Life For Rent. Part 5 (Final) free porn video

Life for rent Part 5 Chapter 29 Several days later Is there something ludicrous, about this being the perfect late morning of a mid spring day? To emphasise the contrast of the event? My dress is stylish. Occasion perfect. I knew it was right the moment I tried it in store. It has a Dior like elegance about it, from days past. It was important my appearance stood up to scrutiny today. I imagined I would be subject to much critical appraisal. I was well versed by now, in trial by the court of public opinion. But today it took on a new dimension, a much greater degree of significance. Of course it wasn't for my benefit, that my aesthetic and my conduct needed to be beyond reproach. But for the sake of those most dear to me. Particularly though, for the sake of the woman most dear to me. That woman, Lucinda, stood beside me. I still wasn't sure how to define my role. My definition. Acquaintance? Friend? Lover? Significant other? Girlfriend? Partner? I imagine different people had different opinions. Being with Lucinda though, definitely gave me a place. I clutched onto her tightly. I couldn't be sure if I was steadying her, or she was steadying me. The priest smiled at as warmly. We made quite the couple, up the front of the church, holding each other for reassurance. Stephen stood the other side of Lucinda from me. Awkward and resolute. Completely unsure what to do with himself. I looked over towards Damon. What did I want to say to him? What would I say to him? That even though I had known him for only a short time, he had made me feel like no other man ever had. He made me want. And covet. Even love. He had made me fall, like I had never fallen before. But safe in the knowledge that I would be caught. I did love him. Truly I did. And I would miss him. Oh so very much. It was time for the pallbearers to wheel out the casket. And I followed along. The grieving widow by proxy. Dressed in black. Lucinda beside me for support. **** "Kim are you okay?" Lucinda drags me from my fugue and back to the present, to the MCG. I wasn't of course. I was a long way from Okay. The visions were so indiscriminate in their timing. With no regard for where I was and what I was doing. I guess they had a message to convey and would do it as they chose. This was the third one I'd had in the company of others. The first with Damon. Then Caitlin. Now Lucinda. What I was uncertain about, was the passage of time. How long do they actually last? Long enough for Cait to notice. But not Damon. And they were quite convoluted tales in my head. Now in front of Lucinda. Who certainly had noticed also. Is it mere moments of staring into space? Or much longer? Regardless this uncertainty was detracting from the message. "No Lucinda," I reply. "Something is very wrong." At that precise moment; My face etched with bewilderment, hers with concern; the crowd erupts in a previously unheralded level of frenzy. We simultaneously redirect our attention to the football oval before us. On the other side of the ground, far from us, a Giants' player lies motionless on the Earth. With a Collingwood player standing above him. Too far for us to read numbers or identify shapes. But I know with the coldness of dread that it is Damon. And I know this is what my vision means. Further to my self analysis of my premonitions, aside from the timing, there is no discernible pattern, no consistency to them. Some show alternative presents. Others potential futures. And the Anthony vision was a real time event that I was shown as it happened. All I could do, for my own sanity, was equate the vision of Damon's funeral, with the one of my life as a single parent hooker. It was a mere potential future that I could alter and prevent. I had to believe that there was something I could do to prevent Damon from dying. The fear came from not knowing what. And how likely my chances were of success. I had not seen the strike. It could have been a coat hanger, or a coward's punch. As moments pass it becomes apparent he is knocked out. Petrified on the earth. I had seen enough in my time as a Doctor to know that a hit like that can be fatal. I had never heard of such a thing at elite level. Certainly occasionally in more amateur competitions, where things are less regulated and violence more explosive. Still a hit is a hit, and all the more if the victim is not expecting it. The crowd are all standing. As are we. I am filled with an unfathomable terror. And the most revolting sense of d?j? vu. "He's unconscious Lucinda. I have to get to him." I make to move out of our row and down the aisle. My plan is to jump the boundary fence. Lucinda predicts my actions. "Kim. NO! You jump that fence and you'll have ten security guards pouncing on you. You'll never get to him. The team have their own trainers and Doctor. They'll look after him," she states with ignorant confidence. "Look. He's starting to move," she adds. To reassure. He is moving. His feet, facing towards us, vibrate rhythmically. So that's how this will happen. Lying on his back. Seizing. Occluding his airway. Asphyxiating and dying in front of me. And I can't do anything about it. It's clear to me then. That what Beth did to me all those years ago was not some poorly cast magic spell. It's exactly as I predicted. It was a curse. I am cursed. There is some unspeakable evil that envelops me. Determined to destroy me. And it seems intent on claiming a life. Any life. Is it because I have not given it my life? Do I have to die? If I save Damon, will it just move next onto Clare, or Ally, or Lucinda. Will it not rest until it takes the life of me, or someone I love? The alternative is that due to pure misfortune, in the space of 5 days, two people I know have had potentially fatal events. Is that too remote a coincidence? I could drill as many holes I want into my own theory, foremost being whether the visions are for help or hindrance, but it didn't alter the fact that Damon was about to die. I'm scared and feel helpless. Even more so than with Anthony. At least I could do something then. "He's fitting Lucinda. He's going to die. I have to get to him," I plead. She must be able to see the angst I feel. After the briefest pause, "The rooms!" she yells. "They'll take him there. I can try and get us in," she explains. Trainers are on the field. Approaching him with a stretcher. Play has stopped. Damon continues to convulse. The crowd seem transfixed on the drama. I suppose I am too. I want to see what they do. Their priority should be to ensure airway patency. Instead they fuss over a cervical collar and spine board. The collar, whilst theoretically protecting his neck, will only further compromise his ability to breathe. I understand then. Exactly what this. In our lives, Lucinda's and mine, since we were so very young, we have done this. There have been so many. Too many to possibly count. But far more than most. It is what we do. It is who we are. Or at least who we were. And maybe it never truly leaves you, even with the passing of the years. It was a defining constant of our friendship in our younger lives, and played a pivotal role when things disintegrated between us. We loved to compete. But the competition this time is unlike any other. It is perhaps the most fierce competitor we will ever have to face. That adversary is time. And this is a race. **** There was a point in history, when we probably were the two fastest women in the country. Certainly over our distance. In spite of a degree of objectivity, we weren't so far removed from those days even now. We ran together through the walkways of the MCG, thankfully only sparsely populated, as most were still watching the game, given the margin had closed somewhat and the contest was still alive. How different to the leisurely chatty jog we had indulged in yesterday around my usual running course. This time we ran as fast as we were able, our speed considerable. Lucinda didn't have the knowledge I had. But she trusted my panicked urgency. She had an inherent understanding of me that had clearly reignited. She knew I was serious. She knew this was perilous. She knew to run as fast as we possibly could. Onlookers were stunned by our haste, probably appropriately, but we cared not. To me every second counted. Hypoxic brain injury or ischaemic arrhythmia could take him any moment. When we reached the Giants' rooms, with all the haste we could, there was a wall of security to negotiate. We are both panting but I know instinctively to let Lucinda do the talking. She could lawyer her way past them. Past anyone. "This is Dr Kimberley Jacobs," Lucinda begins to one guard. "Damon Wall has been injured. She needs to treat him." There is hesitation. I don't feel we can afford much. "I'm not sure. This is irregular..." he begins. "He is injured," another guard says. "I heard it on the radio." "It could be life threatening," I speak up. "I have to get to him immediately." "I need to check." The guard remains uncertain. "It's his girlfriend man," the other guard says. "You know. From the tellie. She's obviously worried about him. Just let her through." So much for the differing hair colour. Although Lucinda had announced my name. Still, the job is done. We are through. We arrive seemingly only shortly after Damon had been brought down on the stretcher. The Giants Doctor is still making his initial appraisal. "He's still out cold. We'll have to wait for him to wake up so we can SCAT him." "SCAT him?" I say in a squeal. Professional courtesy well forgotten by my agitated state. "He's a bit beyond that," I say incredulously. "He's obtunded! And he's seizing and he has an unsecured airway. He needs an ambulance." "He's not seizing!" the Giants Doctor states condescendingly. It may be true. There are no seizure movements that I can see. "He was," I retaliate. "On the field." He'll be post-ictal now. "Who the hell are you?" "Dr Robbins," Lucinda speaks. "She means no disrespect. This is Kim. Damon's girlfriend." It's a liberty. But everyone seems to be saying it. It's possibly a self fulfilling prophecy. "She's a paediatrician," Lucinda finishes with. "Oh," he reflects. But does not waver. "Well how about you leave the big kids to me then," he says. I don't like him. I turn to Lucinda and whisper. "What is he? A sports physician?" "Yes. He's been at this for years. He's very experienced." "But this isn't a shoulder or an ankle. This is a major head trauma. Damon doesn't need a concussion score," I direct at Lucinda but my soft voice discretion is lessened. The SCAT to which Dr Robbins was referring is the 'Sports injury concussion tool', used to determine fitness to return to the field. I continue with the clarity of righteousness. Increasing in tone so that our conversation is clearly no longer exclusive. "He needs a CT brain. And probably intubation. Maybe even to be loaded with Dilantin or Keppra." Lucinda looks at me like I'm babbling. I probably am. "Just call an ambulance," I say loudly, maybe there is a hint of plead. "And waste their time. He'll come around any minute." "If he was going to wake he would have by now." I'm certain in my argument. There is some dissent now between the Doctor and the trainers, the notion is out there. I am the voice of conservative reason. After some whispers designed for me not to here, one of the trainers dials triple zero. It is just as well, for I was all set to do it myself. Had I not come to the rooms and intervened, I feel like he would have been left languishing on the stretcher in a corner, whilst the medical staff went back to watch the remainder of what was now a close game. Which is how and where he would have died. Is this enough? Have I changed the future I was shown? How could I possibly know? How can I take that chance? I have to do everything within my power to ensure there is no doubt. That all that could be done would be, to make sure Damon survives. I don't want to be that mourner. I don't want to ever feel what I was feeling in that vision. There is no doubt I was shown it to prevent it. I must ensure that this possible timeline is altered enough. But are there things beyond my control? Beyond my ability to alter. He could have a traumatic subarachnoid. Or an accumulating extradural. The semantics of the pathology was not important. Ultimately they meant bleeding in the brain, blood accumulating in his skull. Crushing and killing his grey matter. Rendering him beyond any salvation. There is only one thing to do. I have to detach. I need the objectivity of a clear mind to perform adult ALS. Advanced Life Support. I taught paediatric ALS to my registrars for goodness sake. It's not so different in an adult. An Intensive care paediatrician can do this stuff. An ageing sports physician can't. It's time to take charge. To be assertive. It's time to be secure in the person I am and safe in the knowledge that I have the support of those I love. I look at Lucinda and squeak at the smallest of reassuring smiles. For me and for her. Then I move in to take control of this mess, and save the life of the man I know I'm beginning to form significant feelings for. "Dr Robbins. We need to attend to Damon's BLS. You know, his ABCs. If it's all the same to you I do this on a daily basis in Neonatal intensive care. If you don't mind I'll just get in behind his head." He says nothing to stop me and I move to the top of the stretcher. I'm behind Damon's head now, at the top end. The first thing I notice is the lack of facial trauma. No blood. The strike, were I to look for it, must be under the hairline, somewhere on his cranial vault. But it's immaterial. I need to get straight to the life support. So I make good on my suggestion of attention to his ABCs and begin. I don't get past A. His mouth is full of vomit. A common side effect of head injury, and seizure. But lying on his back, rather than his side, it has simply pooled in the back of his throat and blocked the passage of air. As I examine his mouth he makes a couple of the feeblest of stridorous breaths and then his breathing stops. I shove my hand in his mouth and remove what I can. BLS convention teaches that you use the patients hand like a spoon but I had no problem using my ungloved hand. I had kissed him after all. Shoving my hand in his mouth was just a slightly unusual next step. Once I'd cleared all I could see, I lift his jaw forward. Immobilised in a neck collar there are certain airway manoeuvres unavailable, like tilting the head or lifting the chin, but even pulling his jaw forward with a now cleared airway does not induce him to breathe. This is an extremely bad sign and a strong indication that I have not changed the future at all. I give him two rescue breaths lip to lip. Telling myself to remain detached is futile now. I'm thinking how I didn't kiss him this time. Before this game. For luck. He certainly could have done with some of that. Last time I'd done it front of Lucinda to antagonise her. This time perhaps I didn't in deference to her. It all seemed so rushed before the game. The opportunity just didn't really arise. He did seem happy to see me though. I feel like maybe our relationship had slid backwards a little because I had run off on him. I think we had to build back up to good luck kisses. But at the moment this seems unlikely to ever happen. So it's a different kiss I'm giving him. The clich?d kiss of life. But he wasn't Sleeping Beauty, and he wasn't waking up. I move onto C. Even though his breathing is far from established. I need to know he has a pulse. He does. It's rapid. But not weak. It means I still have time. "Dr Robbins do you have a laerdal bag? You know, like a bag and mask?" Surely they must have something like that. "We've got an AED," he announces as if it's the be all and end all. Of course if it gets to the point I need that then Damon is already lost. "And Oxygen." A trainer scurries off and fishes into a large kit bag in the corner. "You mean like this?" It truly is perhaps the most wonderful thing I've ever seen in my life. It is exactly what I want and need. I grab it and begin bagging him immediately. On air. "If someone can get the oxygen and hook this up that would be lovely." My false calm demeanour differs so much from 5 days ago. It was only Clare then and I was able to more truly express how I felt. But even then I'd withheld much of my panic for her sake. Right now my panic is just as heightened, but in front of all these strangers and lay people, if I lose my shit and become the hysterical shrew I could so easily be at this moment it won't do anyone any good. I have no sat tracing so I'm not sure how effective my ventilation is. His ears, and the lips I'd just kissed are dusky purple so there is work to be done. I could hook him up to the AED to at least get a heart rate but I did not trust these people to be certain they wouldn't accidentally shock him. I direct at the trainer who rang triple zero. "Could you perhaps ring the ambulance service back and tell them he's no longer breathing, and the sooner they can get here will be good." They have the common sense to know that what I did just before was not a pash, and that he is in a far more dire situation than anyone appreciated. "I'll go wait out front and direct them," another trainer offers. Dr Robbins concedes to my display of competence. "What can I do?" "Keep a finger on his pulse," I say as kindly as I can. "And if someone has a pen torch that would be good." This is his sphere. These people look up to him. I need to be respectful and not belittle him. There is no excuse for that even though I'm internally agitated. A required torch is quickly produced. This is the moment of truth. When I open those eyes and shine this torch in them. I will know straight away whether I will ever be able to talk to Damon Wall again. Or at least the chance of it. Or Whether I will ever be able to kiss him again. Assuming he'd want to I guess. If his pupils are dilated or one of them is blown there is nothing I can do. He will die. I remind myself he is post seizure, so maybe what I see needs to be accounted for with that in mind. I hear my own deep drawing of breath as I let go of my air viva and prise both pupils open. Mid size and reactive. That means life. I still can't be sure what sort of a life, but I'm more optimistic than I was moments earlier. I'm not sure how long passes as I ventilate Damon. Dr Robbins dutifully informs me his pulse remains steady and the heart rate has slowed. His colour is better and the two parameters together tell me he is oxygenating effectively. What concerns me most now is his lack of movement. After some time he makes some respiratory effort, a little only. I synchronise my squeezing with his breaths. Eventually, following what seems an excessive time period the ambulance arrives. Dr Robbins feels this is a chance to exercise his authority. He introduces me to the paramedics like I'm under his tutelage. I'm not at all perturbed by this, it's a convenience really, I summarise the sequence for the paramedics and tell them what I need. They do not hinder me. With their equipment I attach monitoring, insert a line and prepare myself whilst one of the paramedics takes over squeezing the bag. I give him 5mg of IV midazolam and some sux. The paramedic questions my choice of suxamethonium. I know it's all about rocuronium in adult medicine, but we still intubate our babies with sux. I know what it does, and how quickly it works. I need that predictability. Sadly it is evident to me I probably didn't need either the benzodiazepine or the muscle paralysis. I could well have tubed him cold. And that made my heart sink to its lowest level yet. At least that amount of midaz will stop him seizing again for a bit. Fortuitously too, and intentionally, by using sux at least I'll know if it doesn't. A size 8 endotracheal tube seems massive in my hand compared to the 3.5 I use on term babies, and the 2.5 on the extreme prems. But the anatomy is not so different that I can't adapt and negotiate. The airway contains vomit further down, as I predicted. He has aspirated. He will have a chemical pneumonitis at least and won't be running around for a while. That's if he can ever run again. Because right now, I'm resigning to the possibility that Damon, just like Anthony, maybe descending into a coma from which he, this time unlike Anthony, may never awaken. He is loaded into the ambulance. He has a secure airway, is being ventilated, or assisted if we are trying to be optimistic, by a paramedic, he has sinus rhythm with a good pulse and blood pressure, no sign of Cushing effect, IV access and fluid running. He has had some medication to prevent further seizures. There is nothing more I can do. Of course something I hadn't previously thought of now creeps into my mind, consolidating from my coma fears. What if, in my efforts to save him, to stop him from dying, I have done nothing but forever entrap him in a persistent vegetative state? A fate worse than death. What if I have condemned him to that? I have a sudden and overwhelming urge to vomit. I taste it in my mouth. I have to swallow it back down and brace myself. I honestly don't know what I have done. But it is what I had to do. I couldn't do nothing. I couldn't let him die. I just have to hope that it will be enough. The paramedics are prepared to leave and take him to the nearest hospital. Richmond Private. There is a general expectation I will accompany them, which of course is my intent. I quickly approach Lucinda, who has stood well back in silence. "Get Stephen and meet me at the hospital Cinders," I instruct. "Is he going to be okay Kim?" I can't lie to her. "I'm not sure. I need to see his CT. Just come quickly," I say grimly. Haste for her is not essential. But I have made her feel it is. This is perhaps selfish. Because the only reason she needs to hurry is because I want her with me if things take a turn for the worse. So maybe I can lie after all. By omission. But right now I'm unrepentant. I do not want to be alone when some pimply faced ED Registrar comes out to tell me he's coning, or he needs an urgent craniotomy, or something equally dire. For the second time in 5 days I climb into the back of an ambulance with a critical patient, someone very important to me, and I'm thinking how much my life beggars belief. Chapter 30 Similarly to Anthony, the moment we arrive in the Emergency department I can relinquish my role as a medical carer. This is their bread and butter. They will look after him far better than I could. He is taken away from me as I am asked for clerical details. I don't know any of course. Not even his date of birth. But Stephen and Lucinda will. Nonetheless it makes any claims of being family or significant other extremely dubious. I will have to wait for my friends to arrive if I have any hope of getting in to see him. The parallels with Anthony continue. At Wullendonga Hospital I sat in the waiting room because technically I was nothing to Anthony. I wasn't family. I wasn't a friend. Even passing myself off as childhood classmate Melanie I was still a stranger to him. What was true then I guess is true now. I am nothing to Anthony Wilkins. The only ties we have really is that I'm housemates with his sister and we have a couple of mutual friends, particularly Lucinda. Now I'm in the waiting room again because technically I'm also nothing to Damon Wall. Just some chick who went on one date with him and doesn't even know his birthday. Yet I feel so invested in both these men's lives. For different reasons obviously but the commonality is that I have had a great deal of input into their living and dying. Which I sincerely wish I'd never had to have. This time I sit in the waiting room in clothes that are neither skimpy nor soiled, so I suppose I should be grateful for that. When Lucinda and Stephen arrive, which still feels as if an age has elapsed, even though I'm sure it's not, I throw myself on Lucinda and sob. I'm mindful of Stephen's proximity so I can't say all the things I want to. But I don't even know what that might be. I'm sorry that this is all my fault. I have brought an evil back into her life and the lives of her friends and put them all in danger. Do I dare share that with her? Will that make her hate me again? Instead I say nothing. Just smother her in a tight embrace, which aids my sorrow but also contains at least some vested interest. Just to be held by her again. "How is he?" she asks, as expected. "I don't know," I whimper. "I've been out here. They asked me for his personal details and I didn't know any. I feel like a fraud." "You're no fraud Kim. What I just witnessed was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I totally believe Clare now when she was ranting about how you single handedly saved Anthony. Wow." If it wasn't in such tragic circumstances maybe it would be significant that we had both seen each other in action today. Doing what we do best. And I couldn't speak for her, but I got the impression she felt the same as me. We were both in awe of what the other was capable of. How the awkward kids we last knew each other as had become such competent adults. But there was no incentive to celebrate that. Especially with the secret I knew I had to share with Lucinda. "I think this was my fault," I confess. "What? How?" Lucinda is confused. I open my mouth, but glance at Stephen, standing awkwardly by. Lucinda tracks my gaze and seems to understand. "Stephen, go give Damon's details to the clerks. You may need to ring the club to get his Medicare number and health insurance details." I raise my eyebrows slightly. "Footballers wife," Lucinda says as if stating the obvious. "This is not my first visit to an Emergency department." In spite of my mood I raise a small smile. She sits us back down on the plastic chairs. "Now what are you saying Kim? There's no way this can be your fault." "It is." "How?" She's incredulous. "I'm cursed." "What?" "The spell. That Beth did. I don't think she realised, or that we've really known till now. But it was more than a simple body swap spell." As if such things are commonplace or simple. But in the story of my life it certainly features. "I think it was some ancient evil curse. That comes with severe repercussions." "Why would you say that?" "Because my life has so completely fallen apart. Then what happened to Anthony. And now Damon. I'm so sorry Lucinda. I've brought evil into your life. I didn't mean to." "That's rubbish Kim. I don't believe in that stuff." "I don't think we get to not believe it Cinders. We both know from Rupert that things such as Succubuses do exist. Unless it was just a marketing ploy to sell Succubus killing potion to you." I'm a little facetious. But it does make me think about him. "Rupert also says that the Universe likes to be balanced. And I have upset that balance. He said it had to re-equilibrate. Which is why I could never be Anthony again. Well not permanently. He said any transforming spell now would just fail and I'd revert back to this. That the Universe has readjusted and rendered me eternally Kimberley. Maybe in doing so it has tainted my life with evil." "I don't believe that would happen. You haven't done anything to deserve that." "Aside from belligerently trying to wrench Anthony from his body. In spite of all of you, and the Universe telling me not to. I mean look at the visions." "What about them?" "They are the manifestations of that evil. They have shown me nothing but bleak futures. Me as a single mum whoring to feed my baby. Or in an abusive relationship with the man who raped me." "But what about the one of us?" "That was designed just to make me suffer more. Clearly I guess. Like all of them." "No. It wasn't." "How so?" I say resigned and disbelieving. "It was designed to bring us back together. Don't you see? We both had it. So that I could finally understand you were you. And the one's of Anthony, and of Damon. They were so you could save them. I don't think it's a curse Kim. I think it's a gift. I think these two medical emergencies are just unrelated bad luck. Sure, maybe you had a hand in precipitating Anthony's actions, but Clare believes it was something brewing that was going to happen independent of you, and the fortunate thing was you were there when it did." "I haven't told you about the Damon vision though Cinders," I say bleakly. Unconvinced. "Well I gather you knew something was about to happen." "It was his funeral I saw Cinders." It's said sombrely. It's the only way it can be said. "Oh." "I don't know if I've done enough to prevent it. And if I have I can't help feel I've sentenced him to a permanently comatose half life. Maybe in place of Anthony." "Stop it Kim." It's not aggressive. Just stern. "You're not cursed. And Damon getting smacked in the head is not your fault. It's because Chad Lebeger is a dick and he knows he'll never live up to Damon." "I can't believe that Lucinda. I think the only hope for the people I love, you and Clare and Ally and Damon, is if I get away from you all." My plans to be Melanie Clarke may have changed. I was still a Doctor. So I had to keep my own identity for that. But running away to Perth still seemed the best idea. It's the most isolated Western city in the world apparently. "No Kim. You're not running. You're staying. And I'll prove to you that you aren't cursed." Her seriousness is intimidating. "I can't." I'm not sure what it is I can't do. Stay, I assume. "Well we'll negotiate after Damon wakes up." "What if he doesn't?" "He will." It was the optimism of a lay person. A non medical person. I had no right to deflate it. "Okay," I concede. Stephen wanders back with perfect timing. "We can go in soon. He's had his CAT scan." "Did they say what it showed?" I quiz abruptly. "No I.." Stephen has no idea of course. It was a stupid question to ask him. I start to pace now. I need to see that CT. In due course, after another eon, a Doctor comes to fetch us. I restrain myself from blurting questions. "You're Damon's family?" He begins "Yes," Lucinda answers. We had touched on Damon's parents when I was conversing with him on our lunch date, but hadn't got to siblings. His parents lived in Sydney now, he had informed me. But Damon was originally from Victoria. Maybe he did have family here, but for now, we were it. "This is his girlfriend," Lucinda says for the second time. Continuing to propagate the mistruth. How's Damon going to feel, when he wakes up, I muse, and finds out I'm officially his girlfriend? I'm surprised by my own optimism. About the waking more so than the enforced relationship status. Especially when I fear what I am about to discover on that CT. "She's a paediatrician. She wants to know what's on his CAT scan," Lucinda continues. "Oh." He introduces himself. He's an Emergency physician. I felt like I wanted the neurosurgeon but I guess this is a start. "I've got it on screen." Meaning the CT. "You can look yourself." I'm very happy with that plan. We stop at the CT screen before we even get to Damon. I study it closely. We don't CT our babies brains a lot. For obvious reasons. Intracranial haemorrhages are common in the prems. Much the same pathology as the retinopathy and blindness everyone associates with prematurity. Due to overzealous oxygenation, in part. But we have the advantage of being able to ultrasound their brains through the fontanelles, the areas of the skull where bone plates grow, and allow easy access. So I look with vagueness, trying to appear abreast of it all. I know what blood looks like on a CT brain though. I scan up and down the images. It can be any of several types. Intracerebral, subdural, extradural or subarachnoid. Not to be all inclusive either. After repeated scrolls through I see none. "No blood?" I say. I'm relative confident in my analysis but I wanted surety; so it had to be a question. "Not that I can see," the ED guy replies. "He seized after the head strike," I impart. "Could be diffuse axonal injury, or it could be just a major concussion." God, talk about a differential. Two diagnoses with completely opposite prognostic outcomes. He leads us to Damon whilst I process that. He is on a ventilator now, with more infusions running, with an arterial line in his wrist for moment to moment Blood Pressure monitoring. Whilst Lucinda and Stephen process the shock of the scene I focus. "What's in the infusions?" Hoping not to hear Adrenaline, or similar. "Sedation." "Did he need it?' I clutch at the hope. "Yep. Biting on the tube, semi-purposeful movement." Oh Thank God. "It doesn't sound like D.A.I. then does it?" I say, in near joyous outburst. Then I suddenly feel faint. I had been so pent up by my own natural pressors because of my anxiety, my body has sensed the good news before my brain has, I have relaxed, and suddenly lost all vascular tone, without any particular ability to compensate that quickly. My vision tunnels, my hearing fails. Oh my God, I think; my last conscious thought; I'm really going to do this. As I slump to the ground, blacking out, I feel the sensation of someone catching me. Chapter 31 I awake on a hospital trolley, in a hospital gown, and I'm mortified. I still have my bra and undies on. So there is that. Less likely that I soiled myself then. I'm on a monitor and it feels like overkill. The Doctor and nurse don't realise I'm awake and I overhear him say. "Make sure you send off a beta." Fuck. I think; you know what; I wouldn't be at all surprised if it's positive. Perhaps because Damon never got around to doing it, whatever evil spirit has cursed me probably had to do it itself. I'm probably gestating some demon baby right now as we speak. Or more precisely they speak. As I lie here feeling embarrassed, and wondering if I can tell if I feel pregnant. But my thoughts spring back to Damon before I fixate too long on the concept of some deformed hideous evil creature bursting forth from my uterus "Alien" style. The last thing I remember was a normal CT and semi purposeful movement. The Doctor in my room is the same one treating Damon. I guess he inherited me as a patient when I collapsed in front of him. I'm pretty sure it was Stephen that caught me. Damnit. I can't remember his name. I wasn't really listening. "Doctor?" I announce indiscriminately. "I'm awake." He turns towards me. "How do you feel?" "Fine." I'm honest. "A little sheepish. I've never fainted before." Which wasn't true. But I did not want to think about the one other time. Not now. Or ever again really. "Well you've been through a lot." "Damon?" The name is enough. It's a lengthy wordless question. He knows what I want. "We'll keep him sedated overnight. Wean in the morning. And if he doesn't wake up; well, you know, MRI." "Can I stay with him?" "Well you're a patient yourself." "I'm fine. It's a faint. I know the drill." "I want to give you a stat litre." "I'll just pee it out." "Humour me." "Okay," I comply. "And let me know when my beta HCG is back." "Do you think you might be pregnant?" "I've learnt to expect anything, these days." "Well are you and Damon using contraception?" "The best kind apparently," I say and thankfully he doesn't clarify. I suppose if I am pregnant with a demon baby it will kind of prove my point to Lucinda. I'm allowed up and out once the fluids through. Lucinda had been vacillating between the two of us, but my reassurances I was fine seemed to have finally sated her. I join her in Damon's room. I'm still gowned, but securely tied. I'd seen enough bare arses and undies on the mothers of my babies to not want my intimate apparel exposed. Besides they were a brand new matching set of Simone Perele 'Andora' bra and brief that Lucinda had made me buy and wear hours earlier. Just in case the good Mr Wall was ever so obliging, after the footy. So that I at least looked my seductive best; even if truthfully I was a nervous little virgin. I'm mortified again at the thought of the nurses or whoever undressed me whilst I was unconscious thinking 'Look at this skank in her Saturday night specials.' (Even though it was Friday night.) Typical bimbo WAG. But I can't do anything about it now. Except struggle to maintain my dignity. Both physically, by keeping the back of the gown shut, and mentally, by reminding myself I'm neither a skank nor a bimbo. Although skank and bimbo seems like a better identifier than sex starved health professional, so maybe I should just own it. Lucinda watches me for a time. So long that I finally have to say "What?" "Do you think he'll wake up tomorrow? Now that you've seen his scan." I want to say yes. But dare I? "If he does; then at least we know you're right. I'm not cursed after all." Demon baby pending, I think, but don't say. "Then he will." Lucinda smiles. I'm eventually allowed to dress. Being effectively discharged. It's now well after midnight. As I just complete that task of recladding my doctor returns. "Well I'm not sure if this is good news or bad news," he says jovially. "But you're not pregnant." "Good news," I reply. And I am relieved. Which meant at least some part of me thought a demon baby a possibility. That's such a grim testament to my life really. He looks at my chart. If he's looking at my age I'm going to punch him in the face. Well maybe if he makes comment on it. Something like, 'Well don't leave it too late.' But he doesn't. Dressed and returning to my friends I have a mission. "You two should go," I say to Lucinda and Stephen. "I know this has probably put a dampener on your romantic weekend at Crown, but you can't do anything for him now." "Neither can you Kim," Lucinda retorts. "I know. But I am the girlfriend after all. So it's my duty. To stay I mean. It's just that Damon doesn't know we're in a relationship yet. And may not be impressed when he finds out," I joke. "If every word that's come out of his mouth for the last two weeks is any guide." It's Stephen's turn to speak. "He'll be ecstatic to wake up and find out that you two are a couple." "Really?" I say with coy surprise. "Oh God. Yes. And you'd bloody better get together and stay together. I'm sick to death of hearing him agonise over you." I smile. Stephen doesn't seem to be a talk about your feelings type. Damon is probably more so. But I sense the behaviour of the lovesick a little if he's constantly been prattling about me. Maybe I do in fact have a boyfriend after all. I feel a tiny bit guilty in the comfort I take from that. Even though Damon is my all encompassing focus, there is still something I remember I have to tell Lucinda. After much insistence, Stephen and Lucinda agree to leave and go to the hotel. I take the opportunity to tell them what I'd done. Earlier in the day, before the football game and all the disaster that had since ensued, I'd made an impassioned plea on the phone, in Lucinda's absence. After excusing myself for a moment whilst we were shopping, I'd called the ma?tre de at Maha, who as luck would have it, had been on the day before, and been a recipient of the rather large tip left for a meal not eaten. He had agreeably arranged a special table for two for Saturday night. I arranged payment via voucher. Now that it was done, even in spite of what was happening, I could not bear to think of another paid for meal at Maha not being utilised. I took great joy in announcing what I organised for them both. They weren't sure of course, given the circumstances, about a night on the tear, but I was convincing. "It's still nearly 24 hours away," I explain. "He'll be all better by then. Sitting up eating jelly. So you should dine better than that." "We can't be having fun when Damon's like this." Lucinda is reticent. "But I'll be with him no matter what. And I'm the right girl for the job after all. I'll call you if anything happens." "I'd be up for a posh night out. Especially if I'm not paying," Stephen remarks. "We should be paying though. Why Kim?" "Because I want to thankyou for saving my career. I know that maybe when you did it wasn't with the best of intents. But I think that's changed now." "It sure has," she affirms "Go to the hotel. Get some rest," I order. "I'll see you tomorrow before your dinner no doubt. Hopefully with good news." "I don't want to leave you here by yourself Kim." "I'm not by myself Cinders. I'm with Damon." I try to say it cheerily. Lucinda grins at me wryly; and then hugs me tightly to signal imminent departure. "I don't know what I have done to deserve you," she whispers. "But I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. To have a best friend like you." I blush. "You're welcome," I say. I'm not sure if it's the reply I wanted, but it was the best I could do. I sit at Damon's bedside and watch them leave hand in hand for their hotel. I am happy for her. It's easy to be. She has a loving husband, gorgeous kids, if their photos are any guide, and a great career. As 18 year old Anthony or 31 year old Kimberley I would have wished this life for her every moment of every day. I'm glad I'm a part of it once again. And, to be honest, I'm happy with my role in it. At least I'm confident I will be. I'm her best friend. Just as I was when we were kids. The Universe or whatever is responsible for me has perhaps just made it easier for us to consolidate that now. By making us the same gender. I will see a side of Cinders her husband will not see. I will know her in ways her husband will not know. Just as it will be the same for him. I'm an important part of her life. I feel confident of a future time when that romantic love I feel for her will be substituted for an equally strong and valid sisterly sort of love. Similarly; I don't think I'll always pine for a future lost. I'll learn to love the future I make with her, as we are now. It's going to be a fun ride. I just have to give into it. In this regard; in this significant section of my life, I know now that everything is going to be okay. I grasp Damon's hand. This is the part of my life that seems far less certain. Will he wake? If he does will he even remember me? It's not uncommon to lose the last few weeks of your life to retrograde amnesia after a major head injury. If he does remember me will he even want me? I haven't exactly been a picture of compliant enthusiasm in this courtship. I don't even know what I have to offer him. What I could even bring to a relationship? But I feel like I'm getting too far ahead of myself. He is moved to ICU at some stage around 2am. The nurses there are far less enthusiastic about my staying, but, for a slight moment of fortune, the Registrar on was the year behind me at Uni, and although I don't recall him, which was a little awkward, he reminds me I was always nice to him, and digs his heels in a little on my behalf. I fall asleep in the chair beside Damon's bed. My hand still in his. My head resting forward on the edge of the mattress. The hum of the floor polisher approaching in the predawn wakes me, but I drift in a semi-lucid sleep deprived state for a time. Until Damon firmly squeezes my hand. I shoot upright, alert, and the nurse senses my change in demeanour and comes close. We both lean in for inspection of further evidence of rousability, and, I'm certain it's for me, rather than her, he slowly but definitively opens his eyes. Chapter 32 It all happens rather quickly. The nurse has subtly ceased the propofol infusion at some point recently, whilst I was asleep, and he's coming out of the influence of it. His body now free of sedation (it's a drug that wears off quickly) and his brain now seemingly working again, he starts coughing on the endotracheal tube and the nurse moves efficiently to deflate the balloon and extract it from his throat. Another 20 seconds of bright red faced splutter ensues before he settles enough. "Kim." He says his first word to me with confusion in his tone. "What's going on?" I laugh gently. "Here I was sure your first words were going to be 'Who are you?'" He senses the lightness in my tone but still looks uncertain. "You're okay," I quickly reassure. "You got knocked out in the game. You've been unconscious for about 10 hours." "What game?" He begins. Looking suddenly bewildered. "Where's Dani? I want my wife." I gasp. I'm panic stricken. Where does he think he is? Or more damningly, when does he think this is? Does he not remember any of the last year? But if he doesn't how does he remember my name? I feel sick. He still thinks he's happily married. He studies my face of perplexed concern then laughs, loudly. "Was that more what you were expecting?" "That's not funny," I scold. With a laughter that's more relief than humour. "I've been worried sick about you." He looks guilty then. Realising perhaps it was a joke in very poor taste. "This one hasn't left your side all night," the nurse chimes in. He doesn't respond to her but asks, of me, in an attempt to orient himself. "What time is it?" "It's about 7am Saturday morning. You're in ICU at Richmond Private," I add. "That's in Melbourne by the way." Which is mostly a joke. "And this thing around my neck?" "It's a Philadelphia collar. You went down like a sack of spuds when you were hit. Your CT's normal but we still need to make sure your neck is okay. Does it hurt?" "My neck? No." I turn to the nurse. "Can we clear his C spine and get this off. I'm happy to do it but I don't think you'll let me." "No," she scowls. "I'll get the Registrar." I smirk. "Lucinda and Stephen were here too." I want him to know. "Till the early hours. But I sent them away." Damon suddenly starts coughing again. Like his prior episode he's a Reddy purple under the strain of it. Being in the collar makes it all the worse. I just want to rip it off. But I have to remember I'm just the visitor, not the Doctor. Having been recently intimate with his airway I know it is exactly what I predicted. Damon is understandably distressed by his coughing. He looks towards the nurse for either explanation or reassurance. I feel a tiny pang he doesn't look towards me. I do the talking anyway, when he's receptive enough to sensory input as the spluttering dies away. "When you were knocked out you fitted and you vomited. A lot of that vomit got in your lungs. It's going to make you cough and wheeze and it'll be hard to breathe for a while." Damon's eyes go wide. "Isn't That How Jimi Hendrix died?" he exclaims. "What?" "Suffocated on his own vomit?" "I think so," I say uncertainly. It was undoubtedly how you died that necessitated the funeral of my vision. I of course don't say. "So am I brain damaged?" He seems concerned. "No," I retort. "At least I don't think so." I saved you from that I have an urge to also say, but yet again don't. "Everything got shaken up a fair bit. You may have post concussion syndrome for a while. But that will pass." "Pity." "Pity What?" "That I'm not brain damaged. The girl I like is an ex cheerleader. If I was now a dumb footballer I wouldn't be too smart for her anymore." "Are you going to hold that over me forever?" I ask. But with good humour. "What? Being a cheerleader?" "No. I'm not ashamed of that. I meant assuming you were a dumb jock." "Only till it runs out of mileage. Then I'll resort to negging." "How about: 'That's a bold choice of new hair colour. I don't blame you though. You were probably sick of the attention from men,'" I offer as suggestion. "Wow. You're really good at that!" "Years of being a recipient really." "I really do like your hair Kim. I think I'd like it no matter however it comes." "Thankyou Damon. You're really way too sweet, naive and charming to be any good at negging." "Did you just neg me?" I laugh. "I shouldn't laugh," he says. "It makes my headache worse." "That's expected. You won't tolerate noise or be able to concentrate for any length for the next week or two but it'll pass." "But I'll be able to play finals though. If we're in. Did we win?" "Damon! No!" I'm probably more aggressive than intended. "You're not playing again. It's too dangerous. Another knock could do serious damage." "But it's finals! So we did win?" "Honestly I don't know. I was too busy..." Saving your life. "...worrying about you to keep score. And we were already on our way here when the game ended." "Oh. Have you got your phone. I'll look it up." "No electronic devices!" Oh God. What are you doing Kim? There is no way in hell this man is going to want to touch you if you keep behaving like his mother. "I'm sorry Damon," I say softly. A little contritely. "I know I'm being all Doctor Killjoy. It's just that this was far more serious than you realize. I've seen several people die from a hit to the head like yours." "Who was it? Chad?" "I think so. Although I didn't see." "I'm not sure what his problem is. He got the girl after all. Stole her. I'm the aggrieved one. I should be hitting him." "You'll do no such thing." Fuck it Kimberley. You're an idiot. Are you deliberately sabotaging yourself? "Are you aggrieved?" I steady again. Actually concerned by his statement. "Does she really feel stolen?" He looks reflective. "Kim. I would never want her back. Not in a million years. And not even because of what she did. But because I've been ruined now. I've seen something so much better. I've met someone so much better." I think he means me. But it feels presumptuous to assume that. I navigate from it. "So you've missed your flight back." I state the obvious. "The club were going to leave someone behind with you but Stephen kind of proxied that role. "I was thinking that maybe you should stay with me. Once you're discharged. For some close medical supervision. Until you're fit to fly." Was that too much? Besides there is no way a concussed man should be having sex for a few days at least. That's a sure way to blow a subarachnoid I reckon. Although Clare could be back any day. She said she'd be back this weekend. So we will have to share a bed if she returns. Am I too much of a temptation? Is he? Otherwise I suppose I'm on the couch. Do I just assume that the universe is doing its utmost to thwart me again? "Well that's certainly one way to get a man back to your flat," Damon jokes. "It's strictly professional," I add. More to cover myself from embarrassment. Chapter 33 The intensive Care ward round began at 8am. The Intensivist saw an awake Damon as an easy early discharge and hastened to him with her entourage. I did my best to blend in to the background. I would leave if they asked but I was hoping to stay and glean what I could. I didn't know the Intensivist nor her me. This was no surprise really as there was little if any overlap between adult intensive care and neonatal. They were two very different things. So I planned to be just somebody passing unnoticed in the corner. But my old acquaintance the night registrar whose name I'd (if I ever knew it) forgotten didn't seem keen to allow that. "This is his girlfriend Kimberley," the Registrar announced to his boss. "She's not my girlfriend." Damon rapidly and pointedly interjects, and whilst that is true and accurate I feel my heart sink. I would have felt much better if he'd just let it slide. Especially when I'd been passing myself off as that since his hospital arrival. In spite of everything it still seems like I'm a perpetual fraud. It's awkward now. Even a little tense. "We're good friends," I offer. Contradicting everything I'd both said and perhaps intimated up to that point but hoping it still exuded enough ambiguity in my tone. I gave pause to consider why Damon might have felt compulsion to say that. But, frankly, it was the truth so I couldn't really get all flighty about it. After regathering in response to the revelation the Registrar continues. "She's a paediatric trainee." Yet another statement of inaccuracy. But this one could possibly stand uncorrected unless I felt the strong need to. Which I didn't. The intensivist surveys me with more attentiveness now. "Oh," she says. "It's you." I'm trying to ascertain which 'you' she means exactly. Her tone didn't reveal it specifically. I guess though, of all the me's she could possibly mean, none were too flattering. Or even endearing. The poisoner. The drug cheat. The general slattern. Take your pick really. "Well done with the board the other day. Justice done I feel." I flush. Feeling every bit as exposed as I am. "Oh. Sorry." She senses my apparent discomfort. "I've a friend on the panel. It's not as if everybody is talking about you." Said in a way that made me wonder if In fact they were. "I'm Julia. Julia Vessoro." "Kimberley. Kimberley Jacobs," I say superfluously. Not because I need no introduction, but the Registrar has already done so. "I've been hunted down already by Giants management," Julia directs at both of us. In spite of the hour of awakening and their late departure I'd texted Lucinda the moment Damon regained consciousness. Stephen had obviously informed whoever he needed to. "I'm not a big fan of being told what to do. But We'll do an MRI anyway." "If the CT's normal and he's awake..... I don't see what it will add," I point out gently. I feel like Julia agrees with me. "Apparently a normal MRI is important to them." "But if they were serious about making sure Damon was okay then we should be doing neuropsychological testing not more scans." "Agreed. But welcome to private medicine." Julia says cynically. "Where the customer always gets what they want." Julia invites me to study Damon's MRI when the films are back. Whilst I could make a reasonable fist of appraising an adult CT I had to concede to myself I was totally bluffing now. After a prolonged pause of perusal, Julia speaks. "Do you know what you are looking for?" But she says it in a way that disarms me. "No. Not a clue." She laughs gently. "Me neither. Let's wait for the report hey?" "I'm going to take him home after you discharge him. Just so I can watch him," I explain for reasons unclear. "Well you are a good friend," she says a little provocatively. I leave it alone. I feel as transparent as glass. And maybe as superficial as froth. "I'm actually more worried about his aspiration Julia. Than his head. In the short term I mean." "Hmmm," she muses. "There's nothing much I can do about that. Antibiotics aren't even of any proven benefit in a chemical pneumonitis." "But we give them anyway," I clarify. "Well in neonates at least." "Same here," she adds. She looks thoughtful, and I can't help but wonder what she's processing. I find out soon enough though. "What are you going to do now? If you don't mind me asking." It's polite. "What do you mean?" "In terms of a job. I know you got fired." Her tone is sympathetic though. "I haven't really thought about it. It's all a bit acute. I actually didn't expect to still have a license to practice," I answer honestly. "Do you want a job?" "What? Here?" I'm stunned. "Why not?" "Because I don't do adult medicine. And you don't even know me. And I suppose my reputation precedes me." "Are you saying you're no good?" "No. I mean I'm okay. At the medical stuff. I'm just not sure I'm worth the baggage." "Well you were good enough to save him." She indicates Damon, across the room. "I'd give you a chance." "Thank you," I say. "I'll keep it in mind." And I will. She seems genuine. Truthfully, I'll run out of money sooner or later. I had my nest egg I suppose. Still in my name of course; as it had never been transferred to Anthony like my premonition; thanks to Lucinda's former unwillingness to help me. Yes, I was still a licenced medical practitioner, albeit an unemployed one. And I honestly had no idea what my prospects were. There may indeed be almost no-one in this land willing to take me on. So Julia Vessoro's offer may well be the only one I get. I take Damon home to my flat that afternoon. It could do with a tidy. But with the hearing and Lucinda staying, and before that Ally, I've not had a chance and the place is not at its best. I don't want him thinking I'm a slob. I make the appropriate apologies. He doesn't seem to care. Perhaps the OCD Alice alleges I have has made me excessively house proud. But I suppose I am being a concussion stickler when I enforce the no screens/ no phones rule. So OCD it is. I let him rest and wait on him as needed. Hoping I'm not setting unliveable precedents for myself, but probe him a little for conversation. In the guise of testing his long term memory it's all a ruse to learn more about him. His story unfolds before me. Adding depth to the layers I uncovered at our Sydney lunch. He really is a decent guy. Lucinda picks her friends well it seems. By dusk, a few hours later he looks exhausted. He indicates such. I take him to my bedroom. "Well it didn't take you long to get me in your bed," he says slyly. "No unnecessary physical exertion," I reply sharply. But I smile. "I have a six pack you know. If that will change your mind." "I've already seen it. At the hospital," I say dismissively, teasingly. "Oh." He's momentarily taken aback. "And what else did you see?" "Everything," I lie. "And?....." "It can all certainly wait." I laugh. "Do you seriously think you'd be up for that?" "It's been so long. I think I'm always up for that." "Men!" I mock. He's been celibate for less than two years at most. Tell me when you get to 31 years and then we can talk. I think, and certainly don't vocalize. He has another coughing fit induced by the humour of my provocation. He'd continued to have them all day. I was trying harder to hide my concern when he was in the midst of them. He settles, but expects me to speak. "It'll get better. It just takes a while." Which is true. I leave him shortly after and he's asleep when I check minutes later. I pull the door over but not completely closed. Chapter 34 No sooner had I done so my own front door is unlocked and opened. In marches my sister and her fianc?. "Clare," I half squeal. Softly and tentatively. "Hey," she replies. I hug her awkwardly and nervously. She reciprocates, and it seems more natural. It's reassuring. I don't approach Mark though, but I offer a meek smile. "Welcome back. How is he?" Meaning Anthony of course. "Good. Doing so much better. On his way back to his old self really," she adds cheerily. Unthinking perhaps. "Oh," I say. Hiding my conflict. "I'm so glad. That's great." "I mean he's still got a way to go. But he'll be fine I think. It's been a big wake up to us all." "Yes," is about all I can say to that. "Congratulations on your hearing. I'm very happy for you," Clare refreshes the topic. "I'm very relieved." Which is so true. I feel she really is happy for me. We'll be okay I think. It just might take a while. Maybe if she knew Lucinda was back on my side she'd come around to. "I'm still unemployed though," I continue. "Although I was offered a job this morning." "Really! Where?" "ICU at Richmond Private." She gives me a quizzical look. It could be for any myriad of questions that statement may induce. "It might be a good backup if I've burnt all my bridges in paediatrics." She doesn't say anything so I speak again. "Listen guys. As wonderful as it is to see you I was wondering if you could stay at Mark's tonight." "Why?" she asks as expected. "I've just got someone staying here." "A guy?" Clare pounces. "Well yes. But that's not really..." "Who is he? Anyone I know?" She's enthused. Do I owe my sister that? I suppose I do. "Damon Wall." "The footballer.? Why you sly little minx," she teases. "As I was trying to say," I retort. "It's not like that. He's injured. I'm just being his nurse." "Oh yeah," Mark speaks, with what he feels is a relevant contribution. "I heard he got knocked out cold last night." "Yes. He's got PCS. I'm keeping an eye on him." "Well if you are playing nurse I've got a naughty nurses outfit you can borrow." "Clare, please!" I laugh. "I don't want to know. Besides what would our work colleagues say about your appropriating. And stereotyping." "What makes you think I'm the one who wears it?" Clare baits. "Oh really," I say. "I think this family is only big enough for one boy in a dress." I look directly at Mark. "That's your cue to apologise dumbarse," Clare says to her betrothed. But she does so for him. "He doesn't really think that. About you. He's just a jerk. Although it will still serve you better to get laid so you don't feel the need to paw my fianc? Kimberley," she adds. "Unless you already have?" "None of your business," I reply. "That's a no then." "That's a please stay at Mark's." "Okay then. Don't get pissy. Lucky we didn't unpack the car." "I'm not pissy," I defend. "I'm just thinking of the invalid." "Sorry Kim," Mark speaks. "Clare's right. I know you're not..... You know. It was my problem not yours." He proffers the apology he was made to give. I smile an acknowledging acceptance but I'm mindful of them saying something that Damon might overhear that might defy explanation. I look anxiously at the slightly ajar door. "That's the best you'll get I think Kim. He's got the 'guilts' because he's engaged to me but has the hots for my sister. I think he liked it when you felt him up." "I didn't mean to Clare," I defend myself. "I dunno. Trying to kill my brother and steal my fella. You're just lucky I love you." "Are we at the stage where we can joke about it?" "Apparently. Alright. Let's go Mark. Kimberley clearly doesn't want our company." "Sorry Clare." "Good luck sis." The warmth is returning so much quicker than I'd hoped. "Come back tomorrow though. I want to talk. I want things to be back how they were." "They will be," she concedes. And she can see how happy I am at that prospect. They leave. And although I'm not specifically alone, I feel it. My life has been a nonstop whirlwind for over two weeks. Only now do I feel things may abate. After a while I check on my patient. He's still asleep. Not wanting to be creepy I watch him for just a moment. Is that my future in that bed? At least in the short term. Jesus Kim; I scold myself. If you spent less time agonizing about it and more time doing something about it then you'd have got somewhere by now. I don't know whether it was pride or self respect, by the thought of sidling into bed with him right now seemed desperately brazen. Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll sort out what this and where it's going once and for all. With an adult conversation. I turn towards Clare's room and go to bed. Chapter 35 Damon awakes whilst I'm midway through making him breakfast. He staggers into the kitchen. "How are you feeling?" I ask in lieu of good morning. "Better," he says. "I'm making you breakfast. I have no idea what big burly footballers are supposed to eat. Maybe just protein shakes. But I figure the full fry might be good for your brain." "That looks good. Smells it too. But I don't have a lot of time. Is it asking too much if you could run me to the airport." I deflate. "I thought you could stay...." "The Giants have been texting me since the early hours. I need to catch a flight pretty soon. I have to