Nymphaea

Part II

Chapter 11: Taking responsibility

Stephen sat nailed to the chair, his head in his hands, eyes wide open and moving as if scanning the thoughts that were flooding his brain now. A sudden rush of adrenaline made him jump up and run. He had to catch up with him, he had to!

After scanning the crowds of people on the streets in panic, he finally saw him moving fast down the hill. With a few strides the athletic young man had reached his goal, grabbed Ayve’s upper arm, jerking him desperately around. The view he perceived was startling him. Ayve’s eyes glared with rage. Stephen was intimidated for a second, lowered his view and then he spontaneously threw himself towards Ayve, pulling him close, pressing his lips on that hard mouth that fought to restrain the anger in its owner. Stephen found it tightly shut.

He clung close to Ayve’s body still, not daring to look into his face again. “I don’t want you to go,” he pleaded. He battled with himself. “I’ll… I’ll stop asking. I will. Just please don’t abandon me.” His heart went fast.

Stephen felt a strong hand close around his upper arm and was pulled away. He struggled against Ayve’s strong grip, protesting as he was pushed by him towards the end of the road. Surprise was soon replaced by fear as Ayve forced him to move mercilessly, his face like the surface of a frozen lake in winter. Nobody paid any attention as Stephen stumbled through the crowd. He’d never experienced Ayve like that. Ayve had never treated him violently.

They reached a bridge over the river Don. With one last push, Ayve flung Stephen towards the balustrade.

“Jump.” Ice cold, dark voice.

Stephen stared dumbstruck at the man he had loved more than his own life this morning and filled him with angst now. They were standing a few strides apart, Stephen close to the parapet, Ayve with his arms crossed on the kerb, a rough wind dragging on the long black strands of his hair. He was unmoved. They stared at each other for a while.

Then Ayve repeated. “Jump.” This time he raised his eyebrows as if in wonder that Stephen hadn’t done as he was told already. He seemed so far away, so unfamiliar all of a sudden. A dark figure, untouchable, immobile despite the ever stronger growing wind.

Stephen tried to regain control over himself. “Why do you do this?” he asked incredulously. Ayve’s face remained as hard as stone when he spoke.

“I thought you would do anything for me? ‘I want as much of you as you will give me. I’d give nearly anything for that.’ Such were your words.” Ayve shrugged lackadaisically. “I give you an advice: get it over with, you’ll spare yourself a lot of pain. If you’re too much of a coward to face changes in your life and prefer laying your life blindfolded into the hands of someone else, you should better end it, before it gets nasty. I could do anything to you, right?” Hotness shot into Stephen’s head.

“And what’s more: do you honestly believe I intend sharing my bed and maybe more with a person that considers me to be a potential mass murderer?” Ayve hissed. He drew himself up again, adding in a menacing calm: “Do me a favour and leave me alone with your human complacency!”

With those words Ayve threw a last dark glance at Stephen, before he went off.

*

Stephen sank down in the pink and blue light of the sundown, huddling up to protect himself against the cold wind. He was in shock. His mind was empty. The coldness of the air hurt his face. A boat was dashing through the water of the river below him, engine howling. At the foot of the bridge a woman in her fifties rummaged in a dustbin. She wore a shiny shirt that looked as if it was made of silk in bright pink and trousers that were too big for her (although she wasn’t exactly the delicate type) so that she had fixed them with a wooden clothespin. In one hand she carried a plastic bag that sheltered her finds.

Stephen decided not to wait until she walked over the bridge and asked stupid questions. He slowly got up and shuffled back towards his hotel

He lay down on his bed in his clothes, burying himself deep in blankets and pillows. The thought of undressing had felt strange, indecent, somehow.

There he lay, worn out, coiled up like a baby, empty.

From outside, voices rose up to his window. A car tooted. Right. He’d won the World Championships, maybe three or four hours ago. He’d still be at the table, had he not achieved an early victory.

Stephen closed his eyes. He shut himself to the world outside. Sleep wasn’t anywhere near, but he hoped for a bit of rest. He felt sore.

The voices washed around him. He felt a little sick.

The phone rang. He awoke with a start out of a semi-somnolent state. He sweated under the thick coverlet. Stephen took of his shirt. The shirt that belonged to his tournament dress, still. He let the phone ring. There was not a single person he wanted to talk to.

He fell back into his soothing slumber.

A knock at the door. Stephen awoke with a strange taste in his mouth. A second knock. He moaned, massaged his face and shuffled to the door. Having untidily slipped back into his shirt, he opened it.

Paul stood there. Right, he’d made it to the semi-finals and stayed afterwards, despite his family duties, to support Stephen. He probably wanted to clink glasses with him. Stephen’s head ached.

“So you know already?” Paul said worried. “But why are you still here then?”

Stephen gave him a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?” he murmured.

“They’ve just broadcasted it in the news: it seems Julie has spontaneously decided to come here to support you with Melissa. But she’s got an accident on the A1.”

Stephen had a confused look in his face.

“Don’t worry, your baby is okay,” Paul tried to calm him, “but Julie is severely injured, if the media tells the truth.” Stephen tried to gain some sense.

“Do you know which hospital…?”

“They said they helicoptered her to Leeds.”

*

Ayve knocked at the door. He knew the bell push was a fake. He never expected any visitors. Ayve leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The birds screamed into his ears.

The door was opened. There he stood: a proud man with a look of surprise and triumph on his face.

“Hello,” Ayve said in a slightly suppressed voice. “I could do with a bit of company,” his tone was strangely intimate.

“Sure, if you pay me back,” his opposite’s voice was even darker than Ayve’s and raspy.

“We’ll see,” Ayve replied, stepping closer. The tall man smiled one of his cold smiles that never reached his eyes. He enclosed Ayve in his arms, guided him into his house and shut the door behind them.

*

They arrived in the hospital in Leeds around midnight. Paul had steered Stephen’s car, Stephen was not capable of concentrating on such matters. It turned out that people had tried to inform Stephen several times but had been unable to reach him.

When they found a nurse, all that she could tell them was that Julie was still operated on. Melissa meanwhile lay in a small bed, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the chaos around her.

Paul supplied them with fresh, hot coffee, the steam streamed right into Stephen’s nose. Usually this would have lifted his spirits, but on this day, it hardly caught his attention.

They sat down on hard seats in the corridor. Stephen leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, head sinking low between his shoulders. Paul put a hand on Stephen’s back, to show him that he could count on him. They sat like that for a while.

Finally, Paul raised his voice. “What’s up with you?” he asked. “I mean, is it only the accident or is there more to your… strange mood? If Anne could see you like this she would say something like ‘See? I told you: he still feels for her – they’ll surely get back together’. But we both know that’s not the truth. Why were you that down even before I had told you, back in Sheffield?”

Stephen tiredly shook his head.

A quarter of an hour later a young, female doctor approached them. She carried a severe, weary look on her face. “Mr. Donaghy?”

Stephen rose, facing what was to come.

The young lady looked up to him. “I’m really sorry to have to tell you that, sir, but your fiancé didn’t make it. We did all we could, but she suffered from multiple injuries of vital parts of her body and we did not manage to stabilize her vital functions.”

Stephen put his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath. He felt his head heat up and his eyes tear. He closed them, lowering his head, his blond hair falling forth. After a few inhalations, he lifted his face again and shoved his hair back. “What about Melissa? Is she okay? Can I take her with me?”

The young doctor seemed almost relieved to turn to a more cheerful topic, although of course, a child who had just lost his mother was not cheerful at all. “Yes, your daughter his perfectly unharmed. She sat in the back of the car, as far as I’ve been told, and was well shielded in her child’s safety seat. You’ll have to go through a few formalities but seeing your case I think it’s okay to check her out tonight already.”

The nurse advised Stephen to let Melissa be, but Stephen couldn’t help it. He wanted to run away from this all, he needed to get out of this damned hospital and he would not go without his child. He took her caringly into his arms, feeling the warmth of this tiny being, stroking the blond locks that had grown on her head. His little angel. She was all that he had left.

***

a/n

You might think that Ayve's reaction was strange: you'll get to know him better later on.

Dear Mixelle, thank you for letting me know that you like the story. If you went back to the first chapter or read the description of the story, you would realise that I am editing the story at the moment and am quite aware that there are several chapters of it not online. I am re-posting multiple chapters the day - this process should be finished within a week, perhaps sooner. :)