“Stop,” I slur.
“Shut up,” he whispers.
As he leans closer there’s a sudden crash and splintering sound. I turn my head slowly and see the door hanging off its hinges. A figure appears silhouetted against the light. He moves, and it’s Reuben.
His face is contorted with rage. He takes one look at us, and then Robbie’s weight is suddenly gone. My head lolls to the side,and I see Robbie lying on the floor.What is happening?I laugh, and the sound is loud in my head.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Reuben hovers over me. His voice is loud and seems edged with fear. “Baby, can you hear me?”
I try to answer, but my tongue is swollen, and I make a panicked noise. He strokes my hair back, his trembling fingers hot on my skin. When did I get so cold?
“It’s okay,” he says fiercely. “It’s okay, Xavi.”
I hear Robbie say, “He wanted it. You know it.”
It’s like moving through a dark, shifting fog. Every few seconds, it lifts and I catch fractured images. Robbie standing and taunting Reuben, still naked with his hands on his hips. And then Reuben’s smashing the look from Robbie’s awful face.
"Oh fuck," someone says. Maybe it’s me.
The fog clears again. Robbie’s mouth is bloody now. He spits on the floor and glares at Reuben. “You colossal prick,” he splutters. “My face is worth a fucking fortune.”
Reuben draws his fist back and punches him again. Blood flies, and Robbie sails into the air, rattling the floor when he lands. Reuben stoops over him. “Well, now it’s worth fifty pence, you absolute cunt.”
That strikes me as funny, and I laugh and laugh. I can’t stop laughing. I think Reuben says something, but the room is too dim to see him.
“Sweetheart, stay with me.”
He sounds frantic, and I try to pat his hand, but my arm feels too heavy to move.
“Nngh. I’m okay,” I mumble. “Don’t worry. Always knew you’d come for me.”
My ears thrum, and the room goes dark.
Light filters through the darkness that I’m drifting in, and with it comes the sound of voices. They’re loud, and I mumble a protest. Or maybe I don’t, because they carry on talking. Why are people being so noisy in my bedroom?
I try to open my eyes. They feel sticky, and my eyelashes are stuck together, but I manage it eventually, and then immediately close them becausefuck, that’s bright. The voices keep talking, and I try again.
This time, I manage to keep them open, although my lids are so heavy that it feels like I haven’t slept in weeks. The room comes into focus, and I blink. Is this a hospital? What the hell?
I try to think, but my brain feels swampy. I remember the shoot. I remember watching Reuben as he photographed me, his face hard and set. I remember the lift, but after that, it’s a complete foggy blank. Panic stirs, and I try to sit up, but my body is too heavy. What iswrongwith me?Now I’m getting panicky, and I suck in air frantically.
The voices stop talking. “Xavier?” someone says.
I realise my eyes have closed again and I force them open. A circle of faces is looking down at me, and I shrink back.
“Give him some space, for fuck’s sake.” The sound of Reuben’s grumpy, deep voice is a relief, and I feel my body relax immediately. If he’s here, I’ll be okay.
Everyone moves back—Jonas standing with Dean at his side, both looking grim. Pip sits on a chair by my bed. There’s warmth on my right hand, and I turn to see Reuben’s sitting on my other side, and the reason my hand is so warm is because he has it encased in his own. I wriggle my fingers as a hello, and hesqueezes them, his eyes flashing with what appears to be pure relief. Why is he relieved?
His expression shutters and then he just looks pale and with new lines of strain on his face. His hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and his lips are drawn thin.
I lick my lips and try to speak, when I can’t, my eyes bug in horror. Reuben releases my hand and picks up a glass with a straw and offers it to me. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Take it steady,” he warns me. “Tiny sips. Jonas, go and tell the nurse he’s awake.”
Jonas leaves the room, moving with surprising speed. I should savour the sight of my boss jumping to obey orders, but I can’t because I feel like utter shit. My head pounds with blinding pulses of pain, my throat is sore, and just swallowing hurts, and my whole body feels like I did ten rounds with Tyson Fury.
I take another sip and make a mute protest when he pulls the glass away. He strokes my hair back, his eyes fierce in his pale face, but when he talks, his voice is calm.
“How are you feeling?”
