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Quickly, I change into my pajama top and shorts, check on Leia, do my teeth, then get into bed. While we were watching the movie, James gave me one last ice pack, two Panadol, and a couple of codeine because I was sore. The codeine worked, and I feel sleepy now, and I curl up around a pillow.
I can’t imagine I’ll be able to sleep after the events of the day. The image of Blue standing over me, face filled with anger as he kicks me, blooms in my head, but I push it away and think instead about James. I’ve fallen for you because of who you are. You’re kind and gentle. And really, really hot.
It’s a lovely thing to say, and I’m filled with joy at the thought that he wants to try to make this marriage work. But it’s impossible not to feel anxious about it all.
He’s young, and gorgeous, and I’m sure he’s used to sleeping with girls who are confident and knowledgeable in bed. I’m not a virgin, but I’m not exactly swinging from the chandeliers either. I haven’t had sex for ages because of the vaginismus.
He did comment that he didn’t notice when we went back to his hotel, and it’s true that because we spent a long time kissing, I half forgot my nerves. So maybe, if we take time, everything will be okay.
How patient is he likely to be? And what if it happens while I’m with him? I cuddle the pillow, wincing at the pain in my side. He might have signed the marriage contract, but he didn’t sign up for this. I wish I could just be normal. I like him so much.
Despite my fears, I’m exhausted. My eyelids flutter closed, and in less than a minute, I doze off.
When I jerk awake, it’s completely dark. The duvet is twisted around me, and I feel hot and sticky. I was in the middle of a nightmare, and I feel relieved to be back in the land of the living. Something was chasing me down darkened corridors, and I could feel its hot breath on the back of my neck.
I sit up and realize that I’m not just sticky because of sweat—my elbow has bled through the gauze, leaving dark patches on the sheet. Dammit. Now I’m going to have to change the bed. I check my phone—it’s nearly midnight. In the other room, Leia grizzles. That’s probably what woke me.
Rising, I stretch and sigh, sore and stiff, and walk through to her room. She’s really wailing now, hungry and tired. I lean over to pick her up, then cry out. It hurts too much to lift her. I didn’t think of that. Shit. What do I do now?
I need to change her and feed her, but I’m not sure if I can get her out of the bassinet. I try again, but a dull ache spreads across my ribs, and I grunt with pain. No, it’s not going to work. I’m going to have to go and wake James.
I turn, and walk straight into someone. I hadn’t heard them come into the room, and I squeal before I can think better of it.
“Hey, it’s me.” James holds me by my upper arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I heard you on the baby monitor—it’s still switched on.” He bends his head to look at me. “Are you okay?”
“My elbow’s bleeding.” I press trembling fingers to my lips. “I was having a nightmare. And it hurts too much to lift Leia out of her bassinet.” I’m usually so calm and collected. Why am I so emotional and useless right now?
He thinks for a moment, then says, “All right. I’ll change Leia, then I’ll make her a bottle. Go and clean up your elbow.”
I go into the bathroom, swallowing hard and trying not to cry. Don’t be such a wuss! I take off the soggy dressing, clean my elbow as best I can, then put a fresh dressing on it.
When I come out, James and Leia have gone. I walk through and discover them in the kitchen, where he’s putting the bottle in the warmer. The living room is dark, lit by a single lamp. A book rests on the coffee table. He must have been reading.
He’s holding Leia, and she’s sucking on a dummy, eyes wide as she snuggles up to him.
“I need to change the bed,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” he states. “You’re both coming to bed with me.”
Relief floods me, and I don’t argue.
He retrieves a tumbler from the cupboard, takes out a bottle of brandy, unscrews the top with one hand, and splashes a small amount into the glass. Then he holds it out to me. “You look like a ghost,” he says. “Drink this.”
I take it and down the spirit in one. It sears through me, and I cough.
He nods. “That’ll do the job.”
The bottle warmer beeps, and he retrieves the bottle, shakes it, then gestures with his head for me to follow him. “Come on.”
As we walk, he says, “How’s the pain?”
“Seven out of ten.” It was six earlier.
“You’re not short of breath though?”
“No. I think it’s just the bruise coming out.”
He stops by the bathroom. “Take two Nurofen.”
