Necessary Evil of Nathan Miller

by Demelza Carlton

  Fucking perverted bastards. Bloody legs that won’t fucking work.

  I reached up to the bed, to try and pull myself up again, before I realised that my useless hands couldn’t grab anything.

  Damn bed too bloody high up. Fucking linen. Bloody broken fingers...

  I didn’t realise I was swearing out loud until Nathan appeared in front of me, asking what was wrong.

  What isn’t wrong, I thought bitterly, as I added to the list of things to swear about. "I can’t fucking walk and I can’t fucking get up." I felt like biting his toes off to quell my frustration.

  "Here, let me help you." His words were gentle.

  "It’s either that or stay here on the fucking floor all day," I muttered.

  His arms closed around me, cradling me to his chest, so I could both hear and feel his laughter at my reply.

  Instinctively, I wanted to shrink away from his touch, from anyone and everyone else, yet at the same time I relaxed, telling myself, You’re safe. This is Nathan. He won’t hurt you.

  Nathan let out a small grunt of pain as he lifted me up. I wondered whether his wound had healed enough for him to be lifting anything, but he didn’t make another sound as he carefully put me back into bed, pulling the sheets up to cover me again. He rubbed his shoulder, almost unconsciously, as he sat in the chair beside my bed.

  Belatedly, I thanked him.

  "What happened?" he asked, echoing my words from the day before.

  What do I tell him? I’m useless, I can’t walk and my hands and legs don’t work. I’m a sitting target for anyone. And I don’t know if I can trust him to protect me.

  I tried to be vague. "I got out of bed, tried to take a step and it hurt. Then I fell." Tell him. He’ll find out anyway. At least now you’ll see his reaction – you’ll know if you can’t trust him. "I can’t walk if it hurts that much," I admitted grudgingly.

  He told me to stay in bed and rest, smiling kindly.

  "I needed..." I wondered if there was a nice way to tell him I didn’t believe he could protect me. And if he's as useless as my legs at present, they’re going to find me and hurt me again... I looked away from him as I tried not to cry. My eyes lighted on the door beside the one leading out of the room. "I was trying to get to the bathroom." Well, with all the IV fluid they’d pumped into me as I slept, I did want to make use of the facilities in the ensuite. Second to my desire to live was the pressing need to go to the loo.

  Nathan didn’t hesitate – he offered to carry me.

  I wanted to ask if it would hurt him, but I fought the urge. He knew his own limitations – I wasn’t even sure of mine yet. I felt like an overfilled water balloon, so my only reply was to thank him as he carried me to the toilet.

  The feeling of his skin against mine made me self-conscious about the hospital gown I wore and how little it covered, though Nathan didn’t seem to be fazed about it. He lifted me up deftly, carried me to the bathroom quickly and put me down gently, as if this were something he did every day as part of his job.

  A bathrobe would be nice, I thought. I decided to buy one, when I could go shopping, just in case I was ever stuck in hospital wearing one of these again.

  Nathan’s back blocked the doorway and he didn’t say anything for a few minutes, until he burst out, "If you want, I could ask my sister to drop by your house the next time she comes in to see me. She could pick up some of your own clothes for you to wear."

  Mortified, I realised he was just as aware of my near-nakedness as I was. I choked back the horrified reply I wanted to make so I could politely refuse his offer as coherently as possible.

  I reached for the toilet paper and it started to dawn on me how useless my hands were. First one hand, then the other – no, I couldn’t even grasp it. But with two hands together...I could hold something between them if I concentrated.

  Right. Play it out, carefully. With one bandaged hand, I pushed the roll of toilet paper, making it unroll slowly. Okay, faster now.

  "Let me know when you’re done and need my help again."

  His voice made me jump and knock the toilet roll back the other way.

  "I...I’m not done, but I may need your help in a minute." My throat was dry and my voice failed somewhere in the middle. Don’t turn around. Don’t look yet, I begged him silently, as I tried to unroll the toilet paper again. The only thing worse than having to plan every step to wipe your own bum is knowing someone else watched you do it. Please, don’t look.

  Too late. Nathan leaned over me, deft hands grabbing the toilet paper I wanted, before he gave it to me. Helping me. Then he called me a kitten, wearing a worried smile. My eyes locked on his as I used the toilet paper as quickly as I could.

  Kitten? Meow. I struggled to understand the comparison. Something to do with pawing the toilet paper? I lifted my useless hands up and they did resemble white paws, a little. Why try to hide it from him? He knows how disabled I am. I looked up to meet his concerned gaze. For the first time, I saw the dark circles beneath his eyes. He lost sleep over me? He genuinely seems to want to help me.

  I made an effort to try to smile, though my cheeks still felt too stiff and heavy to do it properly. "Meow. I feel about as weak as a kitten, so the comparison is probably right." I let out a breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. "Now, I would appreciate your help one more time, because I think you’re right. I need to rest in bed a bit longer."

  "At your service." His arms closed around me again, carrying me back to bed, where he covered me with the sheet, as clinical as any nurse.

  As if he’d read my mind, Nathan reminded me that while I was in hospital I could ask the nurses for help.

  Does he realise that I can’t press the nurse call button? I kept my eyes down, hoping he wouldn’t read that thought, too. Then inspiration hit, as I thought of something true that wouldn’t sound like an excuse. I told him I didn’t like strangers touching me. Too many strangers have touched me, hurt me...I felt myself shudder at the memories that threatened to pull me back down into despair. I tried to focus on what he was saying, his words a lifeline out of the dark.

  "And the last time you asked a random stranger for help, you ended up in hospital with him and now you can’t get rid of him – he even followed you into the bathroom."

  This is a joke, I told myself. He’s trying to be funny. But I’ve never asked him for help, yet he keeps helping me. I looked down at my lap, where his warm hand covered both of mine. The contact didn’t make me shudder – in fact, it felt comforting. I looked up again to meet his worried eyes and wistful smile. I want to trust you, I thought.

  "After you saved my life, got shot and even helped me wipe my..." I tried to put it into words, but failed. I started again. "I don’t think you qualify as a random stranger any more. I would like to think you're a very good friend, even if I don’t know you very well." Will you be my friend, Nathan, or are you going to join the list of bastards I want to kill?

  He made a weak joke in reply, but the real answer was in his expression. For the first time, his smile reached his eyes, which didn’t look worried. Just relieved.

  Part 13

  Dark – Chris – Falling – Card – Headache

  "Oh shit! You're better than I thought."

  I felt my body falling – but I didn’t hit the ground. His arms tightened around my back, pressing my face against something soft. The knife slipped from my fingers as I tried to stop him from smothering me.

  The impact with the floor jolted me, but it was softer than I expected. The restraining arm released me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the dizziness to fade. I needed to fight. I knew what I was lying on and it wasn't good.

  I almost whimpered in fright as I felt the foam mattress depress beneath his weight, not far from me. I slid my hand carefully into my pocket for the card, desperate for another blade to replace the one I'd stabbed into the mattress instead of him.

  One hand at my shoulder, another on my thigh stopped me dead. I froze in f
ear.

  "One, two…" he murmured.

  What about three? What happens on three? I wanted to scream, biting down so I didn't make a sound.

  With an ease that suggested plenty of practise moving unconscious people, he rolled me over onto my back. I shoved my hand deeper into my pocket, fishing for a weapon.

  If only I could see to use it.

  My head pounded its own rhythm as his fingers crept beneath my neck. I could feel the heat of him close beside me, leaning over me. The ache intensified as he lifted my head.

  I couldn't see, but I sure could spit. "If you're going to try to force me to give you a blow job, I'll bite your chipolata of a cock right off." I had the card out of my pocket and I was ready to stab him with the corkscrew if I could pull it out.

  He moved away, to my considerable satisfaction. I felt his weight ease off the mattress and breathed again. I'd found the edge of the scissors.

  He laughed softly as his hand closed over both my fingers and the Swiss Card. "Fair warning. You won't need that against me. Put it away. You might need it later."

  He clicked on a torch, searching for something. I blinked, trying to focus. My heart sank as I realised he'd shut the door behind him. I prayed it wasn’t locked.

  "Here. Don't lose this." He took the card from my hand and slid the knife back in. "Good thing you stabbed the mattress and not me."

  "Why?" I spat back, shoving the card back in my pocket.

  "I can't help you if I'm dead or dying. Here. It's juice." He pushed a plastic bottle into my hand.

  I opened the bottle, turning my head to the side to drink so I didn't bring on the dizziness again. My mouth tasted horrible and I tried to swish away all traces of drugs or blood before I swallowed.

  Silently, he waited.

  When I'd lubricated my throat enough, I interrupted his reverie. "Why would you help me?" I struggled to sit up again.

  He dropped the torch on the floor, lifting both hands to my chest, stopping just before he touched me. Like he wanted to push me down again, but he didn’t dare. "No hurry. Lie down as long as you need to, until you recover. He gave you a second dose of chloroform in the car, so you were under for a while."

  "You want me lying down so you can rape me. I heard you talking." I glared at him, hoping he could see my malice in the dim light. "You stay away from me or I'll use the knife on you."

  Part 14

  "I heard you were awake, hon." A motherly-looking woman in a hospital uniform smiled at me, giving me a quick wink as she placed a tray on the table over my bed. "I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I picked out the best of this morning’s breakfast menu for you. I’ll give you your menu, too, so you can order what you like for tomorrow." She poured me a glass of orange juice.

  "Thank you," I replied in a hushed voice.

  She smiled in reply, before she left through the open door. I could see the hospital corridor outside my room, with the food trolley full of breakfast trays.

  I glanced over at Nathan, who was very focussed on his food, his mouth already full.

  I guess it’s not poisoned, then. I looked down at my tray. A covered plate, a glass of orange juice, a box of cereal in a bowl with packaged milk and a small bowl of diced fruit. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on an aeroplane.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had anything to eat or drink. I wasn’t sure how my stomach would cope.

  I stretched one hand out for the orange juice, then realised I’d need both hands for this. I cradled the glass in between the bandages, like a hot drink on a cold day, and took a cautious sip before putting the glass down again. I’ll wait a few minutes, then see if I should have anything else. What was the last thing I had? Oh, that Coke. A warm can Nathan'd had in his pocket on the beach. He'd cracked it open, drunk a little to show me it was okay, then he'd helped me drink it. Giving me the energy to do something stupid that got him shot. NO...don’t think about that now. I forced myself to concentrate on the orange juice, the fruit and the covered plate. Don’t look at the bowl with the milk.

  I focussed so hard on the tray I wasn’t aware of Nathan getting out of bed until he came between me and my breakfast, leaning over me to press the button to call a nurse. I exclaimed in surprise – I’m sure I swore.

  He pretended he hadn’t heard. "You need someone to help you with your breakfast," he said.

  Don’t need help yet. Right now I just need to decide whether I’ll keep the orange juice down. One more sip. I reached for the juice carefully, concentrating so hard my teeth ground together. "I was managing fine," I told him.

  Then I wasn’t. Something went wrong and the orange juice tipped off the tray onto the bed.

  Between my damaged hands and useless legs, the most I could do to get away from the mess was to swing my legs off the side of the bed, shuffling toward the pillows. Now what? I wanted to get up and rip the damp sheets off the bed, bundle them into a washing machine and get fresh ones. But I couldn’t.

  Nathan stood frozen with his mouth open, just staring at me.

  I looked back at the juice, running across the top of the sheets toward the bed's lowest point. Of course, this was the bit bearing the most weight – compressed under my backside. Orange juice in open wounds, soaked into my dressings. Torture. I can avoid this.

  This will hurt, too, I told myself, but it’s only a few steps. I fixed my eyes on the chair by my bed and took a deep breath.

  Warm and gentle, Nathan’s arms lifted me off my bed. My head against his chest, I could both hear and feel the rumble of his voice as he said quietly, "Please, let me help."

  Surprise. Relief. Comfort. I feel safe, I realised. Tears of gratitude sprang to my eyes and I struggled not to shed them. Distracted, I barely noticed as he bypassed the chair to lay me carefully in his bed. He turned away from me almost immediately, shifting the breakfast trays around until they were side by side on a table in front of me, blurring as my tears multiplied.

  I reached for a tissue automatically, but his hand was there first. I’m here to help, his eyes said, though he didn’t say a word.

  I expected him to give me the tissue, but I was stunned as he touched the tissue to my eyes, my cheeks and my nose, wiping my face carefully as if he did this every day. It wasn’t until he turned away, crossing the room to drop the tissue in the bin, that I found my voice.

  It took two tries to get the words out and even then my voice was so quiet I don’t think he heard me over the running water as he washed his hands. "Thank you."

  When Nathan returned, he sat beside me and started to help me with my breakfast. A waft of steam, sulphur and salt as he lifted the cover – those eggs smelled good.

  He opened the butter and began spreading it across my toast.

  He’s going to help me. He’ll probably even feed me.

  He lifted up the box of cereal, pouring cornflakes into the bowl. Dark thoughts stirred, a memory of stale dry cereal in the dark, choking it down as unseen hands fed me. Even the thought of being fed like a baby again makes me lose my appetite. My throat contracted at the memory. Desperately, I tried to force it away.

  He said something that I didn’t catch as he started cutting my eggs into small pieces. He loaded a piece onto the fork and held it out for me. Not like feeding a baby – more like holding a carrot out to tempt a horse.

  I closed my eyes and ate even that small bite carefully. How long since I’d last had solid food? Could my stomach handle it?

  I realised that I couldn’t make it to the toilet to throw up. I’d be sick on the floor, or in Nathan’s bed. Either way, he’d see me do it and that’s a horrible thing to do to someone.

  But I’m not going to be sick, I told myself. I’m hungry, not nauseous.

  I opened my eyes to meet his.

  "More?" he asked, already loading up the fork again.

  "Please." I tried to respond with a smile of my own, but my face still felt too heavy.

  Never did he make a belittling comment. He offe
red me every bite, as courteous as a waiter proffering a tray of finger food. Two bites into the toast and I was full, my stomach shrunken after so much time eating so little.

  "More toast?" he asked, holding up the barely touched slice. "Or some cereal?" He reached for the spoon.

  I shook my head as emphatically as I could, trying to keep my eyes on the toast and the toast inside my stomach. I forced myself to swallow.

  My mouth was dry. Now I could have done with the spilled orange juice. My eyes strayed to my bed, where the orange had soaked into the sheets like dye.

  He’s kind, I told myself. He even tries to save me from humiliating myself, which is far more than he promised.

  He reached for something on his tray as I put my arms around him, holding him close so that he’d hear me thank him this time.

  Too late I realised that he’d picked up his own juice, which he now held precariously in his hand. As the juice in the glass slopped dangerously I pulled back from him, not wanting to spill this one, too. Embarrassed, I looked down at my hands.

  The nurse’s voice startled me. "She shouldn’t be out of her bed."

  Nathan explained to her how my bed needed fresh sheets because of spilled orange juice. He loaded the explanation with innuendo, reinforced with a charming smile, until the nurse blushed and stumbled over her words.

  Hello, Mr Sleazy Roommate, I thought, turning away to hide my smile. I wondered why he hadn’t turned on the charm for me yet. Maybe he liked tall, blonde girls with bigger boobs than mine.

  His knuckles were white as he gripped the glass of orange juice, its contents still not quite steady. He set it down on the tray, focussing on flirting with the nurse.

  So I didn't imagine it, the way he'd jumped when I touched him, I thought. I hadn’t hurt him this time – I’d been careful not to touch where he’d been shot. I make this charming man nervous and unsettled.

  The thought cheered me even more and I felt a smile on my lips that was lighter than before.

  His eyes were on the nurse changing my bed linen, so he didn’t see me smile. Nor did he notice me stealing the remainder of his orange juice.