Page 19 of Scars of Silk

Dropping her focus on the laptop, she glances at something on the screen and then closes it with a gentle click. When her eyes return to mine, I notice for the first time how vividly green they are. Not just that run-of-the-mill green, all wishy-washy with tones of moss and horse shit. More grass on a spring morning. And not the grass you smoke, although I sure as hell could do with some of that now to wipe out the agony crippling my body.

“I came for work. I wanted to ask you some questions.” The grass green gaze is withering. “Looks like you were lucky I turned up.”

I fall back a little, the effort of holding myself slightly up to see her is not without pain, no matter how easy on the eyes she is. “Unlucky, more like.”

A rustle of movement fills the empty bedroom. Walking over, she stands next to the bed. Her legs are impressively tall, but the jeans covering them are ill-fitting, too loose at the waist and hanging down on her hips. Noticing where my gaze is settled, she pulls them up. “I borrowed them from your friend.”

“Why?”

“Because I was wearing a fucking dress and you covered it in blood, you ignoramus.”

“Sorry.” Although I’m not that sorry, the jeans are exposing an expanse of skin across her middle. She’s taller than Abi and the vest top isn’t long enough to meet the waistband of the jeans. “I need to get up.” I try to move but my body won’t listen to the commands of my brain. It won’t do anything.

“The doctor will be here in half an hour.” She peers down at me, as though inspecting an unusual insect. Her smell is the same one I’ve been fighting off for days. If I wasn’t such a lazy bastard, I would have washed the sheets and dealt with the issue.

“Doctor?” I blink at her, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. I’m sure it would be easier if there wasn’t an axe in my head.

“I called a doctor.”

“What the fuck? You called my G.P.? I don’t want that useless moron here.”

Her eyes squint into slits, her lips tightening into a small bud—she’s still totally fuckable. “I called a private doctor; someone who might do more.”

I slouch back into the mattress, not that I had moved that far, but the tension in my body dissipates a little.

“Thanks.”

Why the hell is she here? It’s freaking me out.

“Why don’t you want the G.P. here?”

“Herman? Nah, the guy’s a twat.”

“Any reason why?”

To my utter horror, a small prickle of a tear darts at the edge of my right eye. I try to lift my arm to hide my face, but I can’t move the damn thing. It hurts too much.

“Because he failed to see how sick my dad was, okay? What else do you want to know?”

I stare at the window, unwilling to meet her gaze. “I’ll go and get you some soup.”

“Just leave. I don’t need you.”

She’s walking for the door, but she’s close enough she must hear me. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m left in an endless silence.

Better to be by myself.

I prefer it like that.

I close my eyes and just wait for the hours to tick away.

So when she walks back in after what most only be a few minutes, I’m surprised. “I told you to go.”

“Last night you told me you loved me, but I’m thinking that was delirium talking.”

Well, that’s embarrassing. I check her face to see if she’s joking, trying to engage me in conversation, but this woman must be an excellent poker player.

“Here, stop sucking lemons for a moment and help me try to sit you up. How do your ribs feel?”