Aware of approaching footsteps, Jac wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve hurriedly and breathed deeply, composing herself. She couldn't let anybody in the hospital see her in such a pathetic state; she was The Jac Naylor, the Ice Maiden, the woman who was chiselled from a block of ice at birth. If she let her frosty facade slip now, the years spent earning her reputation as Queen Bitch would be worthless; her power diminished, her name dragged through the dirt. She was still Jac Naylor and nothing...nobody would change that. Not even Joseph Byrne. Why did she let him have this effect on her, did she have no shame, no self respect?
Her eyes were now dry and, all of a sudden, fury surged through her veins, through her whole body, from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers; a destructive force. She was on the edge.
The door was pushed open. "Jac! There you are, I wondered where my partner in crime had got to. You haven't been on the ward for at least an hour and a half, I thought you ha..." A pause. "Jac...? What's happened?" The cheer in Sacha Levy's voice ebbed away as he looked at Jac Naylor's mascara stained face, her dishevelled hair...her ghost like expression, and the sparkle in his eyes was instantly replaced with only concern for his friend.
"What! I'm fine. I just had something to deal with. That's all. OKAY?" Jac shot Sacha a dirty look, her piercing gaze daring him to come any closer, to ask any more questions.
Her colleague, nonetheless, was unperturbed by her aggression. "You've been crying. Tell me, Jac. I can help...do you want to hug it out? I know you love a good squeeze from the Levy", a cheeky smile darted across his face, willing his good humour to rub off on the distressed woman standing in front of him.
"Oh, will you just take your crap jokes and FU..."
"JAC!"
"WHAT! I'M NOT IN THE MOOD TO BE TALKING TO YOU, DON'T YOU GET IT? IS YOUR PEA SIZED BRAIN INCAPABLE OF COMPREHENDING THAT. YOU'RE JUST A FAT, STUPID, IRRITATING, HALFWIT ...AND...AND..."
Jac didn't finish her sentence because the tears had surfaced once again and she couldn't string out a sentence without stumbling on her words. Yet, once again enraged by her obvious vulnerability, she struck out at the table situated in the centre of the staffroom, swiping everything on its surface to the floor: patient files; pens; two plates and her coffee mug, the sound of shattered porcelain ricocheting off the walls. She didn't even care anymore. It was over. Everything.
Sacha just stood and observed, stunned, as Jac made her way to the window and watched silently as Joseph Byrne, still dressed in his dark blue scrubs, walked out of the hospital and across the car park.