Marriage Rehab
- 1 year ago
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Return From The Dark SideChapter 12: Rehab free porn video
Henry groaned under his breath and concentrated on relaxing his muscles. This hurt a lot. The woman who manhandled his leg had bent his injured knee as far as it would go and apparently that was not far enough for her. So she bent it some more. She saw the perspiration on his forehead.
"Jesus, Major, why don't you tell me if it hurts that bad. You know, I can't help you if you play the hero."
He looked at her guiltily. Ever since joining the regiment sixteen years ago, he had conditioned himself not to show weakness. He had learned to regard pain as a mere sensation, sensory nerves firing signals thus advising him of an injury. This attitude had also served him well over the recent weeks. He had been off pain killers within a week after the surgery, astounding everybody familiar with his case.
"Sorry, Janis," he exhaled. "Can't break the habit I suppose."
"Well try, for God's sake. I know what they call me here, but I don't enjoy hurting people."
She bent his leg again, this time more carefully.
"Tell me when it hurts and be honest!"
She bent the leg slowly, watching his face. Finally, he nodded.
"Ouch?"
"See, that wasn't too difficult. We're almost done for today. I want you to do twenty minutes on the spinning bike. And you will not increase the resistance like you did last time. This is to give you back mobility. You are not training for the bloody Tour de France. Just easy spinning. Got that?"
Henry breathed his relief. Spinning was a breeze compared with what Janet Cronebush, aka Bonecrush, put him through regularly. He knew she meant well, but her attitude was pure Banzai.
Thirty minutes later, he gingerly stepped into a shower stall. While his leg had healed enough for him to walk slowly, he was leery of slipping in the shower. The hot water was soothing to his aching muscles.
Getting his body back in shape was hard work, even discounting his left knee. He had lain in bed for the better part of a month, and the pneumonia he had caught while still in the hospital had required high doses of antibiotics, weakening him considerably.
He had two hours time before lunch. He used it to walk the length of the small park that belonged to the rehab centre. He could walk without a cane now. His knee was supported by braces that were strapped to his thigh and calf. The support would be gone in a week or so, and that would be the point in time when they would release him. Sitting on a bench in the autumn sun, he idly watched as delivery vans and taxi cabs drove up to the main entrance.
Shortly before noon, he saw a Range Rover approaching. His mood improved. He had not seen Ellen in days and he missed her presence. Somehow, they had rebuilt the friendship and the trust of their youth, blocking out the dreadful fourteen years of their estrangement. As far as Henry knew, he was the only man Ellen ever met except for Andrew. Conversely, Ellen was the only person who knew about his conflicting feelings for Josie Maxwell.
He stood carefully and walked over to the main entrance. Ellen just stepped from her car and saw him. With a few steps she was at his side.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come these last days. I've been in court yesterday. It's finished, Harry. Ted is officially dead."
Ellen had finally had her husband Ted declared dead.
Henry was the only person who knew Ted Winthorp's final resting place, but Ellen had a very good idea that it had been Henry who'd had a hand in her husband's mysterious disappearance. She knew it, and he knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew that she knew ... Usually and by tacit agreement, they did not touch on the subject anymore.
"My condolences," Henry grinned nevertheless.
To his surprise, Ellen reached up with her hand and pulled his head down. Her lips were soft and inviting, yielding to his tongue, and Henry felt her deep yearning for tenderness as they kissed.
"There!" she said defiantly. "I've wanted to do this since the evening Ted disappeared."
"Not exactly the grieving widow, are you?" Henry drawled.
"For a while I thought there had to be something good in Ted. Something that was buried deep inside him. I was deceiving myself. He was rotten to the core."
"He was a sick bastard, but he's gone, Ellen."
"You're right. No point in getting riled anymore. Let's talk about another matter. That's why I came here in the first place."
"And that would be?"
"Your trip to Glasgow. Dr. Simmons wants to examine her favourite patient."
Henry smiled. Eileen Simmons was his favourite doctor too.
"What about my trip?" he asked.
"It's set for day after tomorrow."
"That soon? Why didn't anybody tell me? How am I supposed to get to Glasgow on such short notice?"
"Oh, Drew had a word with Silers-Spence. They will fly you to Glasgow, Business Class. Only ... you will have to wear your uniform. Is that a problem?"
"I don't even know if it still fits. Did Drew find out when they will retire me?"
"You draw your pay and the MOD pays for your rehab. What's the hurry?"
Henry shrugged. Inwardly, if he was honest, he feared being sent back into a situation where he would have to kill again. The tame shrink he spoke to once a week, told him that he was suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. But Henry knew better. He was sick of killing and being shot at. Ian Fleming, in 'Dr. No', had one of MI-6's doctors say that 'courage is a capital sum reduced by expenditure'. Henry had spent heavily all his life. He was simply tired of it. Very tired.
"Anyway, we're taking British Airways to Glasgow."
"We?"
"I'm your dedicated caretaker," Ellen smiled. "I've never been to Glasgow. Be ready at six, day after tomorrow. And now, my friend, get into the car. I have your uniform in the car and an appointment with Andrew's tailor to have it fixed."
The business class had its advantages Henry decided, especially when one had a damaged knee and could not bend it. He had been astonished that the government had sprung the Business Class ticket for him and Ellen, but that was not all. When he limped down the gangway in Glasgow, being careful with the braces that stabilised his knee, there was a RAF sergeant waiting.
"Major Ruiz-Costa, Sir? This way, please."
A Range Rover was waiting on the tarmac. Ellen helped him climb in, a sly smile on her lips. The car stopped again at a different section of the airport and in front of a helicopter. The sergeant opened the door for him.
"This way, Major," he said again, pointing to the rear door of the chopper.
"What is this all about?" Henry whispered urgently into Ellen's ear.
"I mustn't tell you, it's a surprise," she smiled pressing his hand.
Once they were seated and buckled up, the chopper's blades began to whirl. Soon they took off in north-easterly direction. Before long, they were crossing the Firth of Forth and a suspicion began to form in Henry's head.
He looked down at the parade uniform Ellen had forced him to wear and he looked at Ellen who grinned back smugly but was wearing a very costly silk costume. He also remembered her insistence on having his hair cut and his beard trimmed on the day before.
"Say, Ellen. The Queen wouldn't happen to be in residence at Balmoral Castle?" he asked cocking his head.
Ellen gave him a proud smile. "Why? You want to drop by for lunch?" she asked smugly.
"You and Drew! You set me up for this!"
"Relax, Harry. It will be a nice, non-public ceremony, just as you requested. You'll see the Queen and the Duke, and she'll pin the Military Cross to your chest."
Henry remembered his request for a private ceremony. It was mostly out of concern that somebody from his past might see a photograph in the newspapers. There were still people out in the world whose idea of a good time involved roasting him on a spit and over a bed of very hot coals. To receive the Military Cross during the summer retreat of the Queen was as private as you could get.
"So you tricked me? There is no visit with Dr. Simmons?"
"Oh yes, there is, but tomorrow. Today is your day of honour."
It was indeed a private ceremony. There was the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, the Private Secretary to the Sovereign, and Edward Silers-Spence from the MOD. He and Ellen made up the rest of the group. Henry could tell that Her Majesty was less than enthusiastic about this intrusion during her time away.
However, the Duke, normally quite a crusty fellow, was positively friendly. It was he who ordered a bottle of thirty year-old Macallan Fine Oak to be opened. He and Henry were the only ones who partook of this heavenly treat. The other gentlemen and the ladies stuck to champagne to toast Henry.
The somewhat impatient mood of the monarch disappeared when the short ceremony began. This was her job and she took it seriously as Henry perceived. With solemn words, she praised his brave conduct and his dedication before she fastened the medal to his chest.
The Duke was the first to shake his hand. He also handed Henry another glass of Whisky before the Private Secretary and Silers-Spence shook his hand. Ellen was last. She hugged him with feeling and kissed his cheek as became a cousin.
That also ended the short ceremony. Henry made sure that he did not turn his back to the Queen when he made his retreat. That about summed up his knowledge of court etiquette and he was glad when he and Ellen were led back to the helicopter landing pad. Silers-Spence rode the chopper back to Glasgow with them and he filled Henry in on the plans they had with him.
As soon as he would be discharged from the rehab centre, he was to report to Lympstone, Devon. It was one of the home bases of the Royal Marines, where he would receive the crown-and-star shoulder pieces of a Lieutenant Colonel. He would do desk duty for a month before he would be retired with a disability pension. He was warned that his pension might be adjusted should he make a full physical recovery. Henry did not care.
A pension would be nice, but he was independent of that. His personal requirements were frugal and he owned the house he was living in. More important to him was that he would never have to shoot at people again. Killing Firouze had rattled him more than anything in his life.
Silers-Spence said his farewell at the airport in Glasgow and Henry and Ellen took a taxi into the city. Too late, Henry remembered the Military Cross on his chest and the driver, a former army sergeant, vented his admiration all the way into the city. In the end, Henry had to order the man to accept the fare and a tip before they alighted from the cab and entered the hotel.
The hotel was the Mar-Hall. It was originally built in 1840, but was freshly refurbished. Ellen had reserved a suite with two bedrooms where they settled in. Henry changed into civilian clothes and they took another taxi into town.
They settled for an Italian restaurant. The Lasagna al Forno was delicious, and the Chianti wine was a perfect match. The company, Henry conceded, was also delightful. In the soft light of the candles, Ellen looked almost angelic. Her hair had a golden hue and fell in soft waves onto her shoulder.
For the first time, Henry noticed the enticing swell of her bosom under the soft silk of her dress. He realised that Ellen, the girl, was long gone. She was a woman now, a mature woman, but no less beautiful. Even the faint scars that marred her eyebrows, reminders of Ted Winthorp's brutality, did not detract from her beauty.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the fact that he was finally able to see her as a real woman, not a ghost from the past. Whatever the reason, Henry suddenly felt an overwhelming tenderness for Ellen.
When he cupped her hand with his own on the table, she looked up with surprise. Then she understood and smiled at him.
"We have changed, Harry. We're not children anymore," she said echoing his feelings.
"Perhaps that's a good thing," he answered. "Maybe we can leave all that insecurity behind. We're grown-ups now."
Ellen looked around, ascertaining that nobody was within earshot.
"Harry, tell me the truth! What made you spare me? I was as guilty as Ted, even more so because I betrayed our friendship. Why did you leave me alive?"
Her urgent whisper told him of her agitation. He looked at her for over a minute, contemplating his answer. When he found it, his voice was a mere whisper.
"I watched you one evening. I was casing you and Ted. It's true. I planned on taking you both out. I watched you in your bedroom. I had followed you from a concert in the Royal Albert Hall. That German violinist, Anne-Sophie Mutter ... you remember? I had climbed into a tree where I had a good view. I saw what he did to you that night. I even heard the shot."
Ellen shuddered. She remembered that evening. She remembered the pain and the humiliation, when Ted had beaten her methodically, over and over again. Finally, she begged for him to kill her. He had taken a gun from a safe and asked her with a sneer whether she really wanted to die. She had whimpered a pitiful 'yes' and he had pulled the trigger. The shot roared out, but it was a blank. He had laughed like a maniac whilst she sat on the floor, almost deaf from the shot and wet from her own urine where she had peed on herself.
Henry had seen that. She felt the shame rise inside her and she was surprised that his hand covered hers reassuringly.
"I was not decided anyway," Henry continued. "I mean you are Drew's sister, you are your mother's daughter ... and yes, somewhere deep inside, I still cared for you. I wasn't even sure about Ted. I thought that maybe I'd give him a thorough beating. You know, just to get even. That evening made the difference. It meant that you would live and Ted would die."
They finished their dinner in silence both hanging on to their thoughts. A taxi took them back to the hotel and they went up to their suite.
"Can we sit in the living room after you've changed?" Ellen asked.
Henry quickly pressed her hand. "Yes, I'd love that," he assured her.
He changed out of his uniform and into his pyjama. He also brushed his teeth to diminish some of the lasagna's garlic taste. When he joined Ellen in the living room, she was already sitting on the sofa. She was wearing a pyjama. It was a plaid flannel piece, with buttons all way down the front. She had brushed her hair too. The rich blond mane fell to her shoulders. He also noticed that her breasts, under the flannel top, were unfettered by a bra. He could see two nipples poking through the fabric.
Elouise
- 07.11.2022
- 11
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