I stalk into her office, hoping to silently watch her for a moment, catch her off guard, gaze intently at her for a while, stir her from the work she so eagerly concentrates on. I'm wrong, when I stick my head round the door she isn't in her desk, neither is her foe. I shrug, turning on my heel, its most likely she is still caught up in a case, finishing rounds, she most certainly hasn't left, her coat and bag are still idle on her coat hook.
A quick introspection at the nurses station tells me she has finished work, why then is she still here, I beg to ask the question, my answer hits me like an adulterating slap. I curse myself for being so naïve, so stupid, knowing myself what it feels like to return to an empty flat I understand her perfectly. Making matters worse is no doubt the guilt over putting Michael in such a position. I heard her in her office that night as I came in to avoid loneliness and catch up with paperwork, sitting cradling her for two hours as she sobbed and explained had quite literally left me in shreds. She told of how she'd always trusted him, yet still knew that it wasn't going to work out, about how she'd had to turn him in because he was too proud to tell her otherwise, about how she'd seen Chrissie smile so cockily, about how isolated she was feeling.
I decide she's gone for a walk, I've got a pretty good idea where, dipping into my office I pick up my coat, heading downstairs to first pick up some strong coffee, if I know her as well as I think, she isn't alone, she'll have taken a reminder of Michael with her, his bottle of aging scotch. The paper cups warm my hands in eager anticipation as I hop up the stairs two at a time, careful not to slush the liquid adventurously over my coat. Taking the last few steps easily I make it out onto the roof, eyeing her leaning against the water box poking out from the flat plain, I was right, nestling in the gravel beside her is the bottle of Glenfiddach, from a distance her eyes already look bloodshot, she is moving too languidly for my liking. I am concerned.
I walk slowly over to her, startling her now could cause her to bolt, run towards the edge, not that I think she would, the thought crosses my mind none the less, "Connie," I ask tentatively. Her head turns round to face me; she has bitter red tears frisking on her raw cheeks.
"Go away," she announced in a slurred purr, I can't help but feel turned on by her appearance, it is most certainly wrong! Thrusting the coffee into her hand I help myself to the vacant space beside her, placing my hand over my knees, its bitterly cold yet I'm certain she is feeling it more than me, those surgical hoodies provide little warmth.
"What's brought this on?" Given her current state I am right to expect her barriers to telling me the truth resemble a sand castle, seeming strong yet entirely weak. Her face turns to look at me, she is hurting for some reason I've yet to be told about.
"It's, its Michael," she stammers in response, her speech is still slurred ever so slightly, the coffee is having the desired effect, it's just taking a bit longer than I'd hoped, apparently I hadn't been quick enough this time.
"What about Michael?" I ask cajoling her, I'm not one to push things but truth be told I'm starting to freeze my backside off here and the sooner we return to warmth the better, I can see blue trails on her fingertips.
"He's come back," she sniffs sullenly, averting her eyes to the sky, the hours that woman can spend staring to nothing amazes me, a bit like myself I suppose, its where we are too alike, we look to people who we've loved and lost, the number of times my dad's silently helped me out despite our differences makes me smile for some odd reason.
"How can he come back, I thought he was in jail," I must admit I'm slightly confused, it's the problem with my nature, I'm too forgiving, happy to let my nose remain out of peoples business, gossip's never really interested me. But anything that involves Connie does interest me, and worry me at the same time. For weeks after he got sentenced she went around with her face screwed up in all sorts of discontented hurt.
"He's on AAU, he bloody well tried to kill himself, Ric," she mutters soullessly, the hurt is explicit in her voice, she isn't hiding it either, she knows I'll find out sooner or later, that she can't hide anything from me. My immediate reaction is to put my arm around her, she doesn't protest in the slightest, burying her face into my chest, I can feel the material absorbing her tears as she make's fruitless attempts to stop.
"Connie, why didn't you tell anyone," I sigh, I sound like a father, frustrated at her embarrassed need to hide things from me, it annoys me sometimes but I can't be angry with her now, it would be downright wrong.
"I don't want people knowing how much of a selfish coward he is," she whispers, spoke from a proud woman, image is everything to her, she can't be seen without faultless makeup, no background, an enigma, heavens above I've spent hours trying to solve it, it's like suduko, impossible to solve yet entertaining throughout.
"He's your husband, its perfectly alright to feel like this," reassurance is what she needs just now, I'm more than adept at giving it, or at least I think I am, she glances up to me, her face bares a grateful smile, we don't say anything to each other as her lips crush softly onto mine, I don't pull away, its strange but comforting, I like it, a lot. As soon as she pulls away I yearn for more yet find myself drowning with guilt, her husband is laid floors below and I'm up here committing adultery. I shuffle away from her, watching her face crumble.
"I'm sorry Connie, it's wrong, you should be with Michael," I tell her through gritted teeth, there is something stupidly hot about her when she is like this, I can't absolutely cannot. No!
"But I can't go and see him, not like this, I've barely spoken a word to him, no I won't here suits me fine," she talks like a petulant child, it slightly amuses me, her stubbornness is a turn on, but I can't, what do I say to this admission, it seems totally wrong to force her to go see him, but the two of them clearly have things to talk about, issues to resolve. I go for it, getting out of this situation is the only possibility now.
"Connie, you and Michael need to talk, he's hurting just as much as you are, I think him being here shows that," I sigh, not wanting to sound uninterested or forced, it is difficult, I cannot help my tones being clipped like they are, it's just worry, that's all, yes just worry!
"What the hell do I say to him Ric, 'Hi Michael just thought I'd ask why you tried to kill yourself, why you wanted to die, it won't have anything to do with me will it, don't want you sitting dancing in my conscience,'" she is mocking herself, licking the afflicted wound with sarcasm, it's eating away at her like a cancer I doubt I could ever remove, it hurts me.
"No Connie, you go sit with him, talk if he wants to, listen if he needs you too, savour this time, soon enough he'll be back in prison and you won't be able to see him as often as you like," I ramble on trying to find all the reasons as to why she needs to see him, my list suddenly becomes exhausted.
"I've not seen him since that night though," she admits hanging her head in petty shame, I'm broken for her, its silly of me to think that she had gone to see him, they betrayed one an another in so many ways that I will never understand, she is hurting from him hurting her by hiding the truth, he is hurting from her bringing the truth into the open, I don't know entirely who is to blame for it all, blame lies in constant equilibrium in my eyes, it's just been poisoned by sacrificial lies, tainted by dirty misgivings.
"If I go with you will it help," I suggest, attempting the possible of shifting the mountain to Mohammed, she needs support to face him, to answer the questions she feels she can't handle, to get the air cleared of the misty fog shrouding their relationship, I pause. Why am I trying to repair their marriage, when I find this woman such an immense turn on. Her body language is slowly changing; its something I've picked up in the months spent watching her move.
"Yes," she sighs, we stumble to our feet, she slightly unsteadier than I am, but stone cold sober now, I don't want to ask where she got her tolerance from, I don't particularly care right now. We shuffle tensely over the gravel, aiming in the general direction of AAU, I rub her shoulders to keep her warm, or at least let her know I am there, her plastic smile is smeared across her face like a jar of jam adorns a two year olds. We are silent until I finally reach the door to AAU automatically punching in the numbers and opening the door for her, she is now walking incredibly slowly, savouring each step? I don't quite know. We reach the sparkling treatment room, he is tucked up in bed with a police guard sleeping at his side, I stop at the door, letting her move to his bed, disturb the officer, send him packing and sit down with a heavy sigh.
"Michael," her tones are unique, it's the way you speak to someone so close to you, not forced, not sincere, not light hearted, not anything but loving. His eyes slowly open, he had a faded bruise on his right eyelid, a cut on his lip and bandages adorning both his wrists, I feel myself grimace as I look at him, he's burnt out. Physically I know we can do everything we can to sort him out, but emotionally, well all I will say is I'm not a psychologist, or psychiatrist for that matter. He attempts to speak but she lifts her hand to his mouth silencing him wordlessly.
"You deserve an explanation," she tells him simply as he looks at her intently, her voice drops in tone, it's more soulful now, I don't try to eve's drop any further, that is wrong, its an invasion of her privacy, I do however notice tears draining out down her face, she appears to be an open sink, the plughole long since dried out. My head rests against the doorpost, she must be heading to empty soon, but I see her smile in response to his smile, they look as though they are sorting things out, the first step is always the hardest. Her smile has evaporated, her voice is trilled as she calls me over, instinct washing over me, I catch the monitor, its flying all over the place, she is speechless, I take over, physically shoving her out of the way as I bark orders right left and centre, the pillows go flying as I lift his limp head out of the way, thrusting it back as I intubate, it feels so awfully wrong now, I'm hurting for Connie, my ex wife runs in doing what she needs to, demanding paddles, he's a fading light, drying out in the last morsels of oxygen, I can see his body jolt, stirring to nothing, it's too late, whatever he's done, why ever he's done it, he's succeeded, I look so truthfully sorry as I turn to face her, she is as white as a sheet, it isn't fair, her world has hit her for six, she walks towards me, shaking into voluptuous tears, they cascade down her face, her face seems like it's broken, her smile had been snapped on its head, I take her in my arms, comfort her as best I can, it doesn't seem right, it doesn't seem fair. I squeeze her arms tighter; wanting to turn the clock back, make everything ok. I can't
YET I find the attraction ever more powerful right now, I deny!