Second Chances

Chapter Fourteen

Paul is still sleeping when I wake the next morning.  He's lying side on with the television remote wedged between his hand and the sofa. I get out of bed and pad over to him, unable to draw my eyes from his face.  His features are softened, a light snore coming from his open mouth.  His glasses are sitting awkwardly on his face and I feel the need to remove them.  Placing one hand on the sofa to steady myself, I crouch down and carefully turn his head a fraction to release the arm of his glasses from behind his ear before folding them and placing them on the table.  My movement is enough to rouse him from his sleep and he blearily opens his eyes before reaching up to rub them.

"Hey," he murmurs, stretching out his body.  His back clicks uncomfortably and guilt washes over me.  I'm not stupid...I know he slept on here to avoid me.
"Hey," I reply equally as gently.
"What time is it?" he asks, reaching for his phone.  Realising it's still early, he closes his eyes once more and takes a deep breath.
"I'm gonna jump in the shower.  Do you need anything?"  I ask before standing up and walking away.  I hear him mumble something about getting some more rest and I leave him to it whilst I try and wake myself up.

---

The scene I'm greeted with upon exiting the bathroom is the complete opposite of what I expected.  Paul is up and has changed into clean clothes.  What shocks me more though is what he's doing.

He's packing.

He turns, noticing me stood still in the middle of the room, confusion etched on my face.  He looks away before answering the unspoken question.
"I'm gonna head back to Bath.  You don't need me here anymore."

I don't need him anymore?

I don't need him?  How can he think that?!  I need him so much that it scares me!

I wish that I could tell him that but I can't.  I can't risk getting hurt all over again.  Not unless I know he feels the same way about me.

I can't speak so I just stand there watching him fill his case.  It's only when he brushes past me to collect his toiletries that I manage to form words.

"Is it because of what happened?"  Okay...maybe they aren't the smartest words to come out of my mouth but I can't help it.  It's what I'm thinking.
He stops, his back to me.  I hear him pause before taking a deep breath.  "Hannah..."
"Don't give me some crap excuse here Paul, I deserve more than that," I say, my oppressed anger starting to rear its head.  "Is that why you're leaving?"
He turns to face me.
"I..." he stumbles over his words and I know I've hit a nerve.  "Your sister's doing better now and she's going to be ok.  That's the only reason you needed me here.  You were emotional and vulnerable, that's all."
It's not the only reason, and I know that this is the perfect moment for me to tell him how I feel but I can't.  Fear has gripped my heart like an iron rod.
"I think it's best that I get back to rehearsals with the others," he continues, "you know how much longer it'll take me to learn it all."
I hate that he's trivialising this, like he's trying to make out that there's nothing between us.
"Fine," I reply.  "Go then."  I don't care if I sound horrible - and I know I do.  I just hate that he's pushing me away.  Surely I'm not imagining that there's still something between us?  Surely I can't be that wrong?
He doesn't respond but finishes packing.  The silence is deafening and I'm desperate to have some time alone.  I want to scream...cry...break something.  For the first time in a long time, I feel more than just frustration towards him: I feel anger at the way that he's dealt with this.

Maybe he hasn't changed as much as I thought.

---

Things are awkward when I first arrive at the hospital.  Paul's absence seems to have caused more of a stir that his presence yesterday, especially given the relaxed atmosphere at dinner last night.  Nobody dares to ask me about it fortunately and we're given more positive things to focus on as Tanya is told that she can go home tomorrow as long as her progress continues today.  We're all so relieved, especially Grant who I can tell hasn't had much sleep since the accident.

It's only when I get back to the hotel later that night that I realise how alone I feel.  I wish Paul was still here.  I might be more emotionally secure hearing that Tanya's going to be ok, but I miss him more than I want to admit.  I debate calling him, mentally weighing up the pros and cons in my mind.  Just as I'm about to get my phone out of my pocket, my ringtone disturbs the peace. 

Adam.  Again!

I stare at my phone and the accompanying picture of his face.  Ignoring him clearly isn't working as he's not getting the message that I'm not interested.  I don't want to deal with it right now though so I cancel the call sending him to my answer phone for the third time in the past 24 hours.

I load up my messages and write out a short one to Paul, updating him on Tanya's progress and saying that she should be released tomorrow.  Settling down in front of the TV, I half expect a quick response but it doesn't come.

---

I'm woken a couple of hours later by my phone buzzing on the table.

One new message.

I groggily reach over but my mind becomes alert as soon as I see the name.  Paul Cattermole.

Taking a deep breath, I click 'open'.

"I'm glad she's on the mend."

I'm glad she's on the mend?  I'm glad she's on the bloody mend?!  Is that all he can say after his disappearing act?!  I'm furious and I'm tempted to phone him just to have a go at him.  Before I can though, a second message appears.

"I'm sorry about earlier Hannah.  I just can't be there right now.  I hope you understand."

I stare at it whilst my emotions regulate themselves.  The second sentence confuses me.  Why can't he be here?  Is it because of what happened?  Does he regret it?  I have so many questions racing through my brain but he's the only one that can answer them.

Deciding that an emotional response probably isn't the best idea, I head to bed.  I can't resist sliding myself over to where he slept two nights ago and the faint smell of his aftershave is still on the pillow.  I hold it close to my head, my hands finding their way underneath it to pull it closer.  As I do, I come into contact with the soft fabric of his t-shirt.  He must have left it here in his rush to escape this morning.  Removing it, I hold it in my hands, running my fingers through the fine cotton material.  It's soft against my skin and reminds me of the stark contrast with his body.  He might not be the leanest man in the world, but Paul's chest has always had quite good definition and I've always felt protected when I'm inside his arms.  The other night was no different.

Scared about what that means for my heart, I allow myself to cuddle up to his shirt before falling into a peaceful sleep.