Saving Amy (11 page)

Finally, at the end of the hallway I wandered into another bedroom. It was easily the biggest room in the whole apartment and I knew straight away this was Richard’s room. I stepped in onto the glossy black, tiled floor, adorned with a massive snow-white shaggy rug and was faced with a mammoth bed complete with black leather headboard and silver satin bedding. It was all very masculine. Bizarrely I started picturing myself in his bed… with
him,
and I had to mentally slap myself out of it.

What is wrong with you? He’s trying to help you not fuck you…

Annoyed with myself, I retreated back to the living room before my errant mind could wander any further down the wrong path. Then I paced up and down the great room a few times, absorbing my surroundings. Nestled between the leather corner suite and the equally large matching couch I noticed a glass side table. On it was a tall, coiled lamp with a dangly crystal shade and an ornate silver frame holding a photo of a young girl. She looked a similar age to me at a guess, with the same auburn hair and vivid green eyes as Richard. Just like him, she was beautiful.

I wonder who she is?

The twinge of a headache was threatening to explode in the back of my head so I lay down on the couch to rest my eyes. Time passed relatively quickly, snooping around the apartment and it was almost lunchtime. Richard would be home soon. The thought warmed my veins.
How ridiculous.

Tucking one of the cream feather cushions under my head, I closed my eyes and let my weary body relax into the leather – although I didn’t intent to fall asleep.

I
was awoken by a clatter and I abruptly bolted upright.

“I’m so sorry,” Richard uttered while picking up two empty saucepans from the kitchen floor. I rubbed my weary eyes and then gasped at the pain – once again, sleeping had made me forget.

“How long have you been home?” I asked through a yawn when I noticed the time – 04:30 PM.

“A couple of hours. I’m just making a start on dinner.”

So much for not falling asleep.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You should’ve woken me,” I mumbled awkwardly.

“You needed it. Your body recuperates a lot faster with plenty of rest. Besides, you looked pretty cute. Did you know you suck your thumb?”

“I do not!” I protested as playfully as he was being – although in reality, how would I know for sure? He flashed me a wicked grin before turning his back on me to carry on with dinner. I couldn’t help staring after him for a few long minutes. He mesmerised me and I couldn’t even begin to understand it.

“You don’t need to keep doing this you know. I can feed myself,” I said nervously, feeling guilty from all the special treatment.

“I’d be doing it for myself anyway. Now go sit down. It’ll be about an hour.”

“Let me help you.” I knew I would feel better if I could at least contribute. His eyes automatically narrowed and I could tell Bossy Doctor was about to make an appearance – telling me I needed to rest no doubt. “Please?” I said with a pathetic flutter of my eyelashes before he had a chance to respond.

“Here… slice these.” He reluctantly passed me a punnet of closed-cup mushrooms and I took a knife from the array of utensils he’d already set out and started chopping. My task was complete in less than a minute and I could see that I wasn’t needed – he had everything under control.

Not wanting to get in the way, I perched myself on one of the glossy black stools by the breakfast bar and watched him glide effortlessly around the kitchen. He chopped, he stirred, he mixed… pausing only to flash me the odd hypnotic
smile which
turned my insides to a puddle of goo.

Bossy Doctor ordered me to the table when our starter was ready and I waited impatiently for him to join me. Soon enough Richard placed a small china plate with two lumps of
something which
looked like raw tofu stacked precariously on top of some wilted green leaves.

“Foie gras,” he elucidated, noticing my curiosity. “Also known as fattened ducks liver.”

Eww.

Richard tucked eagerly into the lump of fat and after giving it a wary prod with my fork I tentatively did the same. It tasted sickening – like pure butter. If I’d chewed it any longer I was almost sure I’d vomit so I forced it down with a large glug of iced-water from the table.

“Not a fan?” Richard probed through a stifled laugh – clearly amused.

“Yes, it’s, um…” I racked my brain for polite
words which wouldn’t make me
sound ungrateful. I failed – the sight of it on my plate made me want to retch. “It tastes like feet.” Thankfully, Richard didn’t take offense as he tipped his head back and laughed.

“
Feet?
Well, I hope whoevers feet you’ve been licking takes a shower once in a while.” Straight away, after blinking a tear of laughter from his eye, he took his empty and my barely touched plate away.

Next I was served with baby lamb steaks on a bed of carrots and new potatoes with a creamy mushroom sauce. My mouth watered before I even tasted the food and it didn’t disappoint. It was truly delicious. I discovered that day, lamb and mushrooms make for an unexpectedly tasty marriage.

I found myself staring at him as he ate. He was wearing a ribbed, cream v-neck sweater that teased my eyes – allowing them a tiny glimpse of his toned chest and smattering of chest hair, which was the same rich auburn as that on his head. He sat so eloquently – back straight, head forward…
So graceful.

Beautiful.

Richard cleared the dishes, after refusing my offer to help, before returning with dessert – steamed lemon sponge and vanilla cream. Of course, it was exquisite. I doubted I’d find its rival even in a fancy five star restaurant.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I asked inquisitively.

“My sister Kate and I used to do
everything
together. Then when we were ten, eleven maybe, she got it in her head she wanted to be a chef, so she followed the kitchen staff around everywhere they went. Like I said, where she went – I went. Guess I was so bored of standing around at the back of the kitchen I thought taking an actual interest would pass the time until she grew out of it.”

Kitchen staff? Who the hell is he… fucking royalty?

“What about you? Do you cook?”

“I’ve been known to make a mean bacon sandwich in my time,” I replied, winking at him. “But besides that, my culinary talents pretty much end at Pop Tarts and Cheerios.”

“Well the art of preparing cereal is harder than it looks. I believe it’s all about the milk-cereal ratio. Screw that baby up and you risk getting a bowl full of tasteless mush. You’ll have to teach me sometime?” He was being playful, smirking as he picked up his glass of white wine and then hiding his beaming grin behind it.

“Maybe. But I’m not sure you’re quite ready. Best to start with Pop Tarts and work your way up.”

He laughed at me as I picked up my own glass of wine and took a sip. It had some fancy name that I couldn’t remember and no doubt cost a ridiculous amount of money but it tasted good. I was no connoisseur of course, but I could tell it was crisp, light and slightly fruity.

“Leave them until tomorrow.” I grabbed his arm when he reached for the dessert dishes. It was the first time I’d ever purposely touched him and I could feel it all the way through my body. There was a charge,
a
warmth
radiating from him which passed through my hand and into my veins. His eyes widened and he looked… stunned.
Shit.
I’d clearly overstepped some kind of mark

“It won’t take long. I like things tidy,” he said as he assessed the table. His voice was uneven, nervous. I felt waves of heat rush straight to my cheeks, certain I’d pissed him off somehow.

Deciding feigning ignorance was the best approach, I ignored his attempts to stop me helping and together we cleared the table in half the time. He showed me how to work the unnecessarily complicated dishwasher and by the time we were finished everything was back to normal.
All polite smiles and nervous energy.

Later in the evening we sat at opposite ends of the corner-suite talking about irrelevant nonsense – movies, music,
favourite
colours… He had such mature, eclectic tastes in everything; classical music, sixties music, old-fashioned films, modern day thrillers – he fascinated me. Though, it also made me realise how boring I was in comparison. I was so inexperienced with everything. I couldn’t remember ever sitting down through a full movie, my favourite colour had always been black to match my mood and I wouldn’t know an aria if it hit me in the face.
Pardon the pun…

I did
however,
manage to impress him with my best joke.

‘How do lion’s like their steak? ROAR!’

I say impress… Well, he laughed, put it that way. Whether that was
with
me or
at
me, I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Who is that?” I asked, pointing towards the photo of the girl that looked like him. There was a noticeable change in the atmosphere. Instantaneously the air became so dense it was almost choking and I became more intrigued than ever to know who she was.

“That’s my twin sister – Kate.” From what he said during dinner it sounded like Kate was his best friend as well as his sister. So I didn’t understand why he looked so sad. His brow furrowed as he stared longingly at the photo – his eyes bulging with what looked like guilt.

“She’s beautiful,” I said, breaking the deafening silence.

“Yes. She was.”

Was?

“She passed away almost ten years ago. She was just nineteen.”

“Shit I’m- I mean, fuck I’m so-”

For Christ’s sake stop swearing you idiot!

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to splutter. Forcing a grateful smile he pulled his gaze away from the photo – the corners of his eyes had reddened as if they were being burnt by unshed tears. My whole body ached to hold him… but I knew I couldn’t.

“I’m going to bed soon – early start tomorrow. You should too. You’re still recovering. You need to rest.” Bossy Doctor was back and I started to wish I hadn’t mentioned the photo. He’d been so playful all evening and me and my big mouth had gone and ruined it.

On the flip side however I felt privileged to know something so personal about him. Though I couldn’t stop thinking about the pain he’d been – and was clearly still going – through. It brought mysterious little stabbing pains to my chest.

I stood up first to go to bed, but then Richard gently tugged on my arm bringing me back down to the couch.

“Before you go, I just want you to know that I’m here for you while you’re staying with me. You know that right?”

“Um, sure?” What was he getting at?

“What I mean is – I’m no expert in the field of course… but if you’re struggling with anything…” he stuttered, staring intently at me as if I should know what the hell he was on about. “Amy, if you ever feel like things are too much to deal with – if you feel like…
hurting
yourself in any way. Come and tell me. Okay?”

Wow.
I swear you could have fried eggs on my cheeks just then. I’d never felt so ashamed, so embarrassed… so cared about.

“Okay,” I resolved. I’d never had someone to talk to before and the only place
that
landed me was in the hospital. I guessed it wouldn’t hurt to give this talking thing a shot.

“Promise me, Amy? I won’t ever judge you, and it won’t ever go further than me. So will you do that? Will you promise me?”

“I- I promise,” I choked out, suddenly overcome with emotion. I knew the second I reached my bedroom I would burst into a fit of tears. I wasn’t sure why… Gratitude? Relief? Hope? Lov
-

Stop right there.

“Good girl.” I couldn’t stop the corners of my lips turning up into a soft smile. Not so long ago that comment would have annoyed the hell out of me, yet now I found it almost adorable. Why? I had absolutely no frigging idea. “Now bed,” he ordered.

“Yes, Doctor Lewis.” Saluting him, I did as I was told and retired to bed. The anguish I witnessed on his beautiful face when talking about his sister earlier tonight was etched onto my eyelids when I tried to sleep, making my heart ache as it slid down into the pit of my stomach.

**********

“Good morning,” I said cheerily to Richard, who by the look of his bed-hair had only just got up – it was his day off.

I had been staying in his apartment for nine days now and this was the first opportunity I’d had to make breakfast for him. It was also the first time I had two free
hands which
made the whole effort a hell of a lot easier. My cast was finally removed yesterday and I’d been left with a pale, dry and itchy cast-shaped impression in its wake. It was annoying the crap out of me.

“Good morning yourself.” His bright green eyes widened in surprise and his now familiar wicked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. I looked away from him, knowing his face – and the fact he was wearing nothing but his black, low-hung jeans – would distract me and I’d end up burning everything. He had a white t-shirt draped over his arm and I was both wishing he would put it on and keep it off in equal measures.