“I have friends!” If that’s what you could call the weird people I moved in with.
“Really?” His look is genuine surprise. “You just said you were antisocial.”
I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to give away any further information. Something isn’t adding up. This conversation has triggered anxiety and dizziness, and since the accident, dizziness rapidly leads to unconsciousness. The fog edges into my mind.
“Sorry, excuse me.” Grabbing my bag, I slide off my seat.
The room already darkens, and the ringing in my ears begins. Shit. I need to get out to some fresh air. I stumble past curious people and push out the nearest door into the bright autumn afternoon. Gulping in huge lungsful of air, I bend over, steadying myself against the wall as I attempt to remain upright.
The fog engulfs; I’ve run out of time.
I’m there again. The tarmac is harder against my back and air temperature is colder. I open my eyes. Daylight, and the fog is thinner. Someone leans over me, calling my name and I focus on the man’s face. He looks different this time; his hair isn’t as curly and he’s not wearing a suit, but my deranged mind convinces me this is the man from the night I almost died. My hearing returns and I’m aware of the cooling sweat on my forehead. There are people around me and Finn, looking down with his hand outstretched.
***
After five minutes of being the daily show for everyone outside the hospital, I struggle to my feet, refusing Finn’s offered hand. The nausea after fainting lingers as long as my embarrassment. Finn insists on taking me to the nearest nurses’ station to get checked out before I go home. There’s nothing to check out; this is the new and annoying me I have to live with.
I side-glance him as we travel upstairs in the elevator. The guy in my memories has longer, curlier hair and I never see his face clearly in the black and white landscape of my dreams. I’m confused, I have to be; there’s no way Finn could be him.
“Why won’t you let me help?” asks Finn, as we stand in the elevator. I rest against the metal wall, inhaling, wishing he’d let me go home. Unfortunately, other nursing staff in the car park agreed and shoved me back into the hospital.
“You are helping. By making sure I get checked out.” The edge of displeasure to my voice is palpable.
The elevator lurches to a halt and we step out. “I think you need someone to lean on.”
“I don’t. I’m fine.”
He chuckles. “Sure thing, you’re wobbling all over.”
“It’s not far,” I snap.
We approach the double-doorway to the ward where I was told to go. God, I hope they don’t make me lie down somewhere, this is embarrassing enough. “Thanks, then.”
“Don’t you want me to come in with you?”
“I’m fine.”
For a short moment, Finn scrutinises my face. If he touched me, I’d know…I shake the thought away; I’m being ridiculous.
“You’re very pale.”
“I’m always pale.”
“And tetchy.”
“I’m always tetchy.”
He shifts his weight and sits on a plastic chair outside the doors. “I’ll wait here then.”
“What?”
“I want to make sure you get home okay.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need help. I know what’s wrong and it’ll pass soon.”
Finn crosses his arms, tucking his hands under. “I want to help; I feel like this is my fault.”
“How can this be your fault?”
I wait for a clever retort but he shakes his head. “Because I didn’t get there in time.” The pause before his words is odd.
“I don’t need looking after.”
“No. Of course.”
Pulling myself to my full height, I look down at him. “Thanks for the coffee. And don’t wait for me.”
Twenty questions, blood pressure checks, and a visit from a doctor take around half an hour. When I leave the ward, Finn has gone. I’m a little disappointed, not because I wanted him to wait, but because I wanted him to want to wait.
***
The walk up the hill to my home doesn’t appeal to me tonight; however, I don’t have much choice, so I struggle up the slope. The queasy feeling subsides but the memory of collapsing in front of people burns my cheeks. The doctor gave me a lecture on stopping the meds, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. I don’t want to take them anymore; I don’t need them. I ignored the fact I’m supposed to stop taking them gradually, so I reluctantly have a new supply in my bag.
Grace sits in the lounge reading, earbuds in, listening to music. I wave hello to her and she smiles. After our initial fumbled meeting, we’ve got along fine. We haven’t spoken much but she’s friendly; she even shared her food with me when I first moved in. Plus she’s normal, so I’m disappointed she’s leaving next week. I thought Alek was the only odd member of the household until Lizzie’s conversation with him the other night.
I loosen my coat and walk into the kitchen. Alek reclines on one chair, feet on the mismatching chair opposite him.