Hell, I’m concerned about me.
Andrew reached the top of the stairs and turned left towards the bathroom. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling the plastic-dolphin light-cord hanging beside his head. The bulb flickered on above him and hurt his eyes with its harsh glare reflecting off the white wall-tiles. Somehow the pain in his retinas seemed to reactivate the pain in his abdomen and he doubled over. He dropped down to his knees and leant against the bathtub, reaching across and turning both taps on at once. He listened to the soothing gush of fresh water for a few seconds, then slipped the plug into the drain and let the tub fill up.
When it was halfway-full, Andrew stood up and peeled off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror that was fixed on the back of the bathroom door. A deep, grey blemish of a developing bruise bloomed beneath the ribs on his right side. Gently, he ran a finger over the injury and pressed down slightly. The action was immediately met with a sharp, stabbing pain that radiated through his entire torso. Andrew’s stomach fluttered with approaching nausea and forced him to lean over the sink and take deep breaths. It took several minutes before his insides calmed down again.
Hands shaking, Andrew unfastened his jeans and let them fall around his ankles; his underwear too. Then he stepped out of the clothes and pulled off his socks using his toes, unable to bend down and pull them off by hand. Once he was completely naked, he stepped over into the bath and gingerly lowered himself down.
The warm water sent fresh stabs of pain through his ribs, but after a few seconds the discomfort subsided and was even alleviated slightly by the therapeutic heat massaging his body. He slid back against the tub and placed his head down on the spongy bath pillow that Pen had needlessly brought on one of her shopping trips. He was grateful for it now though and the softness against the back of his skull made him feel sleepy.
He would have to make up with Pen before he went to bed – apologise to her. Never going to bed on an argument was a wisdom he always abided by. Whether or not he shared with his wife why he snapped at her in the first place was something he’d not yet decided.
Don’t want to worry her.
But I don’t want to keep things from her either.
Andrew used the toes of his left foot to turn off the hot water tap and then the cold. He slid lower into the water, letting his chin touch the surface. If he could have, he would have gone completely under, accepting the warm and inviting embrace of the water like a protective womb. He settled for dunking his head under and soaking his hair. Wet, maple strands plastered his forehead when he came back up and he wiped them away with his hand.
Relaxation approached at last, the tension flowing away into the bath water. Soon Andrew would be able to think things through rationally – to decide whether or not he would call the police, tell his wife, or just keep the whole thing to himself. With a calmer mind, Andrew could at least console himself that things would work out one way or another. He was a middle-classed citizen of the UK, not some impoverished Russian on the mean streets of Moscow. There was order and civility in Great Britain. Wretched little monsters like Frankie were punished for their crimes.
He only just got out of a young offender’s home, for Christ’s sake. Is he planning on going straight back to an adult jail?
A knock at the bathroom’s door.
“Andrew?” It was Pen.
Andrew sighed, wishing that the water would swallow him whole. He still wasn’t ready to speak to his wife. But what choice did he have?
“Andrew, I ordered you some food as well. Just in case you change your mind. I’m worried about you. Is your stomach-ache really bad?”
“Yeah,” Andrew replied. “But I’ll try to eat something anyway. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”