I'm not to blame for anyone's corruption upon reading the last few paragraph's of this part, it came at an unfortunate time and needed to be written:P anyway enjoy, I know a few people have been waiting for this, I'm sorry just tooo busy at school.
Part Six
Three weeks of uncomforting silences had raged, torn and tattered the Beauchamp marriage, what sordid remains had been left, coming and going on notable different shifts so as to avoid the other, petty by anyone else's standards but a necessity to them. Connie had been in futile torment over whether to leave Michael or not, complicated only by the pathetic excuses for an apology, remorse lacking in every monosyllabic grunt he sent her way, not that she particularly cared, every move was one stage closer to her giving up on London and returning to Holby, stopping her was only the dread of a messy marriage and the fear of risking her comfort, if a little mundane lifestyle. The phone call from Ric had been accompanied by a letter arriving several days after their call, bringing with it the one way ticket to Holby and the promise of a floor to sleep on, by anyone's standards that would have been a petty attempt at getting her back but to Connie it was priceless, it gave her the escape route she'd craved, the opportunity to drop everything and run if she wanted to, and after the day she'd had temptations and desires had been left running high.
Not only had she lost one of her favourite patients, it had been preventable, saveable, serving to make her pity and self loathing far worse, to loose a patient for Connie was bad, too loose a preventable fight increased the emotion ten fold, had her registrar called her sooner the girl would still be fighting in intensive care, but it hadn't been, Isla had slipped through her hands like the sands of time, slip sliding away to nothing, Michael had been reliably notified of her death, suspect in being related to MRSA, something beholding fear in most doctors, hurtful truths for Connie as she was reminded of the last time she and the super bug had encountered, the distrust, the affair, the dishonesty, the cockiness of Michael and the humiliation, most of which had bypassed Michael's emotional capacity, leaving her stone cold to help.
Had it not been for Ric to have the ability to sense her extremely emotional state during a particularly hairy operation Connie could be guaranteed that she'd be lying six feet under in Holby. It was testament to the hurt he'd caused her, and she could see the vicious cycle beginning in front of her, insensitive husband meets pretty leggy female, sleeps with her, blames Connie for lack of sustenance, messes up at works, blames Connie, leaves her so emotionally drained that he cannot cope, he runs away, calls for her to follow him, it all begins again.
She could feel her mind and soul untwist unnaturally as she sipped on the Russian vodka before her, rapidly refilling it as the feeling moved down her body, tingling like she used to, the feeling that came long ago from being in Michael's arms, feeling special, feeling wanted. It was a distinguishing mark of a low point when the only place inside the county that she could get this feeling was from a bottle, a glass bottle, not a human but a lifeless object. Fingering the remnants of the colourless liquid lying on the rim was decisively similar the anticipatory feeling she got just before climax, the nervous tension about to be over spilled into some form of anguish in this case, release in the comparative, anguish that was fast overcoming her to produce fury, torment and disgust, verging on the deadly sin wrath, hatred for life, hatred for numerous people, namely her parents for letting her be born, staff in various places for playing their part, hatred for herself in not following her heart, anger at life in general for ensuring her confidence and self belief were shot down at every most inappropriate moment.
Intrusion at this point in Connie's self inflicted wallow in self-pity was always to be avoided, even the current staff knew this, she was liable to either rage at them with contemptuous fury or sack them right there on the spot, neither desirable, neither wanted. Right now the one thing Connie could be doing with was feeling wanted, feeling loved, appreciated and nursed, she may personify perfection and confidence but to the few people under Connie's skin new it to be otherwise at the best of times she was vulnerable. Compounding this vulnerability was fear that someone not close enough to her would discover the true her. Slowly she began to come to her senses, building up the solidly protecting barriers, shielding her from the painful viewpoint of life, noting the extra presence in the room, a silent figure clad in navy uniform. "Mrs Beauchamp, this was found in Isla's belongings, it's addressed to you" the peppy nurse told her concisely, handing over the pale pink envelope and leaving as quietly as she'd left. Connie remained dumbstruck as the idea of a voice from the beyond perturbed her; just what she needed right now. As she released the weakly set seal she pulled out the solitary letter written on matching pink paper, no longer than a side
This is going to sound totally stupid, here I am wasting time on writing a letter to my doctor, but I guess if you are reading this it means that you are mourning my loss. Its not your fault Connie, can I call you that, fine Mrs B, it was my time to go, please don't be mad at anyone except perhaps that waste of a space husband of yours he really treats you like royal shit sometimes, I was wrong about him, go see this mysterious lover of your life and tell mike to sod off. If you ask me you're better off without him, now go Mrs B go. Forget about me now, and MOVE ON.
As if like a light bulb had been turned on Connie felt like she knew where to go, what path to take, what choice to make for her, the option of staying in London gone, hard and fast, instantaneously, there really was no point in sticking around any longer, with someone she felt only mutual feelings towards, staying in a place where she knew no one, cared for no one, stood out to no one, it was crystal clear that her feelings were all that counted now. It was final.
It had been less than four hours since she was sat in the comfort of her office in London, yet she found herself sat on the red eye train to Holby, attempting to talk her conscious mind round to the idea of eloping in the middle of the night, behaviour normally reserved for over hormonal teenagers, but she couldn't fight the spark in her soul, spirit's rekindling from their brisk put out, her body tingling from the feeling of being alive, not the doctor, the professional, the mask, the unleashing of Connie, Coco, the girl inside her, not the ice queen she'd grown to become, grown to adjust, learnt to be the person she wasn't. Unleashing it was like a release to match all climaxes, all releases, and all excitement. She could feel the gentle flurry of snow hitting the window, turning it ice cold, cooling her burning cheek as she rested it, contentedly watching her smiling reflection in the window, drifting in an out of the conscious world, standing on the powerful borderline between happiness and guilt, walking its tightrope and haphazardly falling onto the former, relaxing into its comforting embrace, soon to take the form of Ric Griffin, though he didn't quite know it yet. Figuring a meet at the station would be a much more romantic and appropriate way to go about things she fished in her bag for the swanky mobile she'd been given for Christmas by her husband, attempting to work it had issues though, for someone with more brain cells than she cared to count, working the tiny piece of equipment proved more difficult than its worth. Giving up on the idea of meeting him anywhere else but home she laid the bag down to the side and continued her stare out of the window, feeling more contented as the familiarity of Holby drew nearer and nearer, the looming building that was her former work place scanning into view, the run down part of town, the tiny council housing where many of her patients originated from, the posh part of town, near to her previous home, the place where she'd been happy before. Then the station.
At near enough two am the roads in Holby were more than deserted, the journey to Ric's tiny bedsit taking less than fifteen minutes, the walk to the door taking less than 10 seconds, the pause at his doorbell lasting an age, the answer coming quickly as his dazed looking form came to the door, squinting through the frosted glass, astonished as he met her gaze, her hands, her body, her lips, all in an instant, words not needed as they began to explore each other.
Taking her hands and clasping them tighter than tight as she was led through to the tiny one roomed apartment, the futon already made, dirty underwear lying strewn on the floor, a suit hanging uneasily from the door, curling against the damp mould surrounding it on the walls, the wretched stench masqueraded only by the over use of perfumed sprays, the old dying lily's laying on the side table, next to the watch he'd taken from Ghana, the sepia toned picture of his father guarding it. Their lips had barely parted before the met again, this time as they lay on the bed, the wondrous tingle of electricity flowing between them as they fumbled with each others clothing, he unbuttoning her shirt carefully, she ripping his trouser zip down, top off, trousers off, skirt of, suspenders off, shirt off, bra off, boxers off. They were naked, they could feel each others skins against theirs, her mouth exploring his chest, tingling it with kisses, his skin dewing slowly as she tenderly caressed it, becoming excited, her mouth moving further down his body, past his navel, coming in contact with it again, her lips encasing it, gently squeezing it, increasing in strength as his delightful groans got more intense in the process, her eyes capturing on his smile as she continued her skilful work, stroking it this time, back and fourth to bring about passion only reserved for these moments, fantasy, irresistible pleasure. Her hands took over, pulling the squeeze closer to the tip, not quite reaching the foreskin, stopping before he reached climax, the ultimate tease, his response, to weaken her elbows with kisses and let her fall upon him, her breast continuing to tantalize his skin as she lay there on top of him, letting him take his turn to explore her, feel her silky sweet smelling skin against his lips the trail of butterfly kisses encapsulating her neck like a twine of lilies capturing the essence of their lust. Rolling over in a swift movement caused Connie to succumb, lying vulnerable to Ric's movements, however gentle. His kisses grew in strength as he tumbled them down her abdomen, taking time to make each one count towards her ecstasy and pleasure, swishing his tongue up her leg and onto the border of her thigh Ric could feel her skin begin to buzz beneath eagerly awaiting the next reaction, the entering, the key to her lock, the person to untwine her soul from its ivy bond grasp, release the pent up emotional angst she'd been bequeathing. It felt more than good, it felt like an amazing release as he entered her, teasing her g spot with his tongue, preparing it for the best part yet, his mouth drawing out, licking her juices as he did so, pushing his way back inside with the aid of kisses berating on her tummy, flaring out round her navel in sporadic enjoyment as she grasped at her lips with her teeth, easing any urge to cry out, the chase more thrilling that the capture, the anticipation worth more than the fall, the collapse into his arms. His movements began as she felt the thrust forward and back, forward and back, the motion going deeper as her clench released, letting him fall way passed he g spot, the territory untouched for so long that she was forced to forget composure as she let herself relearn the landscape, the part of ones self that is left for intimate lovers to use, tantalise, fondle, each word an expression to exceed the last, to produce no other sound but happiness in the form of illegible, unspeakable cries, the kind that makes the other scream in pleasure, excitement, lust. It went deeper than that for these two souls, it was the rebinding of the bond, the chemistry being restarted, the experiment taking off from where it was left abruptly, rudely interrupted by the man who perceived himself as god. He finished, as easily as it had come to them, it seemed right to stop, act with a little modicum of dignity, provide the want for more to sustain them, leave a last bit to entice once again, a reward. A point to her return, the best part falling into his arms afterwards, to have the hug reciprocated, be loved back, receiving not just giving, "I missed you" she feigned the smile reaching across your face
"By that performance I'm not in the slightest surprised" Ric spoke his words softly, a continuation of their show, the husky tones wafting to her ear with the ease of a harmonic choir
"I thought I could make it work in London, I thought it would be ok, I thought I didn't need you" her sentence cut off by his dark finger pressing to her lips, a wordless sign to leave the moment unspoilt.
"We'll talk in the morning, just rest Connie, you deserve it" she faded slowly in his arms, wilting like a rose spent for time, ready for the rebirth of morning light….