Sam
I open my locker to retrieve my coat, when a disgruntled voice behind me, speaks.
"He was so happy this morning. I know he doesn't exactly show it – but then he never does, does he...He was even wearing aftershave!"
"Yes. I noticed." I glance at her. She jabs her finger at me accusingly and I quickly turn back to my locker. She's fond of him – though not as fond as me. No one is as fond of him as I am. No one.
"He was happy!" She repeats. "He thought he was getting you back - and then you served him divorce papers! He was happy and you're throwing him away like he's nothing!"
I slam my locker shut and spin around to face her. "You don't get it, Zoe, do you?" I snap angrily. "You just don't get it. I love my husband so much! So much. But I'm not good for him and I don't deserve him. I'm not 'throwing him away' – I'm letting him go because I'm toxic and he needs better than me...but he doesn't understand that..." I add in almost a whisper – for my husband's distraught face earlier - and his corresponding anger and hurtful comments come back to me like the shock of a jack-in-the-box. "He just doesn't understand." I repeat, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to find him and comfort him – but I can't.
It would just confuse the issue – and he probably wouldn't let me anyway.
Unable to see through the clouds in my mind, I flee out of the staffroom, out of the ED – and I want to keep on running. I want to run away from everything – from Dylan, from them all. For the first time in my life, I want to be a coward.
But running through a busy ambulance bay is not clever and I'm stopped in my tracks by his strong arms pulling me out of the path of a reversing ambulance.
"You oaf!" He retorts gruffly.
I'm too shocked to speak – until I realise that he's purposefully pulling me back to the ED. "Dylan, I've finished my shift!" I complain. "I don't want to go back in!"
"Yes well, I want – doesn't get, Sam." he responds dryly – calling the lift down, once we reach reception.
"Dylan!" I protest as he pulls me in and presses down. "Where are we going?!"
"Shh." He answers as the doors shut. "Don't make a scene...Right. Well..." He says, turning to me. "You've just nearly been knocked over by a bloody ambulance because you weren't looking where you were going, so I'm not convinced that it's safe to let you leave the hospital on your own." He informs me - as if I'm a naughty child and he's going to make me stand in the corner.
I sigh and lean back against the wall of the lift with my arms folded with my arms folded across my chest – mildly interested to see what his plan is.
We exit the lift in the basement and once again my interest is grasped.
Where are we going and what on earth are we doing in the basement? I follow behind Dylan as he retrieves a discarded bean bag from against the wall. I recognise it it as an old one from the relatives room. It must have been abandoned down here when they got the new ones, but the thing that intrigues me the most is Dylan's command of the place. He's walking around the basement as if he does so regularly.
Maybe he does!
"Come here often – do you?" I inquire factiously.
"No." he answers perfectly seriously – as he does. He stops and opens the door to a largish storeroom – which conveniently has a key in the lock. He switches on the light and pokes his head in, before tossing the bean bag at an expanse of bare wall. "In you go." He states, stepping back to let me in.
I'm still not getting the point of this exercise, but they'll be a reason. Dylan always has a reason – just probably not a reason that would occur to anyone else. I cock my head to one side and raise my eyebrows at him questioningly.
He sighs. "Please?" He adds politely – obviously deciding that I'm waiting to be asked nicely.
That's the other thing. While no one else will have thought of the reason he's got – Dylan will have assumed it's a perfectly logical reason that everybody's thought of. That's Dylan – eccentric and brilliant!
I feel myself blush slightly – though I'm not quite sure why. "Alright." I agree – and sidle past him obediently.
"Right." He continues as I turn back to face him. "I'll be finished my shift soon. I'll come back and get you."
"Dylan!" I protest as he shuts the door. "What if there's a fire or something?!"
"I'll make sure you get out safely, sweetheart." He responds through the closed door.
'Sweetheart'?
That surprises me. Wow. He must be worried. Dylan has rarely used 'pet-names' for me – even back in the days before we were married, when he was trying to 'woo' me. Not that I needed much wooing. His brilliance spoke for itself – and I've always found him very attractive. I suppose some might find that strange – he's probably not what the average woman would deem 'fit'. Still – each to their own!
As he locks the door, he adds: "Have a nap or something. I'll see you later."
I listen to his footsteps disappearing, in slight bewilderment and then plop down on the bean bag.
'Have a nap'?! What, seriously?
Well, this is different. I knew he was eccentric when I married him, but he's never locked me in a cupboard before. I know that he's not 'imprisoning' me though. As far as Dylan's concerned, he's doing this for my own good – so that he knows where I am until he finishes work and can 'walk' me home. Despite all his harsh comments earlier – some of which were actually quite hurtful, (though I certainly deserved them) he cares more than he wants to admit.
And it's now blindingly obvious that he will go to any lengths to make sure I'm safe.