Chapter 6

The kiss was awkward, obviously inexperienced, but it made my pulse race. Arthur's lips slid across mine and our noses bumped. I touched his hands and guided them down to my shoulders to release his grip on my face. Then I brought our lips together again, mine parted, and teased his into a response. After a moment, he was kissing me as if he'd been doing it for years. He slid his arms around me and drew me close, his lips warm and firm as they caressed mine, the tip of his tongue teasing, making me want more. I held onto him, encouraging him to keep kissing me. His heart thumped under my hand and a slight tremble ran through his body. I slipped my hand under his waistcoat and stroked his back through the soft silky fabric of his shirt. A groan rumbled up from his chest. Then something changed.

He held me tighter, his obvious arousal rubbing against my hip. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, his lips crushing mine against my teeth. Desire rushed through me and I responded just as eagerly. It had been a long time since a man wanted me like this—approaching eighteen months. I hadn't been with anyone since the end of my disastrous relationship, and many nights I lay alone in my bed, wishing I had a man with me.

Arthur tore his mouth from mine and pressed his lips to my neck. He took a step forward, then another, guiding me backwards until my legs bumped the sofa. Then I was half falling, half being lowered onto the cushions. Arthur's weight landing on me squashed the breath out of me, and I sucked in air quickly before he resumed kissing me. Clumsily, he ran a hand up my ribcage and cupped my breast, squeezing through my dress. His knee pushed between mine, parting my legs enough to rest between them. The hard heat of his groin pressed against mine and I realised I was already getting wet. My body was as desperate as he appeared to be, but I hesitated to respond when he began pulling up my dress with his free hand.

It was a first date and yes, I'd had sex on first dates before. I wasn't a prude and I knew what I liked. But Arthur was so different tonight. If this had been a first date two weeks ago, we wouldn't be doing this. I knew we wouldn't. He'd have been too shy and nervous. He might have even started to laugh if I kissed or touched him. I had imagined us together like this, but we'd been in bed, gently exploring each other, Arthur tentative and anxious.

While I thought about it, he fumbled with his clothes and his erection slid against my bare thigh, leaving a wet smear on my skin. I pulled my lips from his. "Arthur, wait."

"I want you so much," he groaned. "Oh, fuck." He slid his fingers into my panties, tugging the lace fabric aside. "I need to—"

I moaned, torn between intense desire and fear that he wasn't himself; that this wasn't the Arthur I had come to care for. But then it was too late. He thrust against me, his cock slipping away and along the crease at the top of my thigh. "Fuck." He grasped it firmly and guided himself.

He felt so good. He filled me just right—hot and hard, desperate and uncoordinated. I slid my arms around him and tilted my hips up. He buried himself deep and pressed his face into my neck. He didn't move again. His body shuddered and he came, pulsing inside me. Hot breath fanned my skin as he panted against my throat. Damn, I wanted more. As uncertain as I'd been when I realised his intentions, now I was too aroused to think coherently.

Suddenly, he froze. His body went rigid above me and he stopped breathing. Then he pulled out and away, almost throwing himself off the sofa. "Fuck," he muttered. "Oh, fuck." He stuffed himself back into his clothes and zipped up, hands shaking. "I'm so sorry. Oh, God, I'm so sorry." He fled, not even stopping to snatch his jacket from the peg by the door.

"Arthur?" I sat up, once again stunned, as the door slammed behind him. "Jesus Christ." I pulled myself to my feet and righted my clothes, my face heating. His fluid seeped out and soaked my underwear. What the hell had I been thinking? Seduced by a new confident Arthur and a bunch of orange roses, and now I suspected I'd made a big mistake. I should have stopped him. Not for me—for him. I was sure it was his first time and he already regretted it, judging by his words as he ran away from me. But if I had stopped things before they got that far, would he have felt rejected and just as bad as he seemed to now? At least all of this had quelled my own frustration.

I laughed hollowly and headed for the bathroom to clean up. What now? Should I go after him, or leave him alone?

I flicked on the bathroom light and stared at myself in the mirror—tangled hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes wild. I looked well-fucked. How deceptive appearances could be. I peeled off my dress and stockings, then my underwear too, and took a quick shower. Ten minutes later, I was dressed again in jeans, sweater, and sneakers, jogging down the stairs to Arthur's apartment. The lift wasn't playing ball.

"Arthur!" I knocked on the door. "You all right? Can you hear me?"

There was no sound from within and he didn't answer.

"If you can hear me, just listen, okay? I don't know what you're thinking right now, but if you think you did something wrong, don't. Everything's okay. I wanted to do that just as much as you did." I cleared my throat, hoping the neighbours weren't listening, particularly not Sophie. What the hell would she think? "Arthur?"

A screech of laughter came to me through the door, followed by loud guffaws.

"Arthur, don't be upset. It's all okay," I called.

He carried on laughing, hysterical and out of control. It went on and on, occasionally interspersed with choking and gasping. Eventually, the laughter turned into sobs. I tried the door, but it was locked.

"Arthur, can you come to the door and let me in?"

I tried for maybe half an hour, but he didn't come to the door. Eventually, he was silent. I turned away to walk to the stairs, just as Sophie opened her door.

"Audra, are you okay? I heard something."

"Yeah, I'm okay." I joined her in her apartment, realising I could use a friend right now. "Actually, I'm not. Something happened."

"What? Did Arthur do something?"

"You know you teased me about having a date with him someday and I said 'bullshit?' Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "That was tonight."

"You went on a date with him? Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes widened and she tugged me down onto the sofa beside her. "Tell me everything!"

"I didn't tell you before because it was so sudden. I haven't seen him for two weeks. I told you he performed at Pogo's and it was a disaster. We were supposed to go for coffee after, but that didn't happen. Then he just avoided me. He was upset and embarrassed about the show. Then tonight he turned up at my door and he was completely different. He had new clothes, he brought flowers, and he asked me to go out to dinner. I've never seen him confident like that. He mentioned something about his meds being changed."

"Meds?" Sophie frowned.

"He takes a whole bunch of stuff. Anti-depressants and things."

"So you went out for dinner?"

"Yeah. It was amazing, but weird. I'm used to him being shy and awkward, and acting like he doesn't deserve to even have a friend."

"What happened?" Sophie began to look worried. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, nothing like that. But things went a lot further than I thought they would."

Her mouth fell open. "Did you sleep with him?"

"If you can call it that. I wasn't expecting it. Suddenly he was on me, and it happened. Then he panicked and fled."

"He forced himself on you? Oh, God, Audra!" She grabbed my hand in hers.

"No! No, it wasn't like that at all. I wanted him. I was as excited as he was. I just didn't expect it then. I don't think he's ever been with a woman. Now he's upset and he won't answer the door. I'm worried about him."

"You're worried about him? I'm worried about you!" She squeezed my hand harder. "You know Penny Fleck had schizophrenia or something like that. He could be the same. He could be a danger to you."

"They're not related. He was adopted. I told you he's only the way he is because of a head injury when he was a kid. I've never felt that he was a danger to me, and I didn't tonight. You really don't need to worry about me. That's not with this is about. I'm worried that he feels bad about what happened. I know you don't get it because you don't know him. He's the sweetest guy, and I guess somehow I started to fall for him. But all I seem to do is worry about him."

"I don't know how to help," Sophie admitted. "I'd tell you to keep out of his way, but you're not going to do that, are you?"

"No." I shook my head. "It's okay. I don't need a solution. I just wanted to talk about it. You won't say anything to anyone, will you?"

"Of course not. But I'm here if you need me. Are you sure he didn't coerce you into doing anything?"

"He didn't. We were kissing. I wanted him. I was just surprised."

"Okay." She leaned over and gave me a hug, then smiled. "I think you're the crazy one, for wanting to be with him."

"Yeah, maybe I am."

I didn't sleep well that night. I worried about Arthur. In the morning I went down to his apartment again before work in the hopes that he might answer the door, but there was silence from within and I didn't know if he was there or not. There was nothing I could do except go to work and try and see him later.

As I travelled home on the train in the afternoon, I had an idea. Rather than wait for the lift, which was at the top of the building, I raced up the stairs to my apartment, dumped my bag from work, and grabbed Arthur's red suit jacket from the peg. I checked each pocket, wondering if he might have had a spare key in there. He'd raced off home without the jacket, so he must have had a key with him. Of course, there was nothing in the pockets. Sighing, I draped the jacket over my arm, locked my door again, and made my way back down to his floor.

As soon as I got near Arthur's door, I heard him laughing. It sounded quieter than usual—subdued—but just as manic. I knocked loudly. "Arthur!"

The laughter turned into choking. I tried the door and much to my relief, it opened. He must have unlocked it at some point since last night. I slipped inside and closed it. He was silent now except for a soft snuffling sound. I went into the living room and halted in the doorway, my heart plummeting.

"Arthur!" I rushed to the sofa and dropped to my knees. He lay on his side, wearing only a pair of well worn white underwear, his left arm hanging off the cushions, dripping blood from several deep gashes between wrist and elbow. His face was wet with tears, his eyes unfocused. "Sweetheart, what have you done?"

"Audra?" His voice slurred. "I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me, I promise. You didn't do anything wrong." I pulled off my scarf, which thankfully I still wore, and wound it tightly around his arm to stem the blood.

"I'm off my meds," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

That explained a lot. He'd mentioned taking anti-psychotics as well as anti-depressants.

"Its okay, Arthur, don't worry. We'll get it sorted out. Don't move, I'm gonna call an ambulance." I ran to his phone in the hallway, called the emergency number, and gave them the details. Then I grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and covered him with it. His skin was icy. I stroked his hair away from his face. His eyelids were fluttering and he barely seemed to be breathing. "Arthur, stay with me."

"'M sorry," he whispered again.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. You're gonna be okay. I'm here."

He lost consciousness, and my speeding pulse raced more as I began to panic. "Don't leave me, Arthur. You didn't do anything wrong. Oh God, why didn't I see what was going on last night? I should have realised. I knew you weren't yourself." I kept talking to him, hoping he could hear me and would hang on. I didn't know how much blood he'd lost, but a large puddle had soaked into the carpet next to the sofa.

The door opened and paramedics came in. I jumped up and made way for them. "He's cut himself," I told them. "At least five big gashes. I bound it as tightly as I could."

"Let's get a line in before we move him." One of the paramedics pulled out a canula and began searching for a vein. "Can you tell us about him?"

"His name's Arthur. He was on a mixture of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics, but recently he's stopped taking them. I don't know why. Yesterday he seemed like a completely different person. We went out for a meal. Later he got upset, and I found him like this maybe twenty minutes ago. He told me he's hurt himself before."

"Okay. We'll take care of him now. You want to come with us?"

"Yes," I said at once. "I'm Audra. I'm his friend. He doesn't have any relatives."

Minutes later, Arthur was securely wrapped in the blanket and strapped to a stretcher, and we all travelled down in the lift to the waiting ambulance. The hospital was less than ten minutes away, and when Arthur was taken into the emergency room, I went to the desk to give them his details. Then I waited. No one came to tell me if he was okay, and several times I asked, but was told I wasn't related so they couldn't give me any information.

The paramedics came in with another person they'd been sent to help, and the kindly man who'd put the drip in Arthur's arm came to me. "Still waiting?"

"They won't tell me anything. He doesn't have anyone else." I was on the verge of tears, terrified Arthur might not have made it.

"Come with me." He smiled and gestured to the corridor. I jumped up and followed quickly. "I heard he's all right." He led me to an open door, a ward containing several beds beyond it. "Hey, Suzanne!" he called out to a nurse. "Visitor for Arthur Fleck. She's his girlfriend. He doesn't have any next-of-kin. Let her see him, will you?"

Much to my relief, the nurse beckoned me into the room and led me to the bed in the far corner, which had a curtain pulled most of the way around it.

"I'm Audra," I told her.

"He mentioned you. He's awake, don't worry."

I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Don't stay too long. The psychiatrist is coming to see him soon."

"Okay. Thank you." I stepped around the curtain.

Arthur huddled under the sheet, his shoulders covered by a typical blue and white hospital gown. His left arm was bandaged from wrist to shoulder, and a saline drip and a blood transfusion were hooked up and attached to the canula in his right arm.

"Hey." I sat down beside the bed.

He moved his head slightly to look at me, then groaned and closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Arthur."

"I was off my meds. I shouldn't have come near you like that. I thought I knew what I was doing. Everything seemed so bright and different. I felt like I could do anything."

"Why were you off your meds?" I asked him.

"The system cut social care funding. I lost my therapist and without her I can't get my prescription."

"I'm sorry."

"I hurt you," he said again.

"You didn't hurt me." I leaned closer and took his hand in mine. "I wanted you, Arthur. I care about you, and I want you. Nothing you did was something I hadn't imagined and hoped for a hundred times. It just surprised me, that's all. I didn't expect it right then. You were so different."

"I'm a terrible person. It's better for you if you stay away from me. They'll probably lock me up anyway."

"It'll cost them a lot more to do that than to fund your meds." I brushed his hair away from his face and stroked his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"I don't deserve you." He tugged my hand closer to his lips and pressed a kiss onto my knuckles.

Before I could say anything else, we were interrupted by the psychiatrist arriving to talk to Arthur. The nurse, Suzanne, showed me to a family room where I could sit and wait, and make myself a hot drink.

Absentmindedly, I made tea the way Arthur liked it, and grimaced through every mouthful at the excessive sweetness. An hour passed, and I was about to go and ask if I could see him again when the door opened and a lady in a casual outfit looked in.

"Audra?"

"Yes."

"Will you come with me, please? I'd like to have a little chat, if that's okay?"

"Sure. Is Arthur all right?" I got up, immediately anxious.

"Yes."

I followed her, curious, to another room laid out like a comfortable living room. She closed the door behind us and invited me to take a seat. I sat and folded my hands together. She sat beside me, a couple of feet away.

"I would like us to talk about what happened to you yesterday."

Immediately, my anxiety rose. "What do you mean?"

"I understand that the man you came in with earlier—Arthur—has forced himself on you."

"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed at once, horrified. "Who told you that?"

"He did."