Saving Amy (10 page)

“Advil,” he stated, answering my unspoken question. “For the swelling.” I popped them in my numb mouth but couldn’t feel them on my tongue so I just kept glugging the water until I assumed they must be gone. “You can’t keep living like this, Amy.” His voice turned abruptly serious, instantly turning the air heavy.

What other choice do I have?

I stayed quiet. I had no answer that he would want to hear.

“What were you doing at my house tonight?” I asked curiously, even though I didn’t actually care. I was just glad he was there.

“I noticed you didn’t turn up for your appointment with Kevin – sorry, Doctor Carroll. I needed to see you were okay.”

He
needed
to?

“Why, Richard? Why did you need to?”

His eyes refused contact
with mine and his eyebrows knitted together
. He looked… embarrassed? Then he shook his head.

“I wish I had an answer for that. But the truth is…” His face contorted into an unreadable expression – almost as if he was having some kind of internal debate with himself. Then he paused and drew in a deep breath. “The truth is I have absolutely no fucking idea.”

Um… okay.

“Look, you need to rest. You can stay here while we figure something out.” He changed the subject abruptly –
too
abruptly.

The sheer relief I felt from his words was overpowering and once again I started blubbering like a baby. His protective arms were around me in seconds, which only succeeded in making me cry harder.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered into my hair. “Come on…” Slowly releasing me, he took hold of my hand and pulled me gently from the couch.

He led me to the familiar bedroom. It looked exactly as my mind remembered it except the bedding was different. This time the mattress rested under a rich purple quilt, patterned with embroidered silver butterflies – very feminine. My heart sank a little as I pondered whether someone else – a woman – lived here too.

“My mother bought it,” Richard admitted as he followed my gaze towards the bed. I smiled inwardly and my ridiculous jealousy faded. “The bathroom is two doors down the hall – it should have everything you need. Oh, and there’s some of my t-shirts in those drawers if you want to get changed,” he said, gesturing his hand towards a set of beech drawers at the foot of the bed.

“Thank you. For everything…” I smiled gratefully at him. Or at least I thought I did – my face was still too numb to know for sure.

“I’ll leave you alone.
Sleep,
” he ordered in his Bossy Doctor voice. It was starting to grow on me.

I took a moment to absorb my surroundings once he left the room. This bedroom was easily three times the size of mine. The wall to my right was lined with fitted beech closets – the doors concealed by full-length mirrors. The wall on my left housed an enormous flat screen which looked like it was floating – no signs of wires or brackets – and straight ahead on the far wall was a large, gleaming window comprising of three separate panes which spread across the full width of the room; an idyllic frame to the picturesque view of Seattle’s tallest and finest buildings.

This place must have cost a small fortune.

Venturing out into the hall I counted two doors along as instructed to find the bathroom. I knew I’d been here before but I didn’t remember it being so big. I was faced with a mammoth white oval bath – easily big enough for three – standing freely in the centre of the limestone room. In the far right corner there was a floor to ceiling shower cubicle and next to it stood a huge –
naturally
– mirrored unit, home to a double sink set and what looked like fancy faucets; two stainless steel channels protruding from the wall which I assumed water flowed through like a river.

Above the basins hung an elaborate mirror, embellished with frosted swirls around the edges. I walked tentatively towards it – refusing to look directly into it because I was nervous about the image that would greet me. Once I was positioned in front of it I closed my eyes for a short while, dragging in deep breaths and preparing myself.

Eventually I summoned the courage and peeled my eyes open slowly. I was stunned backwards a step or two when my eyes met those of the swollen, battered face in the mirror. I didn’t recognise myself. My left eye was a blue/purple colour – engorged to the point of being almost closed. My lips were virtually black and so bloated they nearly touched my nose. Richard was right. How long could I go on like this? Painful knots began to coil in my stomach because I knew the answer was forever. I wasn’t brave or clever enough to escape.

If I hadn’t been so drained I would’ve cried. I was physically and mentally exhausted. I was too tired to wait for the bath to fill – it was so big it would probably take days – so I opted for a shower. It took me a good five minutes to work out how to get into it and then a further five to switch the damn thing on.

At last, a powerful stream of cathartic water fell from the stainless steel jets burrowed into the ceiling above me –cleansing my body and my mind. There was a suspended glass shelf unit in front of me stocked with every kind of men’s toiletries you could think of. My swollen eyes struggled to read the labels so I picked up each one in turn to examine them closer. Shave gel, expensive-looking moisturiser, exfoliator and finally shower crème – enriched with aloe apparently. I squirted the white, marbled foam generously into my palms and tentatively lathered it over my bruised body, washing any traces of
his
vile touch away.

Next I found a bottle of tea-tree shampoo and smoothed it liberally through my hair. It smelt divine – fresh and masculine; it smelt like Richard. The residue bit into the stitches in my bottom lip as I rinsed the lather away and it stung like hell. I made a mental note to tip my head backwards next time.

I impressed myself by managing to turn off the ridiculously complicated shower in under a minute and cautiously stepped out onto the slatted wooden slip board. My hair was saturated and dripping down my back and I realised I didn’t have a towel. I scanned the room but there was none on show.
Damn.

Luckily I found them in the first place I looked – piled neatly in size ascending order inside the mirrored closets under the basins. I briefly wondered who would design cupboards with mirrors so low down? Who needed to see their feet and calves?

I took two towels – both exceptionally white and fluffy – wrapped one around my hair and one around my body,
then
I headed out to find my bedroom again.
It’s not
your
bedroom,
I was reminded by my wide-awake, smartass subconscious. I told it to fuck off.

Back in the bedroom I rummaged through Richard’s t-shirt drawer. Every single one was designer label and I decided this drawer alone must be worth thousands of dollars. I settled on a plain white v-neck with the Ralph Lauren polo logo sewn into the breast and before I slipped it on I found myself clutching it to my nose and inhaling Richard’s scent. It calmed me but I had no idea why. Maybe the blow to the head was making me lose my mind.

After throwing the shirt on quickly, I climbed into bed. Like everything else it was bigger than I remembered – and comfier. The plump feather pillows moulded to my head and before I had chance to torture myself with thoughts, I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I woke to pain radiating from my entire face. My heart sank as reality punched me once more. When my eyes first opened, for a few brief seconds, I had forgotten…

Despite the pain I felt rested. I think I must have slept straight through for the first night in years – if ever. A gentle tap on the door pulled me from my musing.

“Come in,” I said in a high-pitched tone, knowing it would be Richard. He popped his head around the doorjamb and I felt an irrational disappointment that I couldn’t see more of him.

“Good morning,” he greeted with a delicious smile. “I’ve made you some breakfast. It’s in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

Wow.

“Thank you. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

He was gone as fast as he came and I found myself rushing around to get ready. It was only after I’d been to the bathroom, changed into another one of Richard’s t-shirts – black with silver stitching – and fussed around with my hair to make it look half way to presentable, I realised I was in such a hurry because I was so eager to be in Richard’s presence again.

I didn’t understand myself at all.

Separating the kitchen from the living room was a large rectangular, glass dining table surrounded by eight iron chairs with elaborate swirled backs and plump, cream padded seats. It was adorned with white square plates, flowers and at least ten different varieties of breakfast foods. As I moved closer I could see a collection of cereals, toast, croissants, fruit salad, freshly ground coffee…

“I didn’t know what you liked to eat in the mornings so I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a bit of everything.” That delectable smile of his was back. I could stare at it all day.

“You really didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed and unworthy of his generosity.

“You’ve been through an awful lot, Amy. You need energy inside of you if you have any hope of getting better,” he replied in his Bossy Doctor voice. Then he proffered his hand towards the iron chair at the head of the table before pulling it out for me to sit on. I did, and as he pushed me towards the table I noticed the sweet, sunny music swirling around my ears.

It was coming from his iPod dock on the kitchen counter. The librettos were slow and expressive – uplifting… comforting. I opened my mouth to ask who she was but Richard got in there first.

“I’ve got to leave for work soon.” The words squeezed my heart so tightly I feared it might burst.
He’s leaving me.
“But don’t worry, I’m only doing a half shift. I’ll be back around lunchtime.” His smile reassured me and my heart began to accept the flow of blood once more. I nodded and attempted to smile before he turned to leave the room without sitting down for breakfast. Had he really gone to all this effort
just
for
me
?

“Feel free to take a look around while I’m gone. And don’t even
think
about clearing these dishes away – I’ll do it when I get back,” he ordered, eyeing up the lavish table as he paused in the doorway and briefly popped his head back into the room.

I stared after him as he left and I wished I were brave enough to ask why he was being so nice to me. I was getting attached to him – reliant even – and it frightened the hell out of me. Deep down I knew his support wouldn’t be around forever. It was only a matter of time before it got too much for him and he passed me on to one of his shrink friends. The thought of facing life without him ignited a fire of panic inside my belly and I started blubbing pathetically into my cornflakes.

I can’t do this alone…

After a few long minutes my tears turned to snuffles and suddenly I was ravenous. I was faced with a table packed with mouth-watering food and the delicious smell made my stomach rumble. Pushing my tear-drenched cornflakes aside, I reached across the table for a croissant. It was still warm and smelt heavenly – fresh and buttery. I made the most of being alone and devoured it in just three bites. Then I worked my way through two of the four slices of toast sitting gracefully in a porcelain toast rack before finishing off with a generous dollop of fruit salad.

I had eaten to the point of feeling sick but jeez it felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate so well. I felt satisfied – ready for the day. There was no way I would allow Richard to return to such a mess though so I stood up, gathered as many plates as I could with one arm hindered in a cast and took them through to the kitchen. I returned and repeated the process until the table was clear. Well… almost. It was only when I moved the percolator, I noticed two Advil, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a little note hiding behind it.

Take these and REST!

My mouth melted into a smile before my interfering subconscious knocked it straight back off again.
Why is he doing this?

Seeing the painkillers reminded my lips to throb so I gulped them down quickly before cracking on with the clearing up. I must’ve opened at least five different glossy white cupboards before I found the one hiding the dishwasher. Then I scraped the plates into the trashcan I found in the first cupboard before loading them into the dishwasher. Surprise, surprise, it was huge and overly complicated. It had so many rows of buttons and switches it could’ve easily been misconstrued as a jet-plane cockpit. Afraid of breaking it, I decided to leave that job for Richard and set about wiping the surfaces down.

I was finished all too quickly and the place looked as neat and showy as it did before. I remembered Richard telling me to look around but it felt cheeky of me so decided against it. Until the potent mix of boredom and curiosity got the better of me that is…

Exiting the main living space I entered the vast hallway and worked my way through the doors one by one. I came across two more bedrooms – neutrally decorated like the one I was staying in – and a study. Inside was a sizeable walnut desk, home to an impressive laptop, strip lamp and dozens of papers. Behind it stood an extensive bookcase housing hundreds of books and my eyes couldn’t even begin to read the vast array of titles. It reminded me of one of those great libraries inside an old English country mansion like you see on TV.