The Whipping Turn

London

London was grey. The whole city seemed to have an oppressive air to it, the greyness bearing down on its citizen's, forcing colour and happiness from their lives. 

Anya settled in the back of the large black car and watched the buildings blur past. Perhaps she had been a bit unfair. It wasn't all grey. There was a large amount of unexpressive brown as well.

This isn't soviet, she thought, but it seemed as grimly familiar. It made her feel uneasy.

Edward patted her leg. They all knew that, normally, he would be in the front seat where Rick was but that she felt safest next to him and that the panic attacks that had started in that beautiful Dubai tower were less likely, or at least, less severe if Edward was there. So near he was, at breakfasts, on the plane, at lawyer meetings and now in the car. She felt like some mould that grew when his warmth was near her darkness.

"Welcome to London Any-Jenna." He smiled, correcting himself but his eyes were concerned.

Her new name. A new passport. A new life. A new start. A new country. All wonderfully new, except the darkness that had start seeping into her bones was also new and no name change was fixing that.

It was hard to smile these days so she looked at Edward instead. "Thanks."

Her voice was soft. Did he regret getting involved? It was no longer easy and chatty as they had been in the early days together.  She was different now. She turned the small burgundy book in her fingers, currently her most valuable item, and one that she didn't leave out of sight for too long these days, the anxiety inside her treating it like a security blanket. She was almost certain Rick and Edward saw this slightly obsessive behaviour, and she had noted their concerned glances between one another, but it was another thing that she almost couldn't help, and was just grateful for the relief that holding the leathery cover gave her. She thought back to that turning point, when the reappearance of said passport had signalled the end of a very long nightmare.

Rick was slumped in the visitors chair next to her bed, his body leaning against the bed and his head resting near hers. He was taking advantage of the raised position of her hospital bed to rest but she knew he was still uncomfortable, the way he shuffled on the seat every few minutes, the faux leather squeaking under his weight. She didn't say anything, from experience over the last four weeks, he would just waive her concerns away.

His laptop was propped up over her thighs, on the small table that slotted over the bed and normally held the bland rice dishes she struggled down and the wobbly green jelly which nine times out of ten, Rick ate. This time, it was the laptop playing the second Twilight movie, which Anya was very unsure about from a plot perspective but that Rick has assured her was notably terrible but an important culture reference and therefore a 'necessary-evil-slash-requirement'. The boys were cute, she supposed and so, always taking guidance from Rick, she persevered.

That they both weren't enjoying it but watching it anyways was a reflection of the current situation. Bored and anxious were a terrible mix. Rick had tried to be joking and conversational but as Anya got better every day, as the possibility of the return to Saudi Arabia, to the nightmare, got closer, the three of them edged towards the knife edge, tense and tired. She knew all of Edward's hallway phone calls and hushed conversations with the Dubai hospital doctors had been so much effort to prevent this from happening and he looked the most stressed and tired out of all of them. Wearing a constant frown, eyes drawn and mouth grim, he was far from the chatty doctor she had first met, and guilt touched her heart that she had caused all this.

Her body was tired and sore, now housing the leftover the hacking pneumonic cough that had kept her bedridden and given them an extra couple of weeks, but had taken too much out of her already wrecked body. The bruises were gone, but the new scars and the healing bones of her ribs and several fingers were an all too near reminder of Ibrahim and that day.