Then There Was You

XIII

I wake with a start, sitting up bolt right in bed. My head spins, a sheen layer of sweat covers my body, and I try to make sense of my surroundings. I'm back at the hotel, in my room. I look wildly around the room, my eyes coming to rest on Erica's anxious face.
"Oh Lara! Thank God you're awake!" She takes me gently by the hand. How did I get here? What happened? My heart and head seem to pound together as one painful organ. A quick glance at the window let's me know it's still dark outside. What time is it?

Something shifts in the corner of my eye, and I turn towards the movement. Henry lingers in the doorway, his expression matching Erica's. But there's something else there, underneath the worry. Something I can see he's trying to hide. He moves slowly towards the bed, and sinks down on the floor beside Erica.
"You must have so many questions," she says, stroking my hand soothing, "Henry will be able to answer them better than I can. I'll give you two time to talk. I'll be right outside if you need me." She gets up and kisses my head gently. Henry nods his head in thanks at her, and slides into the space she had left.

"Don't sit on the floor," I say, my voice sounds hoarse. Slowly, he rises and sits gently on the side of the bed, his body turned towards me. I hope I don't look as horrific as I feel.
"What happened? How did I get here?" I ask.
"What do you remember?"
"I remember everything," my voice dropping in regret, "Right up until I passed out. Everything's black after that."
"Well... After you passed out, it was a bit chaotic. The bouncers finally made an appearance," he scoffs, "But I didn't let them touch you. I kept you safe the whole way back to the hotel. You were so still and pale. I was so worried," his voice sounds pained, and his brow furrowed deeply. I'm moved by his pain, and I find myself wanting to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles on his forehead with my fingertips. But I don't.
"Once we got you back to the room safe, I left. I went straight to the directors room and told him everything."

I cringe visibly and he stops to look at me, measuring my reaction.
"Go on," I say encouragingly, trying to mask my embarrassment.
"He fired him. He wants to press charges but will wait for you permission. He asked me to deliver his condolences and to let you know that you can take as much time as you need before you come back on set."
"But I'll be fine in the morning," I tell him, "What time is it anyway?"
"It's 2am. Lara you can't film until you've healed," he says calmly. I'm puzzled by this.
"Healed what? I feel fine."
I watch his gaze flicker to my arms and I follow his eyes and gasp. My arms are covered in black, purplish bruises. I can easily see where his fingers have dug into my skin. The sight of them makes me think I can feel his greedy hands all over me again. My stomach drops, and I think I'm going to be sick.

I retch uncontrollably, and Henry scoops me up from the bed and rushes me through to the bathroom. He holds onto my waist as he positions me over the basin. I continue to retch dryly over the bowl- thankfully, nothing comes up. I slump back against him, suddenly exhausted and aware of a nagging pain in my right ankle. "I think you got most of it up in the taxi," he says absently. I freeze in horror.
"What?" I gasp.
"Uh... You threw up on me in the taxi," he chuckles, and I feel his chest rumble behind me. I groan loudly, wishing the ground would swallow me up.
"I'm sorry," I say with my eyes closed, too embarrassed to look at him.
"Don't worry about it. You should have seen the look on the drivers face though," he laughs again, and I can't help but join in.

"Can you walk?" He asks tentatively. I open my eyes and look down at my ankle. It's swollen but there's no bruising. Henry still holds me by the waist as I gingerly put some weight on it, wincing. There's a hot flash of pain but it's bearable, and I manage to walk myself back to bed, with Henry's help.
He tucks the quilt around me snuggly and sits back down on the bed.
"Oh I forgot to tell you. I spoke to your mum."
He what?!
"You told her! Why?" I groan loudly.
"She didn't leave us much choice Lara. She called your phone all night. We thought it best you speak to her yourself in the morning, but she wouldn't give up. She phoned the hotel and they put her through to your room, so we couldn't ignore her," he says, an amused smile on his lips, "She loves you. A lot."
I smile at the last part.
"Yeah," I say wistfully, "I should phone her, she's probably still freaking out."

"Here," he says, placing my phone in my hand. I don't ask why he's got it. I don't really care.
My mum answers immediately. She's in hysterics for the most part of the conversation. I have to tell her I'm fine at least twenty times before she calms down.
"James is worried sick," she says to me. I have to suppress another loud groan.
"Mum! You told him too?"
"Of course. He was on his way to the airport the last time I spoke to him."
My heart drops.
"What?"
"James is coming to see you. He's really worried Lara."
Oh great.
I quickly wrap up my phone call with my mum, explaining that I need to go and try and calm down my boyfriend.

I hang up and look at Henry. He's been watching me quietly the whole time, his brow furrows as he looks at my nervous expression.
"What's wrong?" He asks softly.
I don't reply straight away. Instead, I open the many missed messages from James and read them horrified:

"Lara, I'm coming."

"Call me as soon as you get this."

"I'm on a plane now. I won't be long."

I swallow nervously as I read the timestamp on the last message. It was sent almost two hours ago. He could be here any minute.
"It's James," I say weakly. He looks at me, confusion clear on his face. "My boyfriend... He'll be here soon."
His eyes pop open in realisation.
"That's good?" He says, but he isn't sure.
"Yeah," I mutter weakly, just as confused. I should be thrilled that my boyfriend is crossing literal oceans for me, but I'm not. It shocks me as I realise he's not the one I want to comfort me.

"I should probably go," he says reluctantly, sighing. He makes a move to get up and I grab his hand. He stops, looking down at me curiously.
"Don't go," I plead shamelessly. "I haven't even thanked you yet." His torn expression softens slightly and he settles back down on the bed.
"Thank you Henry," I say, looking deep into his eyes. In the lamplight, his eyes look deep blue, and I see something burn hotly in them as he looks back at me. I notice it's the same look he had as he watched me in the doorway earlier.
"Don't thank me," he says morosely, "I should have been there sooner. It would never have happened if I-" I cut him off by placing my hand gently over his mouth.
"It's not your fault," I tell him gently, letting my hand slip away. My fingers tingle slightly from the contact with his skin. He takes a hold of my hand, and to my amazement, he kisses it.
"I'm so sorry," he says, his words barely audible as his lips skim my palm. My skin blazing under his touch.
I reach out with my free hand and place it gently on the side of his face. His skin is warm and soft under my hand. He leans his head into my touch, sighing loudly. The sound of it making the muscles deep in the pit of my stomach clench.

And it's this way; Henry eyes closed, holding my hand. Me looking at him, not holding back the affection in my eyes, my hand pressed against his face.
That James finds us.
He enters the room quickly but then halts abruptly in the doorway, his eyes flickering between the two of us. It's then that I realise as we both straighten up, that we had unconsciously leaned our bodies towards each other. I watch James carefully, expecting an outburst. But he simply looks between us silently, whatever he's feeling, he hides easily.

"I'm going to go," Henry says awkwardly, standing up slowly. I shoot him a pleading look. But he either doesn't see it or pretends not to as he makes his way out of my room.
"You saved her?" James' voice is quiet and eerily calm. Henry stops and looks at him, he eventually nods.
"Thank you," James says, turning to Henry as he speaks, his hand extended. I watch the two shake hands and compare their differences. Henry is slightly taller, and has about ten kilos on James. But their expressions right now are identical. Two exquisitely handsome men, troubled and confused, but looking at one another with respect.
Henry looks at me one last time, and then he leaves.
It's just me and James. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for another tough conversation.