Текст книги "Lovestrong"
Автор книги: Nikki Groom
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Chapter 4
Fuck me. London is cold. Really freakin’ cold.
It’s wet. It’s grey. It is not what I signed up for.
I had nine very long hours on the flight from hell, with two children in the seat behind me, which, I swear were spawned from the Devil’s loins, kicking me in the back and pulling my hair. To top it all off, the airport ‘misplaced’ my suitcase and I had to wait for three hours before they managed to find it again. If I find out those fuckers were poking about in there, I’m going to make someone’s head roll.
I flop back on the single bed in the small, pokey hotel room that I’ve booked for the night. The only way to describe it is basic. There’s nothing wrong with it as such, it’s serves a purpose, and I suppose it symbolizes a fresh start in some weird, warped kind of way.
I need to sleep before I go in to the city tomorrow. I’m filled with equal parts fear and excitement. I can’t wait to explore London. I want to see every landmark and visit the Queen. Okay, I’m aware that might be a little out of reach, but you never know. I think me and Queenie would get on pretty well.
I plan to spend my days making new memories and experiences, with the hope it will fill the hollow place that once held my heart. Maybe I’ll be swept off my feet by a sexy British man. Actually, the thought of being near any man other than Spike terrifies me. I don’t want anything of the sort. Just me, my suitcase and wherever the road takes me.
Miss you. Don’t be mad, but I didn’t want you to have nowhere to go. You have a week in the Park Plaza on Westminster Bridge. All booked and paid for. Send me a picture of the view! Love you xx
I thumb over the message, sigh and drop my phone to the bed. I didn’t sleep well. I always wake up grumpy anyway, and now, before I’ve really had the chance to open my eyes, I’m torn between feeling like I miss my best friend so damn much, and wanting to call her up, regardless of the time in Las Vegas, and yell at her for not letting me be independent and make my way on this adventure alone.
I know it’s the middle of the night there, but I call her anyway.
“Hey Lotts,” she answers, her voice groggy with sleep. “What’s up?”
“I’ve missed hearing your voice ... and I wanted to tell you that I’m pissed off with you for booking me a place to stay,” I grumble, skipping the pleasantries.
“Oh,” she says guiltily.
“You don’t think I can do it on my own?” I ask, raising my brows in question.
“Of course I do, babe. It’s just−”
“I can do it, and I will do it.” This makes her laugh and I can imagine that she’s rolling her eyes at me right now.
“I know you will. I guess I just wanted you to have an easy first week there, that’s all. I won’t get to do much for you for a while so I wanted to do something nice,” she grumbles.
“Ari,” I sigh. “Thank you for looking out for me but I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“So, thanks, but no thanks. Please cancel the room.”
“I can’t,” she protests quickly. “It’s all booked and paid for.”
“Well, get a refund. I don’t want you spending your money on me.”
“It’s not my money!” she answers loudly.
“I don’t want D’s help either. I appreciate it, but I want to do this on my own. Please understand, Ari.” My voice softens as I plead with her to let me do this my way. “I love you. I miss you. But, please cancel the room.”
“I told you, I can’t. But if you don’t want to use it, that’s your choice,” she answers, firmer this time.
“Oh, man.” I flop back on the pillow dramatically. “Don’t use that hurt tone with me, you know it makes it harder to argue with you.”
“I’m not hurt, Lottie. I understand. It’s not a problem. Honestly. Look, it’s there if you want it. I can’t cancel it. It’s only for a week, after that, you’re definitely on your own.”
“I’ll think about it,” I grumble, feeling guilty for waking her up to yell at her, and for being an ungrateful bitch.
“Good. I’m going back to sleep now,” she says, but doesn’t hang up immediately and I know that’s her way of telling me the subject is closed.
“Sorry for waking you,” I pout down the phone. I already miss my best friend.
“No, you’re not,” she chuckles.
“Love you, Ari.”
“Love you, too, babe.”
I spend the majority of the day walking around the city trying to get my bearings without having a panic attack. I also spent the time trying to decide what to do about the room Ari booked for me. I still can’t make up my mind. Do I use the room? It really would make today, and the rest of this week, so much easier. Or do I act super stubborn, which is in fact my middle name, and leave the damn room unoccupied and find something for myself? Damn Arianna, she knows I’m unable to make decisions like this.
I wander through the streets, following directions to the main river, The Thames, that runs through London. The place buzzes with activity. The riverfront is busy with people from every walk of life and every origin. As I round the corner, I notice a massive statue.
“A-ha. You must be Nelson,” I say to myself looking up at his imposing stature. I’m at Trafalgar Square. Nelson’s column is impressive, as are the statues of the lions that surround it. The front of the national gallery is mega, and has all the feels. Steeped in history, this place feels old world yet still so modern. But, that’s not the thing that amazes me the most. The birds, no, the fucking pigeons here are crazy. Like, they will walk right up to you, yes I said walk because they don’t really fly unless they have to, with their little scrawny heads bobbing away and their pecky little beaks coming for you. Maybe Trafalgar Square wasn’t the best place for someone with a fear of birds to come. Funny, I always thought it was the flapping of their wings that made me freak, but seeing these things pecking around at my feet makes me want to run right back to the airport and go home.
Keep walking, Lottie. Keep walking and grow the fuck up, will you? What are they going to do, eat you? Shit, not a good direction of thought … they might peck me to death, they’d start with my eyes I’m sure…
I look around trying to decide which direction to go. I’d like to go to the National Gallery, but I’m not going to do it dragging this suitcase behind me.
I take a deep breath, ignoring the pigeons around my feet. Holy hell, it was a brave move coming to London with no plans. Brave or plain fucking stupid. Instead of standing here, getting nowhere in my head, or with my feet, I shoo away the feathered tormentors heading in my direction again and move away from the Square. It seems that where there’s more people and traffic, there are less birds and I feel my anxiety gradually start to subside.
I slow down as I walk and step into a doorway so I’m not interrupting the sea of people before thumbing over the message that I woke up to this morning, and sigh.
I’m trying to make it on my own but I’m not sure if I even wanted to experience it on my own. Spike and I always spoke about traveling one day together, so it’s bittersweet. I know I need to step out of my comfort zone and prove it to myself as much as everyone else. Yes, I am nervous, scared as hell actually, but I know I can do it if I push myself to move forward. Move away, even if it’s just for a short while. Then Arianna has to go and book me somewhere to stay. So thoughtful, and sweet, and totally Ari. I glance down at the bracelet she gave me. A charm to keep me safe even though everything familiar to me is thousands of miles away. How can I be mad at such a thoughtful gesture? Maybe this makes it easier for me to decide where I should stay. I chuckle under my breath and I smile thoughtfully. She obviously knows me better than I know myself and my inability to make a decision.
Okay, a week I can do. For Arianna.
I tuck my phone back into my shoulder bag and tackle my map to see if I can figure out how far away the Park Plaza is. I turn it left and right, up and down and laugh under my breath at the fact that I am the stereotypical female map reader. It would be much easier if I just hailed a cab or asked someone. As I look up, a man whizzes past me in a flash and grabs the handle of my bag without stopping. My arm is yanked almost out of its socket and he pulls me over too and I skid across the concrete on my cheek. The wind is knocked out of me, and if I thought I had my bearings before this, I certainly don’t have them now.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath.
“Are you okay?” a deep voice asks before helping me up. He doesn’t wait for my answer, and I don’t even get a good look at him before he takes off at a flat out run down the road’s edge, ignoring the blaring horns from irate drivers.
I take a deep breath, brush myself off and try to push the tears back that are threatening to pour from the corners of my eyes and run down my grazed cheek. I can’t believe I’ve been mugged on my first day here. My cell, my money, my passport. They’re all in my purse. My attention is drawn to a commotion down the street in the same direction that the mystery man ran. The crowds of people part and let someone through. The guy that helped me up, then ran off in a blink, is holding my purse and dragging a teenage boy towards me by his ear. It’s the first time I’ve had a chance to look at him as he ran away too fast before. Arms covered in tattoos, a pierced lip, tight black tee, ripped jeans and shit kickers. He looks pretty scary, so it’s no wonder the boy is squirming and trying to get out of his grip. He shouts and protests, but the guy just ignores him with his jaw clenched in a hard line and his teeth gritted, until they stop right in front of me.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” the guy orders, pushing him forward but not letting go of his ear.
“I …I …” he stammers, clearly struggling with the formation of words under such pressure. The pressure of getting the crap beaten out of you will do that.
“I can’t hear you making an apology. Tell. The. Lady. You’re. Sorry.” His low gravelly voice sounds sinister, but something tells me it’s all for show.
Everyone who was in such a hurry to get somewhere, suddenly has a few minutes to spare to watch this all play out. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Just give me my purse and I−”
“Apologize. Now,” tattoo guy grates out, ignoring my request and twisting the boy’s ear.
“I-I’m sorry,” he squeals, wincing at the discomfort of being pushed around.
Tattoo guy drops his hold on the boy who then rubs at his ear frantically.
“Now, say you’re sorry again, and this time, mean it.”
He doesn’t hesitate, and this time he looks me directly in the eyes when he speaks. I don’t like what I see. Lines around his young eyes, heavy with the weight of something he probably shouldn’t have to bear at his age, which I’m guessing can’t be more than about thirteen or fourteen.
“I’m sorry, miss. I really am. I didn’t take nothin’, honest. It’s all still in there.”
“That’s ‘cos you didn’t get a chance to take anything, you little shit,” tattoo guy barks, shoving his palm into the middle of the kid’s back and pushing him forward a step.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, and both of them frown at me. “What do you need money for so desperately that you need to steal from a lone woman, and in broad daylight too?” Surely he wouldn’t have risked getting caught if it wasn’t necessary.
“II gotta go,” the boy mumbles quietly, turning to leave.
“No, wait.” I stop him by placing my hand gently on his upper arm. He’s taller than me, which isn’t difficult since I am pretty short, but he’s also skinny to the point of malnutrition. I can feel his bones through his clothes. “What’s your name?” I ask.
He glances back at my hand before meeting my eyes. “Connor.”
I smile gently. “Do you need money, Connor? Are you hungry, is that it?”
“I …” He narrows his eyes at me and I can see that he can’t understand my calm demeanor after what he did. I hold out my hand to tattoo guy and he places my purse in it hesitantly, giving me a warning by shaking his head. I ignore him, of course.
“Here.” I dig into my purse and pull out a few notes. I haven’t quite come to grips with the different money here, but I know that two fifty pound notes would be a lot to this kid. “I want you to go and eat. Get some new clothes maybe. But please, don’t mug anyone again, okay?”
I offer it in his direction and he nervously looks at tattoo guy, presuming that this is some kind of a trap. So I grab his hand up and stuff it in to his palm. “Just take it and promise me, yeah?”
His eyes twinkle and glisten with sudden emotion at my display of kindness. “I promise,” he says, looking me directly in the eye, before giving a curt nod and fleeing as fast as his gangly teenage legs can carry him.
“Oh my god,” Tattoo guy mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “You are gonna get fleeced if you keep giving people money every time you think you see a sob story. I’m guessing you’re here on holiday?”
“Vacation,” I correct. “Yes, kind of.”
“Well, a pretty young thing like you who’s clueless in the city and speaks with a sexy accent like yours is gonna be an easy target, so you’re gonna have to toughen up a bit.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll have you know that I am already pretty tough and I can handle myself, thank you. I don’t need a man to watch my back, and as you could see, I got a better reaction from that boy than you did with your heavy handed approach.” He cocks his hip and folds his arms with a smirk across his face.
“You finished, little firebird?” I tilt my chin up and try not to smile at his comeback. “That boy was nice to you because you were giving him money. I was taking it away from him and calling his arse out. So yeah, you could say he preferred you.”
God, I hate it when other people’s logic is right. “Who the fuck are you, anyway? You a wannabe knight in shining armor?”
He snorts before shaking his head at me. “You Americans sure have a funny way of saying thank you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to save me, or for your opinion either, thank you. I asked who you are.” I prop a hand on my hip, feeling amused that this man I’ve just met isn’t afraid to say what he thinks. Well, he met his match, because neither am I.
“Torran. My name is Torran, and I hope the rest of your stay is trouble free, for your own sake.” He gives me a grim smile and walks away. Leaving me feeling like an ungrateful bitch.
“Wait!” I yell, whilst mumbling in my head ‘For fuck’s sake.’ He stops walking just a few steps away but he doesn’t turn around and he’s already almost lost amongst the sea of people. “Can I get you a coffee? You know, to say thanks.” He leaves me hanging for what feels like an eternity and I’m getting odd looks from the passersby who are too busy to stop but too nosy to ignore me. He turns with a crooked smile on that rugged, pierced face of his.
“Throw in some cake and you have yourself a deal …”
“Cake?” I scrunch my nose, a little perplexed at his answer.
“Yeah, you don’t have cake where you come from?”
“Of course we do, asshole.” He laughs out loud to that, and it’s the first time I’ve heard someone laugh so freely in quite a while. “You want cake, you’re gonna have to lead the way to the best coffee shop around here.”
“Sure thing.” He walks to my side and holds out his hand in front of me. “Want me to take your case? It looks heavy. Probably full up with shoes and makeup and whatever other shit you women insist on taking everywhere with you.”
“Hey!” I smack him in the chest with the back of my hand. “I’m not your average woman. There’s only two pairs of shoes in here, I travel light.” I hand him the pull out handle of my case and he drops dramatically to the floor with buckling knees.
“Jeez. Just two pairs of shoes, you say?”
“It’s not that heavy!” I laugh. “I managed with my case well enough before you came along and I’m small. You some kind of pussy or something?”
He jumps up in one swift move, tugging the case and striding ahead. “Definitely not a pussy, firebird. Definitely not a pussy.”
“Hey, wait for me. Little legs and all that,” I call out behind him and although I can’t see his face, I’ll bet anything that he’s smiling again. God, it feels good to make someone smile.
Chapter 5
It’s been twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four long, painful hours. More painful than breaking your back and learning that you’ll probably never walk again. Because that’s all physical. It cannot and will never change. And in a weird way it’s easier to accept if there’s nothing you can do about it. But this, this was my choice, to save her, because I love her that much and I want her to live a fulfilling, happy life, even if that means it’s not with me.
The night that changed everything didn’t kill me. But not having her by my side has stopped my heart from beating. I might as well be dead.
I imagine this is what it’s like going through withdrawal for a heroin addict. She’s my heroin. Fuck, I miss her. I never thought it would be this bad. I mean, I went days without seeing her over the last eight weeks. Then I’d catch a glimpse of her in the hallway, or I’d hear her voice when my door was cracked open a fraction. And even when I didn’t get to see her, and I pushed her away because it felt like the right thing to do, the lead heavy ache in my chest was nothing like it is now knowing she’s halfway across the world and I can’t see her even if I want to.
Over the last few weeks I’ve managed to gain enough strength to maneuver from my bed to my chair on my own. I have a haul of gadgets to help me retain at least some independence and I’m grateful that I can at least move freely from bed to chair without having to wait for Sue to help me up in the mornings. I sit on the balcony and watch as the sun rises high in the sky. I’ve been out here since four this morning, just waiting for the light to peek up above the horizon and change the view of the city as it does. Dawn was always Lottie’s favorite time of day. Still is, I imagine. I wonder what dawn looks like over London. Each day was a new start for her, and although she could be a grumpy bitch at times, seeing the sun rise always made her smile. The morning of the accident, before we went to the ball, we watched the sunrise together. My arms were wrapped around her waist from behind and my chin was tucked comfortably in her shoulder. If I knew that was the last time the sun would rise for us, I would have held on to her tighter, longer, forever.
“Good morning, Mr. King,” Sue, my home nurse, calls as she enters. She comes every morning to help me with the personal care side of things and I hate every minute of it. I hate that I can’t shower unsupervised. I hate that I can’t get dressed on my own and I hate having to rely on the care of a stranger to get me ready for the day.
I turn the wheelchair and come in through the double doors. “Morning,” I grumble unenthusiastically.
“You’re up early, Mr. King. How are you this morning?” she asks with her usual chirpy voice and unwavering smile.
“I’m the same as every other morning,” I sigh heavily, “and I’ve told you, Mr. King is my brother, I’m Spi… Preston. Just call me Preston, okay?” It’s been a while since anyone called me by my birth name. But I’m not the person I used to be. Spike isn’t here anymore.
“Okay. My apologies,” she says gently, making me feel a little guilty for my sharp tone. She busies herself in the kitchen for a few minutes before coming back out to me.
“How did you sleep?” she asks, same question every morning. Same routine. Same numb fucking existence.
“I didn’t,” I inform her with a grumble.
“Oh. Maybe we need to speak to the doctor about some sleep meds. It would help you relax a little.” There it is again. Positivity abounds.
“I would relax a whole lot more if everyone left me the hell alone with a bottle of Sambuca,” I mumble, steering away from her and heading back to the balcony. Sambuca makes me think of Lottie, Arianna and D, and our nights out as a foursome. Good times. Times passed.
“Would you like to shower this morning?” Sue calls across the room.
“No,” I answer bluntly in annoyance.
“Uh, are you sure?” she asks, surprised. I’ve showered every morning since I came out of the hospital, and every evening too. I hate the feeling of sitting in the same position all day and a shower seems the only way to break that monotony. “It’s really no trouble to go and get everything set up for you. Just come through when you’re ready.” She moves off in the direction of my bathroom, ignoring my answer and making me feel even more insignificant than I already do.
“Get out,” I bark harshly, swinging the wheelchair around as fast as it will turn, making her jump and causing the coffee in my cup to slosh and spill in my lap.
She tries to placate me, but hurt and self-pity take form as rage.
“Get out, and don’t fucking come back.” I throw the words at her with reckless anger, not caring that she doesn’t deserve this tirade.
“I’m sorry, Mr. King, I didn’t mean to−”
“To what? Undermine me? Make me feel like shit? And it’s Preston, for fuck’s sake. PRESTON,” I yell, feeling rage hurtling through me. My hands shake as I grip the mug, and I take fast, shallow breaths, fighting to regain control, battling to grasp on to a tiny piece of rationality. I come up blank.
Sue stands still, not knowing if she should stay or go. She’s probably been trained to deal calmly with situations like this. Like me. Difficult, uncooperative patients. Well, I’m sick of being a patient. I pin her with a sharp glare, telling her that she needs to get the fuck out of my apartment before I lose my shit.
“What’s the problem? Your legs stopped working?” I let out a bitter laugh that stings my throat as I realize the irony of my rhetorical question. “I told you to get out. Get. Out.”
She picks up her purse from the coffee table and makes her way to the door, keeping her head down and her distance as far from me as possible. It makes me feel like even more of an asshole. I never meant to make her wary of me. I didn’t want to frighten her or anything like that, but not only has she caught me on a bad day, she was so invested in doing her ‘job’ that she forgot that I’m a human being. A human being with a broken back and a shattered heart.
I take myself back out onto the balcony again, settling in the far corner and I stare across the expanse of Las Vegas. It’s starting to get busy now. It never really sleeps, but there are busier times than others. There’s always so much life, so much action, and I wonder if I will ever fit in to this world again. Maybe I need to be someone else to survive here. Maybe Lottie had the right idea, getting out when she could. Starting her life over and leaving her pain behind. Only I’m not sure ‘us’ and everything we were, is something either of us could ever leave behind completely. Just as the rest of Las Vegas comes to life and the sun starts to warm my skin, I cry. Every single tear that slides from my eyes is for Lottie. For every one of her beautiful smiles. For every time she kissed my lips. For every time my heart beats achingly for her.
