Black. Black was the one true colour that brought out her inner self, allowed her to edge away from the wary, to the potentially teasing, lead-you-by-the-hand lover. Her favourite matching set of bra and knickers was elegant, with a white ribbon detail at the front and a strong underwire on the bra to enhance her natural shape. She loved it, adored catching a glimpse of herself in one of her many mirrors and more than anything else wanted to be seen wearing it. But not by just anyone. Just someone. Someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her, as they had done when she was younger; those that had exploited her brittleness and told her to remain subdued, quiet – responsible for nothing, but guilty of everything.
How she functioned sometimes, remained upbeat, coped – that was something that only she could control – and control it she did. There were no alternatives. Years later she had emerged from a physical state of anxiety, the partially coloured butterfly through a sea-mist of mental anguish, out into a brighter world, notwithstanding she would always carry an heirloom of culpability.
For those that were fortunate enough to really get to know her, it was parent that the legacy ruled her head and heart, when and wherever she allowed it to.
It was the need to place two defiant fingers up at men and a society that judged without pausing that led her to finally put herself first. It wasn’t a textbook, social media cathartic moment that led to this, more a situation where she had emptied the bottle – or bottles and had sat on the level crossing, silently waiting for a train that never bloody arrived, and ever since that lurid moment, her favourite time of the day had been waking – she considered every such occurrence a bonus.
She would slip out of bed and luxuriate in the shower, applying oils and an expensive shampoo, then, after slowly and rather deliberately drying herself select the chosen underwear for the day ahead – underwear that had earlier been laid out on an ottoman, alongside a dark, black, silk kimono, folded perfectly.
Of all the clothing items she owned, this was her favourite. Its feel, soft, sensual and cool was always perfect, better still when it had nothing to resist its removal, its journey from on to off which she had practiced over and over again in front of the full length vintage bedroom mirror, allowing it to slip from her shoulders and quietly onto the carpeted floor, imagining the hidden male stood behind her, naked in the shadows, controlling its demise.
She was a rare one indeed, able to stand her ground when the need arose but equally able to lay back, close her eyes and think of England’s green and pleasant land. To enjoy and conversely to be enjoyed.
Cade recalled in the early hours and days following their first meeting how he had tried his best to avoid eye contact with her, allowing them to dart back and forth in time with her own sideways glances, but each time he looked, he picked out the delicate black lace that wrapped itself around her and accentuated the outline of her body.
It was only later when she had laid herself bare, allowing him to admire her without any obstructions, either physical or professional that he had realised just how much he was attracted to her. He felt it physically too. The mere thought of her was enough to create a tension of physicality and need. He could close his eyes at any time and see her, standing, naked from the waist up, revealing herself to him for the first time.
He was doing it now.
Her skin was slightly tanned, almost olive in normal light and her arms and shoulders bore a sense of physical exercise, not slender but beautifully formed and he liked it.
For the record, she abhorred them, covering them at every opportunity. Cade considered it a terrible shame and tried his best, without appearing over-eager, to encourage her to reveal more of herself.
He placed his hand on her chest, clutched at her left breast and then held onto her as tight as he could without causing her pain, before running his hand quietly and slowly down and over her stomach, stopping, placing his fingers between the buttoned down gown, hesitating – again, to an onlooker it had all the hallmarks of being so very wrong. But he didn’t care. He whispered something incomprehensible – aware of Daniel’s last words.
He moved his hand back up to her collarbones and stroked them with a feather-light touch before running the tips of his fingers around her neck, pausing on her throat and then turning his hand over, used the back of his fingers to caress her cheek. He held them there a while before moving his ring and index finger onto her lips, allowing them to part softly. They were dry, but he recalled how simply striking they were, crafted in subtle colours, their shape outlined in a darker shade and emphasised when she smiled.
It wasn’t a beaming look at me smile, but it had an impact on him every time it happened. It spoke volumes, and offered, to the educated, an idea that she was thinking about something deep, possibly meaningful, and occasionally, when she allowed, a little too naughty for public discussion.
Her vocabulary was extensive and at times Anglo-Saxon – but she saved the best for one place only.
Her mouth was small, concealing a delicate tongue, pointed, perfectly suited to seeking out the most intimate of places, she would occasionally mirror Cade, who licked his lips when deep in thought, often appearing flirtatious – without the slightest intent. But it drove her wild.
He stood and stared at her, taking in her perfect imperfections, trying to swallow, his throat felt as it were lined with razor wire. He wanted to sob but something held him back, perhaps with the fear that if he started he might never stop.
He leaned down and murmured into her ear – ‘Carrie, it’s me, Jack. I’m here now. I won’t go until I know you are safe…I…there’s something…’
He’d made a career out of saving people, both good and bad but knew that Mother Nature, at her worst would always have the upper hand – and here she was, clasping onto his girl.
‘Let her go…please.’
His own feelings of emotion were driving up through his body, volcanic, earthy and tectonic, out of control. He started to shudder, his chest heaving, he breathed again.
‘Control yourself, man. This is neither the time, nor the place.’
Balanced once more he continued to stroke her face, reminding himself of the first time he met her and how he adored her feistiness, her very direct approach, but also her deeply hidden self – the one that was evidently only ever saved for one man. He envied him greatly.
He moved his head slightly, lowered himself down towards the bed and held onto her. He breathed in her scent, evoking memories of the hallway and stairs that led to her apartment and the mystique of her bedroom. At the time he was dragging himself out of a pit, unsure in which direction to head. Now he was alive – but praying for her to re-join the world of the living. The still fragrant nature of her matted hair seeped into his sensory system, it was fresh, slightly citrusy, lime, or was it lemon? Whatever its origins it was never overpowering. She rarely wore perfume, she didn’t need to.
He knew that a staff member or colleague could walk into the room at any moment, but he no longer cared. He rested his cheek upon hers and imagined her reciprocating, pushing against him, exhaling as she whispered into his ear, again, broken indecipherable words but with an undercurrent of passion, of loyalty and inquisitiveness. ‘If I kiss you Jack Cade will you reward me?’
His lips kissed her cheek, moved up slowly onto her motionless eyes, hovering, feeling her lashes brush against him before running his own kiss back along her face and onto her lips. He hesitated. This was wrong. He continued, even in her current state there was a sense of reaction from her, the forbidden fruit wanting to be consumed, piece by perfect piece.
He lowered his lips back onto hers and tasted her briefly; they were as dry as he imagined – again, he cared not. He kissed her again, deeper this time. Short, perfect kisses – as if something was telling him not to proceed, but she tasted so incredible, he wanted to remain there forever, skin on skin, breath on breath, before picking her up, carefully, respectfully and bringing her to his chest.
If she was awake n
ow he knew, there and then that he wanted her more than he had ever realised. The office play, the sideways looks, the less-than-subtle flirtation now all a thing of the past. She may never survive and he had wasted the opportunity to tell her exactly how he felt – he had so many opportunities, so many chances to set the record straight and ironically, despite his inbuilt fear, to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.
‘Tell her Jack.’
The times that they had walked along the nearby streets, business-first, passion later, a careless stray hand brushing against the other, interplay at its finest. And now, he may never see her again. And it hurt. He felt as if he had been struck by a freight train, its carriages heavily-laden and stopping for no man, least of all him.
‘Fuck you, Jack Cade will you just explain how you feel? I don’t care whether anyone else but us knows. It will always be ours; coveted, sheltered and beyond surreal. Ours, bound in trust. Alone…’
A tear broke the seal, flooded over his eyelid and dropped onto her face. He went to wipe it away, but it had run down her soft cool skin, onto her neck and had been absorbed by the sanitised cotton linen beneath her.
He was in danger of unravelling, of finally letting go of years of denial – he’d been hurt beyond belief by another and here he was, exploiting the most resilient girl he had ever met. The one who told him how it was, in every situation, but always found a place for humour, guidance and angel-like compassion. She was not what people saw on the surface – she was a still water but her truest character was only ever revealed to those she trusted. And she trusted Cade with her life, her heart and her soul.
He kissed her once more and quietly spoke into her small and delicate ears.
“I love you Carrie. I suspect I always have done. I wish we had met long ago. Stay with me, but know, if I should lose you then I will be waiting…”
He perched on the edge of the bed and watched her breathe, staring for so long that he was unable to focus. It took a fraction of a second to drift into a place where he could finally lay next to her, naked under a simple, single cover, feel her push back against him, his arms wrapped around her, one across her stomach, the other her chest, his face buried in her immaculately crafted hair as they made love for hours – this was not the frantic, athletic sex that he was occasionally used to, this was the beginning of a new journey with another person; gentle, exploring, passionate, seeking, crying, smiling, exhaling.
He reached out and brushed her hair, so gently that in a waking state she wouldn’t feel his touch. He held his breath so as not to disturb her. He felt the texture of her hair, silk and satin and natural oils which accentuated its colour. He wanted to carefully cut a small lock from her head and store it in a corner of his life where he could revisit her in his own time, raising it to his face and allowing its scent to wash over him like a wave. Someone else had already carried out that act, it seemed wrong to now replicate it for his own needs.
This collection of feelings was nothing like his former life with ‘her’ – Penny, his outrageously playful and now estranged wife – but so far, it was only a dream, the almost-mistress, the cliff-edge lover that he craved with so much passion that it was physically painful. And, if fate played its hand, if he never saw her again, never able to reach out and embrace her, draw her towards him, holding her as close as he actually, physically could, inhaling her every scent, then life was probably not that special after all.Something told him that despite the intensity of his feelings, he would never fully experience her and that, was too much.
Let her go.
Carrie, in her comatose state could hear Jack and physically feel the intensity of his presence. His hand on her breast, caressing, loving, desperate.
She pushed into him, meeting his hold on her but he appeared unaware of her emergence from her intense slumber.
She was stirring, shifting in the bed, allowing the gown to gape, to reveal herself to him. Her lips were dry, and that was very intentional.
‘Kiss me, gentle kisses, pause, hold me, accept me and let me invade your head and heart and let me be present in your every waking moment…’
She could hear her own voice, her thoughts and his. They were at her place; she knew because she had seen the large black door, standing, open allowing access from her street and straight into her bedroom. But things were somehow different. She was struggling with an unseen energy that prevented her from moving forwards. Over and over in her dream-laden condition she fought the glass ceiling that prevented their union.
His tone was fractured, distant almost as if he were frightened. But she was alive, so why was he afraid?
There was no music, no other sounds, even passing people, vehicles and the humdrum of a frantic lifestyle was missing.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass walls that now surrounded her. She was wearing her favourite underwear, bought, very recently, for him. And she felt exquisitely at peace as she stood before him. She reached forward and took his hand, feeling its strength, looking at his forearms, the gentle rippling of tendons and the tanned skin all appeared before her in intricate detail. She could hear the second hand of his watch ticking.
She was awake. She was alive.
If she died now, she would die knowing what love really was...finally. Heaven sent, without a doubt.
Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all…
For Cade it was too much; to contend with, or even think of. He had to compartmentalise the thoughts or he would slowly drift into a deep valley of blind frustration and discontent.
He had her in his heart, and that counted for something. His thoughts were his alone. He could close his eyes at any given time and see her, not in a blurred, dreamlike state but in total clarity – she was tangible. He didn’t always need to be standing next to her, holding her to his chest, breathing in her spirit and deepest, intimate thoughts.
But he questioned when that would happen again – and it couldn’t, soon enough.
His priorities had changed. She was alone but in the hands of professional people who knew that only time would either heal her or take her away from him. He knew he had to allow them to do their jobs and he, his.
He now had to find the bastard or bastards responsible for stealing her from him and that was a dish better left to go cold.
He pulled away, held her hand, and squeezed it as hard as he dare – he never wanted to hurt her again – he straightened, composed himself and walked quickly out of the room. Let her go. Let every part of her go or watch from a frantic corner as everything connected to him impacted upon her. Decision made. Adore her though he might, it was time to move on. She might forgive him, one day.
The constable immediately outside the room saw Cade’s face and unsure of what to say decided on brevity.
“You OK boss?”
Cade smiled a forced and pained smile. “I am now mate. I am now.”
As he walked back along the same corridor towards where he had left Daniel he stopped, turned around, stared at the walls, then the ceiling and then walked again.
Should he stay, or should he go?
“You have made your decision. Leave it now. Do not go back.” He didn’t quite believe himself but of the two options it was the only one that was viable – to maintain the doting pseudo-lover was only going to end in tears. Release her spirit and walk away. If she was still there when he returned, if all of the other eight, or nine or ten planets were still aligned, then fine, pick up the pieces.
For now, it was nothing to do with revenge – this was good old, plain old policing, concentrating on the things he could change and leaving everything else to Lady Luck. And if you believed that Jack Cade then…
He continued towards Roberts’ ward dragging a sense of composure from deep within his own wounded soul. As he left the corridor and saw his two colleagues sat in the ward chatting about something inane, O’Shea’s right hand moved, subtly, but in her subconscious mind she was reaching out for him, clasping f
or another hand to hold. He was there, somewhere.
O’Shea could sense him nearby but the glass walls and ceiling of her cell compressed her tightly, holding her in place.
“I need to get to him,” she announced to a doctor, stood studiously at the side of her bed.
“I need to get to him now. To tell him.”
She could sense her own frustrations buried deep within her dream.
“Tell him what Miss O’Shea?” asked the faceless health worker.
“That I love him. For fuck’s sake, can it really be that hard? Just call him, he’s only just down the corridor. Shout his name and he will come back…”
Her words cycled over and over again, she had no strength, and despite tugging at the doctor’s arm it made no difference, made little impact. Her fever was encompassing her rapidly, her own mental vultures were circling above, waiting for the moment to swoop.
She screamed Cade’s name repeatedly, but it felt as if she were powerless; dying, slipping into a deeper void, where no amount of physical or mental energy would make the slightest piece of difference.
She was. And it wouldn’t.
Cade met Daniel at the door to the unit.
“Boss.”
“Jack.”
“How is he?”
“He’s fine, you?”
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
“Granted.”
“Jack, you know we need to leave these good people at the behest of the medics don’t you? We could stay for hours, days probably, but it would not achieve a bloody thing. Jason will be discharged today, possibly tomorrow. He’ll head home to recuperate.”
“And Carrie?”
“Sometime.”
Cade repeated the word. “Sometime this afternoon? Sometime this evening? Sometime bloody never John? I need to know when she will wake up.”
A junior house doctor popped his head around the curtain and spoke, as they all do, in a staccato medical tone fashioned from only six years working in the trauma industry.
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 38
