Unperfect

Mia

A wave of dizziness came over me as I stood underneath the steady spray of the shower. It was so strong that I had to hold onto the soap dispenser to stay upright. I nearly pulled the damn thing off the wall.

“You alright in there, pet?” Carol called from the other side of the shower door, and I closed my eyes as I slid down the tiles to sit on the floor of the shower. Slowly the tunnel vision resolved and the nausea receded enough for me to speak.

“I’m fine,” I called, but my voice was too weak to be heard over the shower, and before I knew it Carol had let herself into the small bathroom.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she muttered as she pulled back the curtain to see me in a pathetic heap on the shower floor. “You should have called me.” She shut off the water and, with the efficiency of a nurse with decades of experience under her belt, wrapped me up in two hospital towels and helped me to my feet. Before I had any time to be embarrassed, she’d dried me off, changed me into my clothes and helped me back into bed.

“Thank you,” I said, and she smiled at me as if it was nothing. I’m sure her days were filled of these small acts of heroism, and I’m sure she never realised how important they were.

“Your young man was here whilst you were in the shower,” she told me as she bustled off to hang the towels up in my ensuite.

“He’s not my young man, Carol,” I said for what felt like the eleventy-billionth time. “He’s my boss.”

“Of course he is, dear,” Carol said, giving me an indulgent smile as if I was a child denying my first crush. 

Carol was the nurse I’d spilled all my secrets to on my third day of admission. The one who had given me the number of the local domestic violence team. After not telling anyone anything for so long I ended up telling this woman everything, and not just about Nate, but all about Max and how he’d been such a grumpy bastard to work for, but then so unexpectedly kind. About how confusing I found it that he was visiting me in the hospital. Carol had let me talk. After I finished, when I thought she might phone the police, she’d hugged me instead and told me everything was going to be alright. That I didn’t have to be homeless. That there was help for people in my situation. All it took was a little trust. I had thought that my quota of trust was used up, but the prospect of more nights on the street in my current weakened state changed my mind.

I wished I’d taken Heath’s advice and contacted the domestic violence team sooner. I was just so scared they would make me go to the police. But all they wanted to do was help me and offer me advice. Everything was about my choice. The worker that came to see me at the hospital told me that the local women’s refuge didn’t have any rooms left, but there was a small bed and breakfast nearby which I could stay at whilst I waited for one to come available. So, today I’d decided that that was where I was heading. I couldn’t stay in hospital any longer. Apart from my aversion to them (the smell and the clinical atmosphere brought back too many painful memories) I was not going to let Max pay for another night here. Somehow he’d had me moved into a private room after my stay in the high dependency unit, muttering something about employee health care. I knew that we did not have private health care included in our contracts. Max was paying for it out of his own pocket.

“Mia, why is your bag half-packed?” Carol asked. “I didn’t know you were being discharged today.”

I shrugged.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, pet,” she said her voice full of concern. “You’re still weak as a kitten.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I told her, keeping half an eye on the door in case Max came back.

“Look, I think you should wait until the ward round. Really it’s not–”

“I have to get out of here,” I said in a fierce whisper. “Please, Carol. I can’t stay here any longer.”

A buzzer went off in the corridor and she frowned.

“Damn,” she snapped as she stood up from the bed. “Listen, wait a minute ok? I’ll be back in a sec and we can talk about it. Just … hold on. Don’t move.” She gave me a wary glance and pointed at me before she left. I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes in defeat. Carol was right. I needed help. Maybe …

Making a split second decision before I could think any better of it, I picked up my mobile from the desk and dialled the number I knew by heart, but hadn’t dared to put into my new phone in case the temptation to ring it became too much.

“Hello? Who’s this?” I closed my eyes as my sister’s voice washed over me. She sounded like home.

“Marnie,” I whispered into the phone.

“Mimi? Mimi, is that you? Where are you?” her voice was rising now. She sounded frantic.

“Marnie, I’m in trouble.” I darted a look towards the door of the room I was in. There was only one other patient in the unit, but Dorothy had such severe dementia that the only real communication she ever embarked on with me was popping her head in and asking for her mother or a cup of tea (the tea was doable … her mother, seeing as Dorothy herself had just celebrated her own ninetieth birthday, not so much). So, even though there was little chance of being overheard, I knew I didn’t have much time. “I … I think I need your help.”

“Anything, Mimi,” Marnie said. “You know that. Please, just tell me where you are.” She was crying now and I closed my eyes as the familiar guilt washed over me. Marnie was only two years older than me but, even with a small age gap, she’d always been very protective. Always wanting to fight my battles for me. Nobody messed with Marnie’s little sister … until Nate that is.

“Please don’t cry, Marne.” My voice was tortured. Why didn’t I listen to my family six years ago? Why didn’t I let Marnie be the big sister she’d always wanted to be?

“I knew something was off when that evil fucker came sniffing around,” she spat. Anger had replaced the tears now. I froze on the bed and my eyes shot open wide.

“Nate came to see you?”

“Asking if you’d been in contact. Said you had a ‘little tiff’ and that you’d ‘flounced off’.”

Images flashed through my mind – me crawling away from him with only one arm working, hearing his footsteps and then feeling the tearing pain in my scalp as he dragged me back across the floor by my hair into the kitchen; my head flying to the side as he backhanded me, then my eyes fixing on the knife lying next to the chopping board …

Then it was me running from the house, clutching my backpack and hurtling straight into Nate’s head of security (I’d always got on with Brian, we’d shared the odd cup of tea at the house. He reminded me of my dad); registering the shock in his faded blue eyes as he took in my beaten face and blood-splattered shirt; my stomach turning over as he ushered me outside to his car and asked me whether the blood on my hands was mine.

“No,” I’d replied, my voice hoarse from shouting. “Not mine.”

He’d smiled then. A wide, deeply satisfied, slightly scary smile.

“Good,” he’d said in a fierce tone, his eyes locking with mine, full of fire. “Good, Amelia.”

He knew who’s blood it was and he was glad. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen me sporting an injury. He bundled me into his car and took off. Each bump in the road had jarred my shoulder. I’d tried to hold in my small winces of pain but he noticed and his lips had tightened.

“I hope he burns in hell,” he’d muttered under her breath and my blood had run cold. What if Nate was dead? They’d been so much blood. What if I’d killed him? That was when I made Brian call the ambulance to the house we’d left behind. I couldn’t have Nate’s life on my conscience.

We’d deliberately driven for over two hours to the coast, to a hospital far from my home. Before he took me in he grabbed both my hands, ignoring the copious amounts of blood now dried onto my skin, and he looked into my eyes, that fierce look back in his own.

“You go in there, young lady,” he said. “You get fixed up and then you run. Don’t ever look back. Run away and keep running. Do you understand me?” He’d given me all the money he had in his wallet and ushered me through to the triage desk.

So, little tiff and flounced off weren’t altogether accurate terms. And Nate wasn’t burning in hell – but he was looking for me.

“Mimi? You there, hun? Talk to me, please.”

That was when I realised that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go to my sister now.

I swallowed. “I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know I’m ok.”

“Mimi! Tell me where you are. We can sort everything out from there. Just tell me wh-”

“I’ve got to go,” I whispered as Max’s large frame filled the entrance to the bay. “I promise I’ll call you soon.’

“Mimi, don–” I took the phone away from my ear. My hand shook as I pressed the screen to end the call. I could still hear my sister shouting on the line before I cut her off. Max came to a stop by the side of my bed, shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned down at me.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Hey,” I replied, managing a small closed-lipped smile as I started to grab the meagre amount of stuff I had left in my side cabinet. I’d already filched one of the hospital towels – it was shoved down into the depths of my backpack. When I had some more cash I’d donate something to the hospital to replace it. Still – I was a thief and it wasn’t the first time. There was probably a special place in hell for people who stole from the NHS, but for now I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Max looked down at the half packed bag on the bed and then up at my face.

“You going somewhere?” he asked.

“I’m being discharged today,” I lied as I zipped my backpack shut.

I had been on the high dependency unit having intravenous antibiotics for the first two days until my chest improved. I’d been out on the general ward for three days now. I was definitely on the mend. Sort of.

“Hmm,” he muttered. “Just a minute – I’ve, um … got to make a call. Business stuff.” He strode out of the room, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. I continued to gather together my meagre possessions, which took longer than it should with my breathing still so laboured. When I’d finally finished I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath. Max chose that moment to appear at the doorway again and it had the unfortunate effect of triggering another of my coughing fits. They were less frequent now, but I was aware I still sounded like a seventy-year-old man with emphysema. As my body convulsed with the force of the coughs and tears ran down my cheeks, I felt Max’s huge hand rest across the back of my chest, splaying to almost its entire width. The feel of his warmth grounded me, just as it had all the other times he’d done it over the last five days. I felt calm despite the coughing and after a few more hacking sounds the fit subsided.

“You alright, lass?” His voice was low and gentle and his scowl had faded into that slightly panicky, concerned look that he had been prone to recently. Why he came to visit I had no idea. In the HDU I hadn’t really been up to talking so he’d just stood next to the bed with his hands shoved in his pockets, before demanding a progress report from the staff. I think most people were under the impression he was my boyfriend. An assumption that was so far from reality that I had trouble getting my head around it.

At the time, I didn’t see why Max was so interested and doubted he’d stick around for that long anyway, so it was a surprise when he became a daily visitor. So far I’d been too out of it and sick to really question why he was doing all of this. Maybe he got this involved with any staff member that was sick? Maybe there was some sort of weird HR policy that had him visiting the hospital?

Yesterday he’d brought Yaz and Verity with him. Yaz gave me an amber necklace meant to draw out all my negative energy from my chest. Verity, being on the slightly more practical end of the spectrum, brought me fruit and books. Max hadn’t brought me anything, other than the private room of course. I hadn’t had the energy to argue over that either.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, and his hand dropped away. For some reason the loss of his warmth made my stomach tighten. I straightened and wiped the tears from under my eyes before tucking my hair behind my ears. It had grown to almost shoulder length now. I was desperate to cut it again, but didn’t trust myself not to do another hatchet job in the process. My funds definitely didn’t extend to going to the hairdresser. Although, that would change soon. The domestic violence team told me I could open a bank account at HSBC without a permanent address. Apparently it was one of the only places women staying at the refuge could open an account, as you weren’t allowed to give out the refuge address. Once I did that, I could finally give Mary a place to deposit my salary. I was about to pick up my bag when Max stepped forward, his large hand closed over one of the straps and he swung it up onto his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he asked again.

I looked from my bag to his face and it was my turn to frown.

“I’ve been discharged. My chest is getting better now with just the tablet antibiotics. I don’t need to be here anymore.”

“Right.”

“Right.” I reached for my bag on his shoulder only to have him take a step back.

“Uh, so I kind of need my bag.”

“Do you have somewhere you can stay?” he asked, his too-intelligent eyes assessing me now. And that was when I realised.

He knew.

I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together, hoping that if I wished hard enough Max would disappear and I would not have to have the inevitably humiliating exchange we were about to have. Of course, with my current luck, when I opened them he was still there, but now his arms were crossed and he was sporting a stubborn expression.

I cleared my throat and shoved my meagre toiletry supply back into its small bag, as I felt my shoulders tense up and rise towards my ears in a defensive gesture.

“Of course I do,” I told him, risking a glance up at his face. His expression was calculating now.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll drive you.”

“N-no!” His eyebrows flew up and I realised I was shouting. I clenched my fists at my sides and made a concerted effort to calm my voice. “I mean, thanks, but I don’t need a lift anywhere. So …”

He shrugged. “It’s Sunday. I’m not doing owt. No sense in you getting a taxi.”

“Oh, all packed? That was quick.”

Shit. Carol again.

“I really think you’d be better staying so that-”

“I’m leaving, Carol.”

Carol sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t stop you leaving but you do know you’ve got to take things easy for the next few weeks, right?” Carol asked, shooting Max a quick smile.

Carol liked Max. “Just like my Barry,” she’d said yesterday. “Gruff and hard on the outside, but inside – marshmallow and kitten fur.” That had made me think of Nate. His exterior was so smooth and charming, but there was no warning of the ice beneath. “Nice arse too,” she’d added, and I’d rolled my eyes.

“Yes Carol,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

“Regular meals wouldn’t go amiss either,” she put in, narrowing her eyes at me. Turns out pneumonia was a killer on the appetite. Combine that with the previous weight lost and you had my current near-skeletal form. Not the best look. And to top it all off some of my hair had fallen out in the shower yesterday. I was turning into some sort of mangy, underfed dog. I was about to reply when the door banged open again.

“Hello Mia, Max.”

Bloody double shit. I couldn’t catch a break around here.

“Hi, Dr Firth,” I muttered, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder in preparation for my getaway.

“Call me Becky,” she said as she pulled my chart off the nightstand and studied it.

“No fever in two days, CRP and white cell counts coming down. Good stuff. I just–”

“Great,” I cut in, taking a small step towards the door. “I mean, thanks. You really didn’t have to come in on a Sunday. I’m sorry I–”

“I know I didn’t need to come in. There’s an on call team. But Max gave me a ring and I was on my way to Homebase anyway.”

I paused before taking another step.

“Homebase?”

“It’s on the industrial estate just past the hospital. I need some compost and some slug pellets.”

“You called her?” I asked Max and he shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“You hadn’t been given the all clear to leave. I didn’t think we should take any chances. Heath and Becky are mates so he gave me her number.”

What was happening? Max didn’t think ‘we’ should take any chances? Since when were my problems his problems? I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off my Dr Compost and Slug Pellets.

“I’d be happy for you to leave, Mia,” she said softly. “If you have someone at home to keep an eye on you. Otherwise I really, really think you’d be better staying in for another twenty-four hours at least. Carol told me about the shower incident.”

Traitor. The unrepentant Carol gave me a wide smile.

I took in Dr Firth’s sincere, caring expression and then let my bag slip off my shoulder and onto the bed. She was right. I was too weak to look after myself properly. I did need another day at least of meals I didn’t have to forage for myself and proper rest. The shower incident was proof of that.

“Okay, okay,” I muttered, suddenly feeling really silly for causing all this fuss on a Sunday. “I’ll stay another night.’

*****

Max

I watched Mia sitting on the bed next to her pathetic rucksack, a look of complete dejection taking over her expression.

“I-I’m sorry to cause all this hassle. I didn’t mean for …” she trailed off, looked down at her shoes and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I just hate hospitals,” she whispered. I felt something shift in my chest, almost like it was cracking open.

“She’s coming home with me,” I said, my gruff voice making it sound more like a threat than an offer of help. Mia’s head snapped up. Carol beamed at me.

“Ah, well that changes things.”

“Okay,” Becky Firth said slowly, her eyes flicking between Mia and me. “You will feed her won’t you, Max?”

I rolled my eyes. “I can cook, and I have a spare room.” In fact I had three spare rooms but Becky didn’t need to know that. I shrugged. “It won’t be a problem.”

Mia was still sitting on the bed, but her wide eyes were fixed on me now.

“You don’t have to do that,” she muttered. “I can stay here … or I can speak to my-” She broke off and bit her lip.

“Your …?”

She shook her head. “No, sorry I wasn’t thinking straight. I … look I’ll just stay and then …” she broke of again and her face flushed bright red. “Oh bollocks,” she muttered. “You’re paying for the bloody room. I almost forgot.”

“The business is paying,” I lied. It was totally me, but I didn’t want to look weird. “And it’s fine. It’s … uh … tax deductable.”

“Wh–”

“But you don’t like it here and you don’t have to stay here.” My voice was rising. Watching Mia hooked up to all those drips and machines just days ago and now seeing her so dejected at the prospect of staying in this place was getting to me. “I have a huge house. Loads of spare bloody rooms and a fridge full of food. Of course I can–”

“What’s your security system like?” Mia asked, her expression carefully blank.

“My security? Well … I have electric gates with a tannoy, an alarm system which I activate with a code. And an Alsatian.”

Her eyes were wide again for a moment, but then, to my shock, she smiled.