The front door bangs open and closed; the girl’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, and she runs past me down the stairs. I debate whether to keep going to my room or follow her. The apple drips onto my hand and I suck the juice off as I follow her down.
At the bottom of the stairs, I slam straight into Alek’s hard chest, smothered by his jacket and a scent of leather and sharp spice. "Sorry," I mutter and pull back.
Alek’s foot rests on the bottom stair, hand on the wooden stair rail as he pauses and studies my face. "What’s the hurry?"
"None, I wanted to see if the girl was okay."
He frowns at me. "What girl?"
"The red-haired girl."
"Oh. Her." His scrutiny of my face continues, and my cheeks heat up as I look back. "She’s gone."
"I didn’t know anyone else lived here."
I want to ask why nobody told me more than four people live here, but the edginess about Alek I haven’t figured out yet prevents me pushing the issue.
"She doesn’t. She’s visiting." He steps back to let me off the step. "Move. I need to get to my room."
His rudeness stuns me, and I’m pretty mad with myself when I comply. Alek stomps upstairs. Is he incapable of going anywhere quietly? His leather jacket scent lingers. Perhaps the way his smell burrowed into my mind is what desensitises me to his rudeness, because it adds to his attraction.
I shake my head at myself as I wander into the lounge. Edgy, hot guy in a leather jacket? Oh please, get a grip.
At that moment, I resolve he’s never going to get a chance to be rude to me again.
***
Third-floor living is annoying. The bathroom’s on the second floor, and the kitchen’s at the bottom. The house doesn’t have any heating apart from an ancient gas fire in the lounge, so most evenings we congregate there or in the kitchen.
I pad downstairs in my fluffy slippers with a towel wrapped around my wet hair; my bedroom is too cold to sit in after my shower. I mutter a triumphant ‘yes’ when there’s no one on the chair nearest the fire.
Low voices travel from the kitchen as I head down the hall to get a hot drink.
"She saw her."
Alek’s voice arrests me; the fact he’s speaking quietly is enough to arouse interest.
"Definitely?" Lizzie.
"Yeah, didn’t describe her but must be who it was." He pauses. "Why did you bring her here?"
"She needs help. You know that."
"Yeah, apart from she’ll lead them straight to us, they know about her."
"Yes, but they don’t know where she's living so they don’t know where to look."
“I don’t think it’ll take them long to figure out where she is, do you?” Alek’s voice rises with irritation.
Someone closes a microwave door, and the keypad beeps before the motor starts running. Are they talking about me? Which ‘her’ am I? The one people are looking for?
"You're being unfair, you need to explain. I don’t think she knows, and I'm not going to tell her," says Alek.
"Of course she knows; how else would she be able to understand why she’s alive?"
Either Alek can’t think of a response or his words are too quiet to hear. There’s silence for a minute until he says, "I still think you’re being unfair."
A chair scrapes and I duck back round the corner as I catch sight of Alek leaving the kitchen. I jump onto the sofa and tuck my legs under me. A discarded magazine looks a perfect disguise, and I grab hold of it just as his tall figure reaches the room. My heart rate increases the heat in my face; heat at almost being discovered eavesdropping and at the awareness of Alek’s presence.
"Interesting reading?" he asks.
I register what I’m holding, one of Grace’s ‘New Scientist’. "Oh, yeah, there’s an interesting article on brain function."
I expect him to laugh at me, but his face is set darkly. He leans against the doorframe, one elbow above his head and his grey T-shirt riding up, revealing a line of hair disappearing into his jeans. And the abs of someone who does more than walk up hills to get home at night.
"What do you study?" I ask.
"Nothing. I’m not a student."
"Oh. Sorry, I just presumed. I guess you look a bit older."
His mouth curls into a smile. "Yeah."
Evidently, he’s not going to tell me what it is he does. Alek steps toward me and I freeze as he leans over me, arm outstretched. His face hovers close to mine, and I stare at his full mouth, holding my breath.
"You’re leaning on my jacket," he whispers, eyes glinting at my reaction to him.
"Oh."
I shift so he can pull the jacket from the arm of the chair and he takes it and shrugs it on, eyes fixed on mine. I swear he looks at my mouth, too, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. The eyes looking back to me are darker. The world swims as I attempt to disengage my senses from the overload happening. He smells so good; what would his mouth feel like on mine? An image of his rough kisses and my hands exploring those abs I just saw clouds my vision as readily as the fog normally does. My insides dissolve and heat spreads to inappropriate places as he continues to scrutinise me.
What the hell is this? I close my eyes, focusing on calming my rapid-fire heart.
"Bye, Casper; behave yourself," Alek says in a low voice.
I open my eyes as I hear the front door close. Lizzie comes into the room with a plate of microwaved lasagne. Her mouth parts in surprise.
"Oh, I didn’t realise you were downstairs."
"I only just came down here."
The fact I need to explain and the false smile on my face does the same as it did with Alek. She’s suspicious.
"Has Alek gone to work?" she asks as she sits and balances the plate on her knee.
"I think so. Does he work at the hospital, too?"
"He works at a bar."
The ticking of the ancient gas fire heating up is the only sound in the room, so I lean across and switch the TV on. Silently, Lizzie eats her dinner as I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the screen. She knows I heard; I’m sure.
Chapter Four
Half-asleep after my long hospital shift, the food on my tray blurs. I rub my eyes and examine the contents of my tray. The hospital cafeteria food is unappetising and bland, the chefs even manage to make curry tasteless, which is quite a skill. Usually, I avoid eating here, but this evening I am and all because I don’t feel like going home to my tiny room in the house of weirdness. I can’t get the red-haired girl out of my mind. Or Alek. Especially Alek, which annoys me. I poke at the fish on my plate, trying to decipher what sauce is covering the portion. I’ve never been a big eater, but my appetite still hasn’t returned. Maybe being fed by tubes in veins while I was in a coma shrunk my stomach completely.
"Can I sit here?" I look up. Finn is standing next to the table, holding a tray. He’s taller than I thought, a similar height to Alek.
I look around the room and see plenty of empty tables. I’m hidden by a planter full of fake green plants, away from the voices and clattering of trays across the cafeteria. "If you want."
"Thanks." He sits and takes two cups from his tray, placing one in front of me. "I bought you a coffee. And I wanted to apologise for being rude yesterday."
"I don’t drink coffee." Not this coffee, hot water and milk flavour.
"Oh, well, I’ll have two then." He slides the cup back toward himself with long fingers ending in clean and neat fingernails. "I’m Finn."
"I know. You told me and it says there." I point at his badge and then indicate mine. "Rose."
"Nice to meet you, Rose."
For a moment, I ponder whether he’s hitting on me, but he’s distracted by watching people around him, such as the nurses at the nearest table, giggling over something on one of their phones.
He looks back to me. "Sorry about yesterday; long shift. I was tired."
"Doesn’t matter."
"I’m new and I’m temporary staff. It’s stressful and I don’t real
ly know anyone, which is the reason I want to sit with you."
Maybe he should just say, ‘Hi, I’m Finn, and I’m not hitting on you'. It would be so much easier than dancing around and sounding vaguely insulting.
"Are you new, too?" Finn asks.
"No, just antisocial.”
Finn laughs and I don’t, so he clears his throat. Well, I am. All my friends left town for jobs and study, and I’m working shifts in a dead-end job with people I don’t really get on with. Making new friends after having the same ones my whole life is difficult as an introvert. Sometimes I think people at work avoid me, but then I get annoyed with myself for paranoia. Perhaps I should add this to my list of ailments I carry with me since the accident.
Finn takes his jacket off and I stare at his arms. Yes, I love toned biceps on a guy but that’s not why; I’m intrigued by his tattoo. I know a few guys with tattoos on their arms; mostly, they’re around the biceps. Finn’s ink starts at his wrist, a black pattern weaving up his right arm and disappearing into the short-sleeve of his uniform.
"Interesting look," I say.
He tips his head. "Most people look surprised by my ink or pretend not to notice."
"Why would they do that?"
He turns his arm over. "Well, I’m a nurse. And it’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?"
"You chose to do it. Isn’t how excessive it is your decision?" My eyes follow the path up his arm, and I wonder how far the tattoo goes. Like across his broad shoulders maybe…
"I’d show you the rest, but I doubt it’s appropriate to undress in the middle of the hospital."
Oh, my God. I immediately flush bright red, partly because I can’t stop picturing his chest under the stretched hospital blues, but also because the possibility he’s hitting on me isn’t so alien. His face is inscrutable; mine obviously isn’t because he grins at me.
"I suppose we should get to know each other better before I start undressing in front of you."
"Why the hell would I want to see you naked?" I retort.
Finn sits back and picks up his coffee, looking genuinely confused by my reaction. "Who said anything about naked? I was just offering to show you something you’re curious about."
I tell myself he’s winding me up and nothing else. I don't think he's trying to be suggestive; he's being literal. Great, someone else who lacks social skills enters my life.
"I don’t think I’m your type," I mutter.
"We’re only having coffee… Two new people with no friends."
"I have friends!" If that’s what you could call the weird people I moved in with.
"Really?" His look is genuine surprise. "You just said you were antisocial."
I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to give away any further information. Something isn’t adding up. This conversation has triggered anxiety and dizziness, and since the accident, dizziness rapidly leads to unconsciousness. The fog edges into my mind.
"Sorry, excuse me." Grabbing my bag, I slide off my seat.
The room already darkens, and the ringing in my ears begins. Shit. I need to get out to some fresh air. I stumble past curious people and push out the nearest door into the bright autumn afternoon. Gulping in huge lungsful of air, I bend over, steadying myself against the wall as I attempt to remain upright.
The fog engulfs; I’ve run out of time.
I’m there again. The tarmac is harder against my back and air temperature is colder. I open my eyes. Daylight, and the fog is thinner. Someone leans over me, calling my name and I focus on the man’s face. He looks different this time; his hair isn’t as curly and he’s not wearing a suit, but my deranged mind convinces me this is the man from the night I almost died. My hearing returns and I’m aware of the cooling sweat on my forehead. There are people around me and Finn, looking down with his hand outstretched.
***
After five minutes of being the daily show for everyone outside the hospital, I struggle to my feet, refusing Finn’s offered hand. The nausea after fainting lingers as long as my embarrassment. Finn insists on taking me to the nearest nurses’ station to get checked out before I go home. There’s nothing to check out; this is the new and annoying me I have to live with.
I side-glance him as we travel upstairs in the elevator. The guy in my memories has longer, curlier hair and I never see his face clearly in the black and white landscape of my dreams. I’m confused, I have to be; there’s no way Finn could be him.
"Why won’t you let me help?" asks Finn, as we stand in the elevator. I rest against the metal wall, inhaling, wishing he’d let me go home. Unfortunately, other nursing staff in the car park agreed and shoved me back into the hospital.
"You are helping. By making sure I get checked out." The edge of displeasure to my voice is palpable.
The elevator lurches to a halt and we step out. "I think you need someone to lean on."
"I don’t. I’m fine."
He chuckles. "Sure thing, you’re wobbling all over."
"It’s not far," I snap.
We approach the double-doorway to the ward where I was told to go. God, I hope they don’t make me lie down somewhere, this is embarrassing enough. "Thanks, then."
"Don’t you want me to come in with you?"
"I’m fine."
For a short moment, Finn scrutinises my face. If he touched me, I’d know… I shake the thought away; I’m being ridiculous.
"You’re very pale."
"I’m always pale."
"And tetchy."
"I’m always tetchy."
He shifts his weight and sits on a plastic chair outside the doors. "I’ll wait here then."
"What?"
"I want to make sure you get home okay."
"I’m fine. I don’t need help. I know what’s wrong and it’ll pass soon."
Finn crosses his arms, tucking his hands under. "I want to help; I feel like this is my fault."
"How can this be your fault?"
I wait for a clever retort but he shakes his head. "Because I didn’t get there in time." The pause before his words is odd.
"I don’t need looking after."
"No. Of course."
Pulling myself to my full height, I look down at him. "Thanks for the coffee. And don’t wait for me."
Twenty questions, blood pressure checks, and a visit from a doctor take around half an hour. When I leave the ward, Finn has gone. I’m a little disappointed, not because I wanted him to wait, but because I wanted him to want to wait.
***
The walk up the hill to my home doesn’t appeal to me tonight; however, I don’t have much choice, so I struggle up the slope. The queasy feeling subsides but the memory of collapsing in front of people burns my cheeks. The doctor gave me a lecture on stopping the meds, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. I don’t want to take them anymore; I don’t need them. I ignored the fact I’m supposed to stop taking them gradually, so I reluctantly have a new supply in my bag.
Grace sits in the lounge reading, earbuds in, listening to music. I wave hello to her and she smiles. After our initial fumbled meeting, we’ve got along fine. We haven’t spoken much but she’s friendly; she even shared her food with me when I first moved in. Plus she’s normal, so I'm disappointed she's leaving next week. I thought Alek was the only odd member of the household until Lizzie’s conversation with him the other night.
I loosen my coat and walk into the kitchen. Alek reclines on one chair, feet on the mismatching chair opposite him.
"Hey, Casper."
Since the night in the kitchen, this is his ‘oh so hilarious’ new nickname for me. I’m formulating my own for him; I haven’t got one clever enough yet.
"Tea?" I walk to the kettle.
"I’m good, thanks." He tips the chair backward and reaches behind to open the fridge. As he retrieves a beer, I consider this is a move he’s perfected.
Unscrewing the lid, he swigs and frowns at me. "You look pale. Paler than usual, I mean. You okay?"
I swea
r I’m going to start wearing half-inch thick foundation in bright orange if one more person mentions my skin tone. "Fine. Thank you."
"How was work? Did something happen?"
This guy has barely said two words to me since I moved in; now, when I want some peace, he starts a conversation. I don't want to discuss myself so I change the topic.
"Are you working tonight?" I reply.
"No, seriously, did something happen? You just don’t seem right." The creepy feeling I got before travels over me, a memory of his words to Lizzie.
"What are you, my big brother or something?"
Alek sits forward and sweeps his gaze over me slowly, head to toe in a deliberate way, "Or something," he says quietly.
I frown at him. "You’re weird."
Alek sniggers. "So I’ve been told." He rests back and drinks his beer again. The intensity in his deep, brown eyes unnerves me. I shake my head and turn to the kettle.
"So, what happened?"
I don’t turn. "What?"
"That made you look like shit."
My hand hovers the spoon over the mug and I hold my breath. I don’t feel well and he’s not helping. What have I done to him to make him behave like this? The spoon clatters to the kitchen bench as I drop it and turn around.
"What is your problem?" I snap.
His eyebrows lift skyward. "You live here now; I was just being a concerned housemate."
Personally, I think telling someone they look like shit doesn’t show concern, but I don’t say anything. I can’t look at Alek without remembering the bizarre conversation I heard between him and his other housemate the other night.
"Sorry, Casper, just trying to be friendly."
"I’d hate to see you being unfriendly."
Again, the eyes, but this time accompanied by Alek running his tongue along his teeth. "Very true."
I shiver at his semi-threat then turn away. For the next few minutes, I focus on watching the cars pass the kitchen window and will the kettle to boil. I sling a teabag into a cup and hastily pour water into the stained mug. I don’t want to be around this guy anymore.
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