Necessary Evil of Nathan Miller (11 page)

"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 wanted 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 downhill
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."