Without a word he left the hospital. Walked off the premises without a backward glance, leaving his shift, leaving them to cope without him. His shoulders hunched into the rain. Winter nipped at his heels, chasing autumn away from him.
He sucked in a breath, the air seemed to freeze at the back of his throat. Zoe flickered to the front of his mind, her smell, her breath, the way her hair fell across her face as she slept. He walked faster, the rain turning to sleet, burning his face, his lips. Her kisses washed away. The wreckage of his doing seemed too huge, too painful.
He forced his hands into his pockets, his knuckles scratching on the contents, he began to run, his feet slapping the pavement, one of his shoes was leaking and nothing but his own breath was heard, panting in his ears.
His heart galloped, he never ran, unless there was something worth running to..or from.
The sleet grew in strength, he could barely see. He hailed the first taxi he saw, it drew to a halt beside him. He pulled open the door, slipping into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind himself. He gave his address, his voice breathy and strained.
It took less than ten minutes for the taxi to arrive at his house, he paid, counting coppers into the drivers hand who barely thanked him.
"Lofty."
He beckoned the nurse over to him as he entered the house, wet through, one of his eyes looked sore from where the sleet and hail had hit.
Lofty looked up from where he sat eating one of Robyn's fat free yoghurts.
"Order me a taxi for ten minutes yeah?"
He tossed him his phone, not waiting for a reply, taking the stairs two at a time until the final four where he faltered, his thighs weakening. He pushed open the door to his bedroom, ignoring the smell of perfume that lingered, forgetting itself, prancing from bed cover, to curtain, flirting with his senses.
He fingered the strings on his old guitar. It was a electro-acoustic but the jack socket was faulty and had never been used. Gripping it by the neck he lay it gently into it's case, locking it with the key that hung on the back of his wardrobe door. He placed it on the bed, looking at it for a moment before kneeling, pulling out three other guitar cases one by one from under the bed, opening them, checking them, touching them one last time.
He stacked them in a teetering pile near the door, moved to the bookcase, ran his eyes across the spines until he rested on 'Gone with the Wind'. He pulled it out, flicking through the pages until he reached the middle, withdrawing the small envelope and placing it into his back pocket.
The bedside drawer was next, pulling it open he clattered a hand inside, nudging the half eaten chocolate bar, finding his old iphone and throwing it into a bag on the back of the door before unplugging his laptop and headphones and tossing them into the bag after it.
He paused to breathe, surveying the room.
His chest rose up and down quickly, his lips dry and parted.
A car horn sounded outside, a quick glance to the window revealed a red taxi between the glimmering streaks of rain.
He threw the bag over his shoulder, and forced his fingers through the handles of three of the four guitar cases, they bashed and clattered against his legs, knocking painfully against his knees. He leaned over, almost comically, gripping the forth and final guitar case, taking the thin leather handle between his teeth, lifting it and moving as quickly as he could through the door, his chin bearing the brunt of the weight of the fourth guitar.
The stairs he took gingerly, gradually building speed as went, the guitar swinging from his jaw, pulling his teeth. He felt the muscles in his face begin to cramp up as he made it to the bottom of the first flight, clenching his teeth as hard as he could, hearing them grind and move in his mouth as he clattered down to the front door.
Lofty started, open mouthed, a teaspoon of raspberry Activia yoghurt paused halfway between his mouth and the pot. His hesitation just long enough for it to slip with a satisfying plop onto the carpet.
Max placed the guitar he held in one hand to the floor, pulling open the door, taking hold of it again and moving back out into the rain. He shivered, piling his belongings at the rear of the car, popping open the boot himself, the driver watching him, nonchalantly chewing gum like a cow chews the cud, whilst Max, dripping, piled in the guitar cases and bag.
The boot slammed shut. Out of breath Max collapsed into the cab, placing a hand on his chest.
"Town centre please mate."
The taxi driver chewed loudly on the gum. Max could smell the less than fresh mint interspersed with the rancid air freshener that dangled from the rear view mirror. It smelled of sweat and sweet rotting apples.
Max turned his face towards the window, a hand surreptitiously over his mouth.
Town wasn't far. When they arrived, Max gestured to the pawn shop on their left.
"Can you wait here?"
He asked, glancing to the cab driver who nodded just as slowly as he chewed.
Again he stepped into the rain, it didn't seem to hint at stopping any time soon.
He withdrew three of the guitar cases, and the bag, struggling to get them all into the shop at one time. A muscle in his shoulder seemed to bruise as he swung the strap of the bag back over it.
He lifted his wares onto the desk, waiting for a member of staff. He looked for a bell, or something that might gain someone's attention.
He swayed from one foot to the other, his hands again in his pocket, fiddling and twisting the meagre contents. He would see her soon. He WOULD see her soon. He repeated this to himself, feeling a little bit crazed as he did, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of what he was doing.
At last an acne riddled youth sidled up behind the counter, casting a lazy eye across the cases.
"How much for these?"
Max struggled to speak, despite the length of time it had taken the member of staff to appear. He found he was still breathless, still trapped in some sort of alternate universe in which he seemed unable to wake himself from.
He waited, whilst the boy inspected each instrument, each case with the eye of someone who had no idea. Eventually he called someone called 'Keith' over to assess them. Keith was a morbidly obese man with a beard who whistled through his nose when he spoke.
"£3,000 for the lot?"
He was burrowing through the bag, opening and closing the laptop and peering at the charger.
"Fine."
Max gnawed at the skin against his thumb nail, feeling as though he were being taken for a fool as Keith counted out the money into his hand. He found himself shaking, he'd never had that much money in his life, not all at once.
He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pushed the money in, tossing it into the now empty bag and slinging it back over his shoulder, calling thanks on the way out. He collapsed back into the taxi, the bag slouched over his knees.
"Holby City air port..."
He wheezed.
...