Of Mochas and Macchiatos

Part 8

I get checked out by the paramedics. Given the all clear. They bandage my cut- it's nothing serious, give me some painkillers and water. But still, I don't feel alright. My heart won't stop beating and my breathing is still heavy. Although the majority of the citizens of the building that once was my home have disappeared to elsewhere, there are still a few people milling about. Some police officers have arrived on the scene and I see a man in uniform -a detective maybe?- hastily scribbling in a notepad. After about twenty minutes, I realise that I never sent Rafe my address. Swiping open my phone I slowly start to tap out a message to him -it takes me nearly a whole minute to do so not only due to the slickness of the screen but also the dense fog that has taken residence in my mind- but he arrives before I can even press send.

A sleek black Aston Martin DB9 cruises languidly down the street, stopping a few metres from where I sit, huddled against the cold and the rain. Somebody has lent me a cheap green umbrella which whips wildly in the wind, barely doing anything to stop the piercing drizzle, snapping shut at inopportune moments and ballooning open after a delay of several seconds. I wrestle with the umbrella, manage to shut the unfortunate thing, and prop it against a wall. It's a pathetic accessory, battered, broken. It will simply be cast away. I throw it a forlorn look as I start to walk towards the car. I know how it feels to be unwanted.

The car slows to a stop and Rafe jumps out. He's wearing a very expensive looking khaki green bomber jacket. Tailored, probably. And for some unknown reason I cringe a little as the rain pelts the silky material when he jogs over to me.

"Rafe..." I start, but he embraces me, pulling me into his arms, and my words are muffled by his shoulder. I don't know what I was going to say anyway. And yet now, thoughts are rushing through my head. Emotions, like surprise. Why is Rafe hugging me? Even in my delirious, dizzy state, I am confused. Doesn't Rafe hate me? We stay there for a minute, locked in the hug and I. don't. want. to. leave. I breathe in his familiar musky cologne. Squeeze my eyes shut and let the stress drain from my body.

He feels familiar. Safe. And yet the tears still fall. Splashing down my face. And my breath hitches slightly. Hiccups. But Rafe doesn't complain. He strokes the back of my head, entangling one hand in my smoky damp hair, while the other draws comforting circles on my back.

"Shhhh. Angel, it's okay. You're alright."

There is the heavy rumble of thunder, a sudden flash of lightning that draws us apart, and Rafe stands there, not caring about the rain. He has a Burberry blanket with him. The warm wool cashmere is draped over his arm, and as we pull apart he unfolds it. Lets the famous tartan pattern fall from a neatly folded parcel to extend to a rectangle of its full length. I reach out to touch the soft fringe of the shawl and Rafe stares at me, a furrow creasing his brow. He takes both ends of the blanket. Wraps it tight around my shoulders. Gently pushes a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. Tugs me toward the car. And bundles me in. He collects my things, places then in the back. Squeezes my shoulder gently before he puts the car in drive and we leave the burning remnants of my past life behind.

The rain lashes at the windscreen and the car is quiet save for the sound of the storm outside. I think Rafe talks. Peppering me with questions. But I stare straight ahead, don't say a word. The words don't connect in my mind anyway; I have no idea what he is saying. And eventually, I see his mouth stop moving. I see him take a deep breath, sighing sadly, and he casts me yet another concerned look. I'm so tried that I barely even notice when we arrive. My mind vaguely registers a name: The Henley. Of course Rafe lives in the most exclusive and expensive hotel.

But other than that, I don't remember much. Rafe murmurs to me when we're in the lift, I think that he's asking if I'm alright- I see the shape his lips make, oh-kay ?, and I nod in the affirmative. But I am really not. Peculiarly, the hot shower I have does nothing to clear the fog that has once again taken residence in my brain, and barely ameliorates the numbing coldness that has settled within me. After I am dressed in navy blue satin silk pyjamas -I glance at the label, immediately forgetting the designer name- I exit the bathroom to find Rafe pacing anxiously. He speaks. I still don't know what he says. I feel like I'm underwater. Everything feels so distant. I shut my eyes tight, as if to block out the world and Rafe understands. He leads me to a room. A bedroom. Four poster bed. Sheets that are so smooth, so soft. Rafe murmurs to me again as I lie in the bed. He brushes away a tear from my cheek with his thumb and kisses my forehead. Switches off the warm yellow glow of the light and I am shrouded in darkness. There are no dreams tonight. Only oblivion. And I let the inky blackness of the night take me away.