me over to the wheelchair. As always, his hands were deft, gentle and courteous. Anything else would be unprofessional, I realised. Shit, when he watched me change earlier, he was probably checking to see how I was healing up. Always, he’d tried to help me. If I hadn’t seen him flirt with the nurses, would I have thought him any less gallant? Especially with me always in that horrible, skimpy hospital gown. I felt bad that I hadn’t trusted him to help me get dressed. Belatedly, I voiced the words I should have said much earlier. "Thank you."
Experimentally, I bent my fingers around the wheels. I can do this, I told myself with relief. Now don’t be a coward and look at him.
I looked up at Nathan, standing in the doorway, looking lost and worried.
"Are you coming?" I asked him, trying to cross my fingers for the first time.
"Sure," he replied.
My heart leaped and I realised how relieved I was.
He started pushing me down to the lift, telling me about the gardens.
When the sunlight kissed my skin, warmer than anything I could remember in weeks, I laughed for joy.
I’ll never let them win. I don’t want to lose this.
Part 35
Mike – Pills – Dark – Fighting – Chris – Clothes
"If you don’t do it, I’ll shoot you here and now," a voice drawled, across the room or maybe outside of it. "Get her undressed and you know what to do next, don't you?"
"All right, all right!" Chris's voice sounded scared and much closer.
Necessary Evil of Nathan Miller Page 8
