I wrap my arms around her shoulders and she rests her head on my chest, entwining my legs with hers. We cuddle together, and she’s holding me as though she never wants to let go. She’s shaking and whimpering in my arms and she’s repeating something over and over under her breath, but I can’t hear or understand what she’s saying. To be honest I don’t even care. She’s cold and wet and crying, but very much alive. And that’s all that matters right now. Her heart is beating and her lungs are heaving and her arm is only bleeding a tiny amount. Her wet clothes stick to her skin, there’s a smudge of blood tracing it’s way down her arm and her hair drips icy water onto my chest.
“I’m so cold” she whispers, and she raises her arms, trying to wriggle out of her t-shirt. Her hands fumble and shake so I help her, gently peeling it away from her skin. Without it she looks scarily thin, as though she could just break at any moment.
“Hold on, I’ll get you a hoodie...” I unwrap my arms from around her and move away slowly, but she clings onto me.
“No, Kim!” her voice catches and breaks, and I watch as tiny tears stream from her eyes. I wipe them away gently. It kills me to see her like this, and I have to bite back my own tears. But I can’t break down in front of her, I have to be strong.
“I’m not leaving babe, I’m just gonna get you a hoodie” I say quietly, shaking myself free of her grip and dashing into her walk-in wardrobe before she can say anything else. I leave the door ajar so a sliver of the bedroom is still visible.
“Kim?” she calls out, her voice stronger now.
“Yeah? I’m still here babe” I reply, quickly choosing the warmest hoodie she has before re-entering the bedroom. She’s still sitting on the bed wearing just her un-matching bra and pants. I throw her the hoodie before going back into the bathroom. Again I leave the door ajar, and I bend and tentatively pick up the razor from the floor. It’s flecked with her blood, and I try not to look at it as I put it back in the still-open medicine cupboard. I move the boxes around inside, looking for elastoplasts. Finally I find a pack, they’re the brightly coloured ones you buy for young children and have “OW!” and “OUCH!” written on them in bold fonts, but they’re the best she’s got.
Back in the bedroom she’s thrown on the thick hoodie and scrunched her dark curls into a high ponytail, making the water drip in tiny rivers down her toned back. I flick on the light because it’s still dark outside, and the room is suddenly illuminated making Cheryl blink quickly like a rabbit caught in headlights.
“Come here” I say, holding out my hand for her arm. Cautiously she rolls up her sleeves and shows me the cut. I sigh in relief when I see that it’s only slightly more than a scratch, I doubt whether it’ll even scar. I look at her, but her eyes are fixed on the cut. Gently I put a finger on her chin and lift her head, forcing her to look into my eyes. Her eyes are huge and her pupils are far too big, forcing her irises into tiny rings which are coloured only slightly paler than her pupils.
“Why did you do it babe?” I whisper. She shakes her head and tries to look away, pressing her lips together in a desperate attempt to stop crying. “Cheryl, please” I frown at her, and hold her face facing my own.
“I’m sad” she sobs.
“Why?” I ask
“Why? Because I’m scared. And because I love you. And because you don’t feel the same. And because you left and I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I can’t...I can’t live without you. And...How long have you got?” her voice gets higher, hysterical almost.
“Why don’t you think I feel the same?” I ask, trying so hard to keep it all together.
“You would never, ever have left if you loved me like how I love you. Not ever.”
“I thought you would hate me. Ashley’s Diana’s dad. I thought...”
“Hate you? I don’t hate you babe, I just...I don’t know...I feel”
The tears come streaming down my face, and this time Cheryl wipes them away with the side of her thumb.
“I’m sorry Cheryl, I could have had an abortion-” I whisper through the tears.
She raises a hand to stop me and looks me dead in the eye. “Ashley has hurt me in ways I can’t begin to cope with. But it would hurt me so much, so much more if you’ve had that baby aborted because she was his daughter...It doesn’t matter who Diana’s parents are, it’s who she is that matters.”
I look at her arm.
“Were you honestly going to do it babe? Because of me? Because I left?”
She can’t look at me. I see a muscle tense in her neck. Then she nods.
“I’m not worth it Cheryl” I say.
I take a plaster from the packet and open it, carefully putting it on Cheryl’s slashed arm. It’s bright pink and says “HURT” in cute blue letters.
“There” I say, smiling sadly at her “that’s all better, yeah?”
She nods, biting back a smile, but her cheeks fold into deep dimples anyway.
“Elastoplasts fix anything, I promise.”
“Do you have one for broken hearts?” she mumbles.
“Yeah” I reply quietly.
I stand up and leave the room, going into Cheryl’s office and music room. On the table I find the sharpie pen than she uses to sign fan’s t-shirts and CDs and sometimes bodies. I take out one of the blank elastoplasts and quickly write something on it before going back into the bedroom. “Close your eyes” I say, and she doesn’t hesitate.
My hands shake slightly as I unzip her hoodie.
I can see her heart beating through her chest.
I peel away the back of the plaster, and place it gently over her heartbeat.
With the back of my thumb I smooth it carefully.
“You can open your eyes now babe” I tell her, so she does. She looks down, and her mouth forms a perfectly round ‘o.’ Her eyes flicker over the plaster, then she glances up at me, smiling. In thick black pen I’d written ‘I love you.’
“You mean it, don’t you?” she whispers, smiling at me. She pulls me down beside her onto the bed and runs her eyes over my face. Then she hugs me tightly “I love you too” she breathes into my ear. I pull away gently, smiling at her shyly. Her eyes are rimmed with red and her cheeks are still sticky from dried tears. Drops of water and tears collide and combine on her impossibly long eyelashes, making them look even darker than they do usually. She smells of water and sadness and her skin is still cold. And I have never loved anyone more than I love her right now.
So I kiss her. And this time her lips taste like salty tears and a sharp sting of metallic blood on my tongue. She pulls off the leather jacket that I’m wearing and tosses it to the floor as she moves into the middle of the bed. She shrugs of the hoodie and holds the back of my neck tightly as she parts my lips with her tongue. I run the tips of my fingers along the back of her legs, feeling the finely toned muscles tense under my touch.
“Oh god Kim I love you” she whispers as she runs her fingers through my light brown hair.
I pull away giggling. “See? I told you plasters can fix anything.”
