"So."
Max watched as Connie emerged from the en suite, a towel wrapped about her head, a different dressing gown tied tightly about her waist.
She looked up as he spoke, pausing in her step.
"You're not planning on going into work, are you?"
He asked, his voice hesitant.
She continued on her path across the room.
"Oh, I can't let a little thing like that stop me..."
She murmured, opening both of the wardrobe doors and standing back, surveying her options.
"A little thing like a suicide attempt?"
He asked slowly...quietly.
He watched her inhale slowly through her nose.
"Black, or white?"
She asked, running her fingers over a black dress, the arm of which jutted out further than the rest.
"Connie..."
Max exhaled and stood up from the bed, paused, then made his way over to her. Without her shoes he was a good few inches taller than her, and still this difference in height surprised him. He stopped close to her, he could smell her shampoo, her deodorant, and the recognisable scent of her perfume.
"You can't..."
"Max!"
She turned sharply to face him, his close proximity throwing her slightly.
"You're not exactly..."
He tailed off again and she arched an eyebrow.
"I am more than capable, thank you. In fact, I'm probably still more capable than others I could mention..."
She said sharply, her arms wrapped tightly about her waist.
He pursed his lips, and gave an ever-so-slight nod of his head. "What if something went wrong, what if you made a mistake?"
He asked.
"I don't make mistakes."
She scoffed and laughed a humourless laugh, glancing back towards the hangers lined with designer clothes...all waiting for her to choose which version of herself she wanted to be that day.
"What if you kill a patient?!"
He lowered his voice and she laughed again.
"Max...please...let's not be over-dramatic..."
She left her sentence unfinished and he drew in a breath, steadying himself before he spoke.
"This isn't who you are, you don't take risks like this, this isn't who I thought Connie Beauchamp was."
He whispered, and he saw a flicker of something behind her eyes, hurt? Defeat?
She stared at him, unblinking, lips drawn into a tight line, hands clenched, arms folded even tighter.
"Well, I'm sorry that I've disappointed you."
She whispered and made to turn away from him but he caught her arm, stalling her. She looked down to where his hand curled over the cream silk of the dressing gown, where it creased between his fingers and she could feel the cold of it pucker against the warmth of his hand.
"You haven't disappointed me."
He said quietly, and she narrowed her eyes, still he held onto her arm.
"Listen..."
He paused and glanced down to his own hands, the incessant gaze of her hazel green eyes becoming too much.
"Can't you just let someone else take over? Just for today? Delegation..."
He began, but she smiled and shook her head.
"Delegation's just another word for defeat."
She murmured, and shook herself free of him, turning to face the line up of outfits.
"If you do make a mistake, because you're not fit to be at work, they could fire you..." He was trying to shock her, trying to get through to her the severity of what she was doing, going into work when she was neither physically or mentally fit could spoil everything.
"You could lose it all..."
"And what makes you think I haven't already?"
She asked, and she spoke so quickly that she might not have spoken at all.
For a moment neither of them spoke, and neither of them moved. Instead they just stood, watching one another, Connie, so small, wrapped in her swathes of silk, her hair piled up on top of her head, the towel beginning to slip. She raised a hand to it.
"I need to get dressed."
She said suddenly, but failed to move.
"Fine."
He looked down again to his hands as he pushed them into the pockets of his jeans, and he stepped back away from her, turning to leave the room, but her words caught him, as his hand had hers moments before.
"I don't know what's happening...I'm sorry..." As she spoke he stopped before the closed door that led out onto the landing, he stopped and looked at the large globe like bronze handle. "I seem to be in some strange sort of mood." She added, and he heard the floorboards creak as she turned to face him. "We do what we do...at the hospital...we struggle to piece people back together again, in the hope that we can change the world, but despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes, we still fail. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. It's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself. There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined...or at least that's what I thought before...now there's just this ever-present darkness, and I can't seem to..." She paused and pressed her fingers to her forehead. "I seem to be unravelling." She whispered, and he turned back to face her. "I shouldn't have stayed..." He began, but she cut him off. "No, it's not you, it's not you!" She leant against the solid oak of the wardrobe door, it creaked on it's hinges. "Connie...?" He made to move to her. "Jesus!" She exclaimed and ran a hand across her face. All of this...all of this seemed so endless. "Do you want me to go?" "No, don't go!" She let her hands fall to her sides, helpless. "Don't go...explain to me why this is happening." She whispered, and in that moment she looked so vulnerable, so afraid and lost that he had no choice but to go to her, to make his way back over to her, to reach for her. "Don't! Don't touch me." She flinched from him in a way that she never had done before. He paused, his hand mid-way to her, but instead of letting it fall back down to his side, he continued, watching her as he did so, waiting for her to push him away. He placed his hands upon her elbows, holding her as firmly as he dared. "You will get over this." He said softly. She smiled doubtfully. "But there are still the hours, aren't there? One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there's another..." She whispered, and her voice began to falter.
He drew her in, pulled her to himself so that she pressed stiffly against his chest. He bought his arms up about her back, holding her.
"You haven't lost everything."
He said quietly, his breath against her hair.
More soon...thank you so much for the lovely comments, I thoroughly enjoy reading them, and I love hearing what you want to happen next etc. Thank you, again ! xxx
Max watched as Connie emerged from the en suite, a towel wrapped about her head, a different dressing gown tied tightly about her waist.
She looked up as he spoke, pausing in her step.
"You're not planning on going into work, are you?"
He asked, his voice hesitant.
She continued on her path across the room.
"Oh, I can't let a little thing like that stop me..."
She murmured, opening both of the wardrobe doors and standing back, surveying her options.
"A little thing like a suicide attempt?"
He asked slowly...quietly.
He watched her inhale slowly through her nose.
"Black, or white?"
She asked, running her fingers over a black dress, the arm of which jutted out further than the rest.
"Connie..."
Max exhaled and stood up from the bed, paused, then made his way over to her. Without her shoes he was a good few inches taller than her, and still this difference in height surprised him. He stopped close to her, he could smell her shampoo, her deodorant, and the recognisable scent of her perfume.
"You can't..."
"Max!"
She turned sharply to face him, his close proximity throwing her slightly.
"You're not exactly..."
He tailed off again and she arched an eyebrow.
"I am more than capable, thank you. In fact, I'm probably still more capable than others I could mention..."
She said sharply, her arms wrapped tightly about her waist.
He pursed his lips, and gave an ever-so-slight nod of his head. "What if something went wrong, what if you made a mistake?"
He asked.
"I don't make mistakes."
She scoffed and laughed a humourless laugh, glancing back towards the hangers lined with designer clothes...all waiting for her to choose which version of herself she wanted to be that day.
"What if you kill a patient?!"
He lowered his voice and she laughed again.
"Max...please...let's not be over-dramatic..."
She left her sentence unfinished and he drew in a breath, steadying himself before he spoke.
"This isn't who you are, you don't take risks like this, this isn't who I thought Connie Beauchamp was."
He whispered, and he saw a flicker of something behind her eyes, hurt? Defeat?
She stared at him, unblinking, lips drawn into a tight line, hands clenched, arms folded even tighter.
"Well, I'm sorry that I've disappointed you."
She whispered and made to turn away from him but he caught her arm, stalling her. She looked down to where his hand curled over the cream silk of the dressing gown, where it creased between his fingers and she could feel the cold of it pucker against the warmth of his hand.
"You haven't disappointed me."
He said quietly, and she narrowed her eyes, still he held onto her arm.
"Listen..."
He paused and glanced down to his own hands, the incessant gaze of her hazel green eyes becoming too much.
"Can't you just let someone else take over? Just for today? Delegation..."
He began, but she smiled and shook her head.
"Delegation's just another word for defeat."
She murmured, and shook herself free of him, turning to face the line up of outfits.
"If you do make a mistake, because you're not fit to be at work, they could fire you..." He was trying to shock her, trying to get through to her the severity of what she was doing, going into work when she was neither physically or mentally fit could spoil everything.
"You could lose it all..."
"And what makes you think I haven't already?"
She asked, and she spoke so quickly that she might not have spoken at all.
For a moment neither of them spoke, and neither of them moved. Instead they just stood, watching one another, Connie, so small, wrapped in her swathes of silk, her hair piled up on top of her head, the towel beginning to slip. She raised a hand to it.
"I need to get dressed."
She said suddenly, but failed to move.
"Fine."
He looked down again to his hands as he pushed them into the pockets of his jeans, and he stepped back away from her, turning to leave the room, but her words caught him, as his hand had hers moments before.
"I don't know what's happening...I'm sorry..." As she spoke he stopped before the closed door that led out onto the landing, he stopped and looked at the large globe like bronze handle. "I seem to be in some strange sort of mood." She added, and he heard the floorboards creak as she turned to face him. "We do what we do...at the hospital...we struggle to piece people back together again, in the hope that we can change the world, but despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes, we still fail. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. It's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself. There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined...or at least that's what I thought before...now there's just this ever-present darkness, and I can't seem to..." She paused and pressed her fingers to her forehead. "I seem to be unravelling." She whispered, and he turned back to face her. "I shouldn't have stayed..." He began, but she cut him off. "No, it's not you, it's not you!" She leant against the solid oak of the wardrobe door, it creaked on it's hinges. "Connie...?" He made to move to her. "Jesus!" She exclaimed and ran a hand across her face. All of this...all of this seemed so endless. "Do you want me to go?" "No, don't go!" She let her hands fall to her sides, helpless. "Don't go...explain to me why this is happening." She whispered, and in that moment she looked so vulnerable, so afraid and lost that he had no choice but to go to her, to make his way back over to her, to reach for her. "Don't! Don't touch me." She flinched from him in a way that she never had done before. He paused, his hand mid-way to her, but instead of letting it fall back down to his side, he continued, watching her as he did so, waiting for her to push him away. He placed his hands upon her elbows, holding her as firmly as he dared. "You will get over this." He said softly. She smiled doubtfully. "But there are still the hours, aren't there? One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there's another..." She whispered, and her voice began to falter.
He drew her in, pulled her to himself so that she pressed stiffly against his chest. He bought his arms up about her back, holding her.
"You haven't lost everything."
He said quietly, his breath against her hair.
More soon...thank you so much for the lovely comments, I thoroughly enjoy reading them, and I love hearing what you want to happen next etc. Thank you, again ! xxx