“A souvenir!” I growl.
“Not really my style.” He glowers from the door.
“Feel free to poke them in your eye.” I manage to get Oscar’s keys and roll him into the car. He whimpers, and I suck in a breath when I see just how much blood is covering his top.
I kiss his brow and whisper, “I’m so sorry.” It comes out in a rush of nauseating truth. I wish I had never stepped foot in that damn club!
I hotfoot it to the nearest hospital and stumble my way in with Oscar. Given his current state, I’m quickly relieved of his weightas nurses rush to my aid, taking him from me.I sniff through a false explanation as to why my friend is barely conscious. We are ushered through to a private area away from the shocked faces of other patients. I want to cry when a petite nurse hands me some water and assures me they will take care of him. For the next few hours, I wait whilst Oscar is off having scans. I’m nervously anticipating his return in his room when the door opens, and I come face to face withhim, again. I stand quickly and look around for something to protect myself with. Why else is he here, if not to harm Oscar further?
My tired and confused eyes find his. I’m weary with concern, riled with anger and, surprisingly, filled with curiosity about this man. There is no way he slipped in here unseen. He isn't easily missed. I hate that he has found me so easily. Who on earth is this man?
“You’re not welcome here,” I tell him through dry lips. The level of worry I have felt for my friend has left me feeling exhausted. He was unconscious until I handed him over to the staff when he began to panic at being in a hospital. Only after I managed to calm him down and persuade him that the people who mugged him weren’t around did his swollen, bruised eyes show some relief. He was worried I was going to out him, confess his involvement with some big scary bloke. I didn’t need to. The culprit is brazenly standing before me.
“Now, now that’s not very nice.” The door clicks shut, and the room seems to shrink in size, he’s just that big. I wipe my palm down my face. I’m not sure I can deal with this now,him.
“Don't worry. We kept your dirty secret. I told them Oscar was mugged. You can go now. No need to knock me about too.” A small uncontrollable hiccup leaves me, and I drop down into the seat. A small part of me that has been blindly tripping around for years wishes he would just get it over with if he’s going to hurt me. I will him to do it as I stare blankly at him. The moment hangs between us, and my heart skitters rapidly.
He inclines his head and walks towards me.
“I have no desire to hurt you.” I can smell him now, the woody, rich scent, which is oddly a nice change from the clinical fragrance of the hospital.
“You already did,” my voice is low, gravelly. I’ve cried on and off, and it shows. My eyes are puffy, and my lips are swollen from chewing them anxiously.
“I already told you I didn’t mean to grab you roughly earlier.” His deep frown makes his already harsh face scarily stark. Thick lashes and endless black eyes give this man an edge of cruelty that sends shivers down my spine.
“I meant my friend,” I spit, slapping my hand to my chest. My heart hurts for Oscar. There is a blink of discomfort in him, but as quick as it was there, it is gone. “Please go,” I say, rubbing my temples. I’m still in my damn shoot outfit, and my feet are bare. I look ridiculous.
“The press are outside,” he informs me quietly.
“Good for them,” I mutter. What is his game? Was beating my friend not enough? Is he here to finish the job? “Are you going to hurt him?” I ask quietly. The stillness of the room seems to scream now we are alone. My question hangs in the air, and after a few minutes, I wonder if I’ve been left alone, but when I look up, he is sitting watching me from the bed, his jacket folded neatly at his side. “What do you want?” I spit desperately.
“Stalin will deliver some clothes for you, shoes too.” He points to my sore feet. “Mr Winter’s car has been removed from the car park, so you will need to arrange separate transport.” What? Why would he take his car?
“Who the hell are you?” I stutter. Is he withthem?
“I believe the lesson will have been learnt. Goodbye, Zara.” He stands and gathers up his jacket. I’m still trying to come to terms with what he has said when he walks out, leaving me alone.
When I wake, it takes a few moments for my brain to click into gear. As soon as it does, my eyes flash open, and I twist my neck to check on Oscar, who is fast asleep still. His bruised eye is black and blue, his lips swollen and bloodied. He looks dreadful. Unintentionally, I caused that, and the guilt it provokes in me crushes my lungs. I still have no idea how or why he is caught up with the likes of that club owner. I quietly lift a hand to finger a stray, coiled lock away from his face, and his face twitches, but he remains asleep. I can think of a thousand things I could be doing, but instead, I stay nestled under my quilt, watching my friend as he sleeps off his painkillers. Every now and again, his face tightens, or his breath stutters out, and I expect his deep brown eyes to bore into mine, but after an hour, he is still lost to the medication.
Sighing, I slip out of the covers and grab a shower. I need to be awake and put together when he does come round. I abandoned my skincare routine last night and cried most of my makeup off, so I take extra care getting myself up and ready. Last night,when Oscar had finally come around, he chose to discharge himself. Any other time, he would have stayed put, but I think he was scared. I'm sitting cross-legged on the ottoman in my walk-in, applying my moisturiser, when Oscar appears in the mirror behind me.
“Oh, thank god,” I exclaim, rushing to him. He puts his hands up, keeping me at a distance, and sighs raggedly. “Are you in much pain? You're due more tablets.” I tell him, lifting his hair away. Sad eyes find mine, and I stare hopelessly into them. “What have you got yourself into?” I whisper sympathetically.
His shoulders droop, and I move into him, hugging him loosely.
“I can't even remember much of what happened,” he confesses. Probably not such a bad thing, and the look I give him conveys as much. I dread to think what he endured to get as battered as he is.
I give him a quick and basic rundown of last night’s events.
“Who is that man, Oscar? Do you work for him?” I demand.
“He's bad news.” He sighs, moving to sit on the ottoman with me. My wardrobe is too much of a temptation, and he reaches up and pulls a big coat down, pulling it on and leaning into me. “I'm sorry I got you caught up in this, Z. Did he hurt you?” Oscar’s eyes flick to me uncertainly.
I shake my head and wrap my arm around his shoulders.
“God, I look pathetic.” He winces in the mirror, and my wry smile twists into a laugh.
“You kind of do, but you also look in a lot of pain. Let me grab you some tablets.” He shifts so I can get up. I stop at his feet and look down at his forlorn, bruised face. “Who is he?” I ask again, more calmly. Demanding but soft.