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“Hi,” she says, one eye open a little, her face cut with pain.
“Oh, thank fucking God.” I kiss her forehead, her cheek, and she grumbles, squirming away as Sam enters, obviously hearing us.
“Ava, chick, are you okay?”
Is he fucking blind? “Does she fucking look all right?” I ask, my voice strained, trying to keep the volume down and failing miserably. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Calm down,” Kate hisses.
“Where am I?” Ava scans the room, confused.
“You’re in hospital, baby.” I can’t keep my hands off her. It’s as if my subconscious is telling me not to let her out of my hold. Don’t lose her again.
She tries to sit up. Oh, no. “I need the toilet.” She slaps my hands away, irritated, and sits up. I can tell she regrets it when she clenches her eyes closed, hiding her face in her hands. Why the hell does she fight me at every turn?
“I’ll take her.” Kate gets up. “Ava, come on.”
“No fucking way,” I scoff, looking around the room for a bedpan. She’s not leaving this bed until the doctor tells me why the hell she’s in it in the first place.
Of course, Ava protests, insisting she’s fine, and tries to get out of the bed. God help me.
“I don’t think so, lady.” I collect her, grumbling my disapproval, with Ava and the lack of adjoining bathrooms, carrying her out of the room. She doesn’t fight me this time, without the energy, and that’s fucking worrying in itself. I stand outside the room looking for a sign to the nearest toilet, but instead I find a nurse who sings her delight to see Ava in my arms.
“She’s come round.”
I see a sign at the end of the corridor pointing to the toilet. “I’m taking her to the bathroom.” I get moving, the nurse on my heels.
“Sir, please, we need a urine sample.”
I stop and hold out a hand from under Ava’s bent legs, taking the thick cardboard container.
I place Ava down as soon as I get her inside, holding her with one hand as I lock the door with the other. Then I wriggle her dress up, draw her knickers down, and ease her down to the seat with the pee pot underneath her. Her eyes remain closed, her body deflating, as she pees for bloody England. That’ll be all of the wine she apparently hasn’t drunk. For fuck’s sake.
“No stage fright then?”
“You’ve fucked me up the arse,” she says, opening an eye. “I’m coping.”
Sarcastic Ava. Because now is the time. “Ava, will you watch your fucking mouth?”
Her eyes close again and quiet falls, the pee still coming as I remain crouched in front of her. I can tell she’s trying to piece together the night. It’s worrying that she can’t, or if she can, she’s remaining quiet about it, and that unsettles me more. “I’m done,” she breathes. “Did I pee on you?”
“No.” I help her up a little and negotiate the cup from beneath her, placing it on the back of the toilet and squirting some anti-bac onto my hands and rubbing it into hers. I stand her up and pull her dress into place, carrying her back to the room via the nurses’ station so I can tell them where to find the pee.
“Ava, what happened?” Kate asks as I lay her back down on the bed.
“I don’t know.”
I laugh, not in amusement. “Ido.”
“Iwasn’tdrunk,” she grates.
“You pass out from being sober often, do you?” I ask, my voice raising unstoppably. Jesus Christ. I can’t release this tension inside me, even though I know she’s okay. Kind of. Because things between us will be even more strained now. Me more protective, more anxious, Ava fighting me harder as a result.
“Don’t shout at her,” Kate hisses, making me wilt slightly. Walk. Just walk in circles. Focus on breathing. “She had a few glasses of wine. She’s got through two bottles before and not passed out.” Yes, but emotions dictate levels of intoxication. I’ve had two bottles of vodka before and remained conscious. On a bad day, one bottle could knock me out. “Did you eat?” Kate asks, getting up and going to Ava.
“Yes.”
Or...“Are you pregnant?” I blurt out, and Ava recoils, horrified. By the question or by the answer?
