4. Chapter 4
4
Layla
I can’t stop shaking. As soon as they leave, I run to the front door and lock it, before sitting my tired arse on one of the cold uncomfortable reception seats and take some grounding breaths.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had to give medical attention to that level, and even though I was terrified, I’m proud of how quickly all my training had come back, even with a gun in my face. Even with all those other messy emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I’m relieved to see the back of them, but regret pulses through me.
I had been so desperate to be a doctor. I am so desperate to be a doctor.
As the adrenaline subsides, the realisation sinks in that I’ve just put myself on the radar of some very dangerous people.
Luca Knight.
Whoever he is, he’s not someone to mess with. That much is clear.
I run my shaking hands over my face and let the emotion loose, tears streaming down my cheeks.
A heartbeat was all it took for my parents to die. A heartbeat tonight was all it took for the car to explode. A heartbeat to have a gun shoved in my face.
Roman told me that there would be no hospitals. He told me I had to help. I was suggesting the doctor’s surgery as soon as the cold metal of the gun hit my forehead.
Roman dutifully watched, a gun on his lap, as I had slowly pulled each tiny bit of metal out of his friend’s stomach. He watched me assess his abdomen and chest for any potential signs of further damage, not once did he leave our side.
He said nothing, ignored every question I asked him.
Like an obedient dog. A really tall and menacing one, with piercing hazel eyes that were constantly alert.
Taking one more grounding breath I stand and set to work tidying up the mess. They took their blood-soaked rubbish with them, but I hide any other evidence that would give away the fact that someone had been here when they shouldn’t have been.
I broke the law tonight. I fled a crime scene, I stole medicine, and even as I wipe clean the last remnants of drink off the wall, I don’t feel regret. I feel…what do I feel?
Alive.
I feel alive.
For the first time in God knows how long, I feel something other than crippling emptiness. Katy’s right, I’m not living my life. I’m stuck in the monotonous cycle of working two jobs I hate just to get by, and I’m not even getting by well. I spend my days being shouted at by patients at their wits’ end because of the state of the NHS. Then I spend the rest of my time worrying about money, and when I’m not worrying about money I’m worrying about my grandad, or I’m visiting him.
I’m just not dying , and I’m not even doing that well.
My mind drifts to Luca Knight, and I wonder about all the secrets his dark eyes are hiding. The way he gripped my throat and squeezed, I brush my fingers along my neck, staring down at the sink where his body pushed into mine, where I could feel his warmth, the planes of his muscles.
I shake my head, unwilling to admit to myself that I found him attractive.
Tonight is a wake-up call, a heartbeat is all it takes, and there is more to life than just not dying, and it’s down to me to find it.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Katy calls from the living room when I’ve barely closed the front door. “You messaged to say you had to go back to the surgery, that was four hours ago Layla. Have you not seen the bazillion missed calls? Four fucking hours. I could have given birth in that time.”
I pop my keys in the small ceramic bowl on the black sideboard and check my reflection quickly in the mirror. I plaster on a fake smile and walk into our front room like nothing remotely exciting has happened.
“Really? Most labours take between 12 to 24 hours on average.”
“Not me, I slid right out like a slip and slide.” She slurps and thrusts her hand forward, making me laugh.
“I’m sorry, it was hectic. We got an emergency patient. The doctor was still in the area so we both went back.” I shrug and flop down next to her as R-Catz jumps up to greet me.
“Traitor,” she whispers, pulling a face as the cat purrs loudly at my strokes.
“It’s because he hates his name.”
“His name is perfect. Isn’t it, R-Catz.” She makes a smoochy noise and I pull a face turning my attention to the TV.
There’s a half-drunk bottle of rose on the floor and an empty glass. “Have you left the sofa this evening?”
She snorts attractively. “Of course. I had to make myself dinner. Being a grown-up sucks.”
“Don’t ‘make dinner’ me,” I say in air quotes. “You had super noodles.”
“I still had to boil the water and wait a whole two minutes.”
I chuckle. “Right, I’ll leave you to it, I’m going to shower and then crash. I’m knackered.” I stretch, reaching my arms up over my head then bend forward. R-Catz jumps off and immediately licks his arse as I drop my face between my legs to lengthen my spine.
“You, okay?”
“Yeah, just stiff.”
“No, your arm.” She nods.
I lift it up, lo and behold I’ve got a smudge of Luca’s blood on me. I was making such good work of cleaning the place, I forgot to make sure I was bloody clean.
“Eww, is that the patients blood. Gross.”
“That is gross, I’ll see you in the morning.”
She gives me a barely there wave, and I pick up R-Catz and drop the long-haired ginger tomcat on her lap. He stares at me like I’ve just killed his kitten but quickly settles.
Our flat is small: two bedrooms, a living room, and a small kitchen. Katy has the en-suite and I’ve got the main bathroom.
I run the bath, heading back into my room for the dressing gown I’ve hung on the doorframe. Something feels off; I search my bedroom.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
The bed’s exactly like I left it. Unmade. A pile of yesterday’s clothes half in, half out of the hamper next to my chest of drawers. Pictures, trinkets, ornaments are all exactly where I left them. My cream sheer curtains billow.
But I didn’t leave the window open this morning.
I cross the threshold and, reaching behind the door, grab the cricket bat and cautiously walk towards the window. My heart beats rapidly, slamming against my chest like it’s trying to jump out, and even though I’m confident there’s no one behind the curtains, I jump forward swinging, trying to take the would-be attacker by surprise.
I’m met with empty space and accidentally knock a black photo frame of me as a young girl with my parents off the windowsill, the glass frame smashing as it hits the wooden floor. I have no time for regret as I quickly check outside.
I peer out of the bay window; I can see everything and nothing. All the shadows look like they’re hiding something. All the objects look like they are a person. I let out an involuntary shudder, pulling the window closed and for the first time since moving here use the little key and lock it.
I take one more look outside then close the curtains.
“Just your imagination,” I say out loud to reassure myself.
My imagination is in overdrive tonight and has already cooked up all sorts of backstories for a certain man. A particularly unbelievably good-looking one, and I can’t stop feeling as if my walk home tonight held just another heartbeat that has changed everything.