This Man Confessed
Page 127
I don’t recognise the voice, but they are his words, so I know it’s him. I want to answer him, take my opportunity to tell him so many things, yet my desperation still doesn’t help me find my voice. So I settle for the lingering echo of his words and his continued touch, which is now gently caressing my cheek.
A loud bleeping sound stuns me from my happy slumber and my head flies up hopefully, but I find his eyes are still closed and his hands are where I’ve held them—one in mine and the other draped lifelessly by his side. I’m disorientated and wincing at the screaming noise, which I soon realise is his drip, shouting that he’s out of fluids. Pulling myself up, I reach up to call the nurse, but jump when I hear a muffled moan. I don’t know why I jump, it’s low and quiet, not at all fright worthy, but my heart is racing, anyway. I watch his face closely, thinking that perhaps I’ve imagined it.
But then his eyes move under his lids and my heart rate increases further. I want to pinch myself to ensure that I’m not still asleep, and I think I actually do because I definitely feel a harsh little stab of pain, even through the numbness of my grief.
‘Jesse?’ I whisper, dropping his hand in favour of his shoulder so I can shake him a little, which I know I shouldn’t be doing. He moans again and his legs shift under the thin cotton sheet. He’s waking up. ‘Jesse?’ I should be calling the nurse, but I don’t. I should be shutting that machine up, but I don’t. I should be talking quietly, but I’m not. ‘Jesse!’ I shake a little more.
‘Too loud.’ he complains, his voice broken and dry, his eyes going from relaxed closed to clenched closed.
I reach over him and punch the button on the machine to shut it up. ‘Jesse?’
‘What?’ he grumbles irritably, lifting his hand to clench his head. Every fear and grief stricken emotion flows freely from my body and light engulfs me. Bright light. Hopeful light.
‘Open your eyes,’ I demand.
‘No, it fucking hurts.’
‘Oh God.’ My relief is incredible, almost painful, as it courses like lightening through my depleted body, bringing me back to life. ‘Try.’ I beg. I need to see his eyes.
He groans some more, and I can see him struggling to follow through on my unreasonable order. I don’t relent, doing the kind thing of telling him to stop. I need to see his eyes.
And there they are.
Not as green or addictive, but they have life in them and they are squinting, adjusting to the subtle glow of light in the room. ‘Fucking hell,’
I’ve never been so pleased to hear two words. It’s Jesse and it’s familiar. I stupidly dive on him, kissing his bearded face and only stop when he hisses in pain. ‘Sorry!’ I blurt, pushing myself away and causing him more discomfort.
‘Fucking hell, Ava.’ His face screws up, his eyes closing again.
‘Open your eyes!’
He does, and I’m beyond thrilled to see him scowling at me. ‘Then stop fucking inflicting pain on me, woman!’
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy. He looks terrible, but I’ll take him whichever way he comes. I don’t care. He can keep the overgrown facial hair. He can swear at me every second of every day. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’ I’m sobbing again as overpowering relief takes hold and my cheeks fall into palms to conceal my wrecked face.
‘Baby, please don’t cry when there’s fuck all I can do about it.’ I hear his shifting body, followed by a string of bad language. ‘Fuck!’
‘Stop moving!’ I scorn him, wiping my sniffling face before pushing lightly on his shoulders.
He doesn’t argue with me. He relaxes back into his pillow on an exhausted sigh, then lifts his arm and focuses on the needle hanging out, before taking a confused glance around at all of the machinery surrounding him. I see understanding settle across his face and his head whips up, his eyes wide and frightened. ‘She hurt you.’ he blurts, struggling to sit up, hissing and wincing as he does. ‘The babies!’
‘We’re okay,’ I assure him, forcing him back down to the bed. It’s hard. His sudden realisation had injected some strength into him. ‘Jesse, we’re all okay. Lay down.’
‘You’re okay?’ His hand lifts and feels its way through thin air until he finds my face. ‘Please tell me you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘And the babies?’
‘I’ve had two scans.’ I rest my hand over his and help him feel me. It relaxes him completely, my words assisting, too. His eyes close, making me want to prod him to open, but I let him rest them. ‘I should call the nurse.’
‘No, please. Let me wake up before they start poking me about.’ His hand slides from my cheek to the nape of my neck and he applies a light pressure, silently telling me to come closer.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ I protest, pulling against him, but his face strains and his strength increases. ‘Jesse.’
‘Contact. Do what you’re told.’ he snaps drowsily. Even now, when he’s clearly in tremendous pain, he’s impossible.
‘Are you in much pain?’ I ask, lowering myself gently to his side.
‘Agony.’
‘I need to get the nurse.’
‘Soon. I’m comfy.’
‘No you’re not.’ I almost laugh, working around his wound to gently rest against him. I’ll give him five minutes, then I’m getting the nurse, and there is nothing he can do to stop me—literally, for once.
‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ he murmurs, using more valuable energy to turn his face into mine and kiss me. ‘I’d have given up if I didn’t constantly hear your defiant voice.’
‘You could hear me?’
‘Yes, it was strange and fucking annoying when I couldn’t tell you off. Will you ever do what you’re told?’ There is no humour in his tone. It makes me smile.
‘No,’
‘Thought not,’ he sighs. ‘I have some explaining to do.’
Those few words make me tense. ‘No you don’t.’ I blurt, trying to pull away from him so I can get the nurse, but I’m going nowhere.
‘Fuck!’ he spits, ‘Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ He’s still fighting against me, the stupid man, but I’m the one who relents, more concerned for him than he is for himself. ‘Just stay put and listen.’ he demands harshly. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I’ve told you about Rosie.’
Rosie. The name signifies unbearable heartache and years of self-torture. He should have confessed this long ago. It would have explained so many of his neurotic ways.
‘Lauren was the daughter of my mum and dad’s good friends.’ He begins, and I brace myself, realising that I’m about to get the whole story. Not just the bits that I’d like to hear about his daughter, but the parts about the psychotic woman who nearly robbed him from me. ‘I’m sure you can imagine the type—well-bred, rich and highly respected in the snotty community that we were forced to tolerate. We fooled around once and she ended up pregnant. We were seventeen, young and stupid. Can you imagine the scandal? I‘d really done it this time.’ He shifts, flinching and cursing some more.
A loud bleeping sound stuns me from my happy slumber and my head flies up hopefully, but I find his eyes are still closed and his hands are where I’ve held them—one in mine and the other draped lifelessly by his side. I’m disorientated and wincing at the screaming noise, which I soon realise is his drip, shouting that he’s out of fluids. Pulling myself up, I reach up to call the nurse, but jump when I hear a muffled moan. I don’t know why I jump, it’s low and quiet, not at all fright worthy, but my heart is racing, anyway. I watch his face closely, thinking that perhaps I’ve imagined it.
But then his eyes move under his lids and my heart rate increases further. I want to pinch myself to ensure that I’m not still asleep, and I think I actually do because I definitely feel a harsh little stab of pain, even through the numbness of my grief.
‘Jesse?’ I whisper, dropping his hand in favour of his shoulder so I can shake him a little, which I know I shouldn’t be doing. He moans again and his legs shift under the thin cotton sheet. He’s waking up. ‘Jesse?’ I should be calling the nurse, but I don’t. I should be shutting that machine up, but I don’t. I should be talking quietly, but I’m not. ‘Jesse!’ I shake a little more.
‘Too loud.’ he complains, his voice broken and dry, his eyes going from relaxed closed to clenched closed.
I reach over him and punch the button on the machine to shut it up. ‘Jesse?’
‘What?’ he grumbles irritably, lifting his hand to clench his head. Every fear and grief stricken emotion flows freely from my body and light engulfs me. Bright light. Hopeful light.
‘Open your eyes,’ I demand.
‘No, it fucking hurts.’
‘Oh God.’ My relief is incredible, almost painful, as it courses like lightening through my depleted body, bringing me back to life. ‘Try.’ I beg. I need to see his eyes.
He groans some more, and I can see him struggling to follow through on my unreasonable order. I don’t relent, doing the kind thing of telling him to stop. I need to see his eyes.
And there they are.
Not as green or addictive, but they have life in them and they are squinting, adjusting to the subtle glow of light in the room. ‘Fucking hell,’
I’ve never been so pleased to hear two words. It’s Jesse and it’s familiar. I stupidly dive on him, kissing his bearded face and only stop when he hisses in pain. ‘Sorry!’ I blurt, pushing myself away and causing him more discomfort.
‘Fucking hell, Ava.’ His face screws up, his eyes closing again.
‘Open your eyes!’
He does, and I’m beyond thrilled to see him scowling at me. ‘Then stop fucking inflicting pain on me, woman!’
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy. He looks terrible, but I’ll take him whichever way he comes. I don’t care. He can keep the overgrown facial hair. He can swear at me every second of every day. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’ I’m sobbing again as overpowering relief takes hold and my cheeks fall into palms to conceal my wrecked face.
‘Baby, please don’t cry when there’s fuck all I can do about it.’ I hear his shifting body, followed by a string of bad language. ‘Fuck!’
‘Stop moving!’ I scorn him, wiping my sniffling face before pushing lightly on his shoulders.
He doesn’t argue with me. He relaxes back into his pillow on an exhausted sigh, then lifts his arm and focuses on the needle hanging out, before taking a confused glance around at all of the machinery surrounding him. I see understanding settle across his face and his head whips up, his eyes wide and frightened. ‘She hurt you.’ he blurts, struggling to sit up, hissing and wincing as he does. ‘The babies!’
‘We’re okay,’ I assure him, forcing him back down to the bed. It’s hard. His sudden realisation had injected some strength into him. ‘Jesse, we’re all okay. Lay down.’
‘You’re okay?’ His hand lifts and feels its way through thin air until he finds my face. ‘Please tell me you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘And the babies?’
‘I’ve had two scans.’ I rest my hand over his and help him feel me. It relaxes him completely, my words assisting, too. His eyes close, making me want to prod him to open, but I let him rest them. ‘I should call the nurse.’
‘No, please. Let me wake up before they start poking me about.’ His hand slides from my cheek to the nape of my neck and he applies a light pressure, silently telling me to come closer.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ I protest, pulling against him, but his face strains and his strength increases. ‘Jesse.’
‘Contact. Do what you’re told.’ he snaps drowsily. Even now, when he’s clearly in tremendous pain, he’s impossible.
‘Are you in much pain?’ I ask, lowering myself gently to his side.
‘Agony.’
‘I need to get the nurse.’
‘Soon. I’m comfy.’
‘No you’re not.’ I almost laugh, working around his wound to gently rest against him. I’ll give him five minutes, then I’m getting the nurse, and there is nothing he can do to stop me—literally, for once.
‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ he murmurs, using more valuable energy to turn his face into mine and kiss me. ‘I’d have given up if I didn’t constantly hear your defiant voice.’
‘You could hear me?’
‘Yes, it was strange and fucking annoying when I couldn’t tell you off. Will you ever do what you’re told?’ There is no humour in his tone. It makes me smile.
‘No,’
‘Thought not,’ he sighs. ‘I have some explaining to do.’
Those few words make me tense. ‘No you don’t.’ I blurt, trying to pull away from him so I can get the nurse, but I’m going nowhere.
‘Fuck!’ he spits, ‘Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ He’s still fighting against me, the stupid man, but I’m the one who relents, more concerned for him than he is for himself. ‘Just stay put and listen.’ he demands harshly. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I’ve told you about Rosie.’
Rosie. The name signifies unbearable heartache and years of self-torture. He should have confessed this long ago. It would have explained so many of his neurotic ways.
‘Lauren was the daughter of my mum and dad’s good friends.’ He begins, and I brace myself, realising that I’m about to get the whole story. Not just the bits that I’d like to hear about his daughter, but the parts about the psychotic woman who nearly robbed him from me. ‘I’m sure you can imagine the type—well-bred, rich and highly respected in the snotty community that we were forced to tolerate. We fooled around once and she ended up pregnant. We were seventeen, young and stupid. Can you imagine the scandal? I‘d really done it this time.’ He shifts, flinching and cursing some more.
