Runaway

Slamming and locking the bathroom door behind her, she turned on the shower to the hottest setting that was still bearable, letting her gown drop to the floor as the plumes of steam rose from the bath and enveloped her in their warmth. Turning to look at herself in the mirror, she saw droplets of water running down her face and allowed herself a small smile – it was impossible to tell where the condensation on her skin ended and the tears began and that was just how she liked it. Quickly her hair grew clammy and she reached out, taking a hair tie and pulling those few strands that were long enough back from her face in a rough ponytail, feeling a pang of satisfaction at the air of youth that the automatic facelift from her tight ponytail gave her. She wasn't sure what it was that had made her want to grow her hair – perhaps it was a deep fear that her trademark severe crop aged her prematurely or perhaps it was simply that having to spend hours blow-drying her hair every morning was a lot like hard work but she liked her new look. Curls fell softly around her face, framing her hazel eyes and full lips, giving her features an air of softness that had been absent from them with her old style. Most pleasingly, Ric adored her new look, spending hours toying with the curls that sat in the nape of her neck, peppering the skin that showed between them with gentle kisses that sent shivers of contentment through her body.

Smiling at the memory, she reached for a bottle of invigorating shower gel and placed it in the bottom of the shower cubicle, reaching for a sponge and laying it beside the shower gel, finally pulling her hair once again from the ponytail and shaking her head as if in an advert for shampoo, enjoying the sensation of hair gently brushing against her neck. Outside she heard him moving around the bedroom, doubtless collecting his belongings, preparing to take his flight from his emotionally crippled lover. She couldn't say she blamed him – her permanent state of angst and distrust was a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone with a self-destruct button almost as sensitive as her own. Even so, as she heard his retreating footfall down the hall towards the stairs, she felt a surge of antipathy for him that was almost as great as the loathing she directed at herself for pushing him so far. He claimed to love her. To worship the ground that she walked on, and yet as soon as the waters got a little stormy he would be off, running back to the sanctuary of his little bedsit on the far side of town where he spent the weeks, making the journey to her plush house in the country every weekend to spend three wonderful nights and two gloriously lazy days beside her. During the weekends they couldn't get enough of each other, yet during the week it returned to business as usual. Sniping in the theatre, battles in the boardroom and the occasional quickie in an office if they shared a spare fifteen minutes between operations. None of their colleagues knew anything about their relationship because Connie insisted on discretion above all else and Ric was happy to go along with that and avoid the inevitable backlash that would ensure when Jess realised that they shared more than a professional relationship. It was an unconventional relationship; a state of affairs that Connie repeatedly insisted was overrated, but it worked for them. Or at least she liked to think it did, but she knew that she was wrong. She could enjoy his company, feel utterly protected by his embrace and totally adored as he gently made love to her but she could never allow herself to trust him. Trust was a commodity that was in extremely short supply in Connie and what little she had ever had, Michael had callously stolen from her, betraying her over and over again until the grand scale of his deception had destroyed their relationship like a guided missile aimed at the heart of their marriage. Her trust in him had destroyed the first long standing relationship that she had ever had and her utter inability to trust looked like it was going to destroy the second. Sometimes life wasn't fair.

Stepping from the house he made fast progress along the drive, gravel crunching underfoot as he made his way to his own car that sat, a slightly sorry sight beside Connie's exquisite sports car. It was a cold day and the crisp February air made the hairs on his arms stand on end but he barely noticed the physical discomfort of the chill over the pain of the emotions that churned through him. This argument was getting to be an increasingly familiar occurrence and he was still as confused by it as he had been the first time she had lashed out at him, pushing him away even though in her eyes, he could see that she hated herself for it. To an extent he could understand why she was as guarded and brittle as she was – Michael had betrayed her in one of the worst ways possible and it was only natural that she would have some reservations about putting her trust in another man, yet still he resented being tarred with the same brush as her ex-husband. Surely she could see that he was different – that he wouldn't have the greed, nor the callous disregard for her feelings to betray her as Michael had done, but still she refused to give him the trust that he so craved. She knew as well as he did that her lack of faith in him was slowly poisoning their perfect relationship but he also knew that she was too damn stubborn to change her ways.

Glancing up at the house he saw her step from the shower, uninhibitedly walking into the bedroom utterly naked, it not occurring to her to close the curtains. But there was no reason why it would – her house was so secluded that she knew the only person likely to catch a glimpse of her state of undress had seen it all before and had no need to creep around outside windows to partake of that particularly beautiful view. Watching her move around the bedroom, bending to make the bed and flicking through her wardrobe to find something to wear, he felt strangely sordid and yet utterly riveted by what he saw. He knew she wouldn't mind – she was the sort of woman who would find the idea of her lover inadvertently being treated to a strip show while he sat in his car a massive turn on. In fact, he half suspected that she intended for him to see her. That she wanted him entice him back to her so that they could, as planned, spend the next twenty four hours or so in her bed, eating croissants smeared with rich creamy butter and sipping steaming hot coffee as they perused the array of tabloids and broadsheets that she had delivered on a daily basis. She expected him to forget about their earlier disagreement and return to her, never again mentioning the fact that she persistently kept everything that wasn't common knowledge buried deep below her particularly attractive surface. It was as if she was so ashamed by something that she thought that he would be revolted by her, and no amount of him asserting that it would be impossible for him to go off her could make her relent. Under normal circumstances perhaps he would have gone back but not today. Last weekend he had, in a fit of desperation, bared his soul to her, pleading with her to tell him something, anything, about her mysterious past, but still she refused. He had told her the thing that he was most ashamed of and yet she wouldn't even tell him whether she had any siblings. It was as if she was pretending that her life only started in the moment that she rode onto AAU on a trolley with blood spattered on her shirt, but he knew that she was concealing something. When his final desperate attempt had failed he felt his feelings for her were shaken somewhat, and for the first time he found himself starting to wonder whether she was worth the trouble.

She stood in the window, pulling the quilt around her to protect what little modesty she had left as she watched him turn the key in the ignition without so much as a backwards glance. So that was that then.