20. I won’t panic #3
‘I know that I’m not actually a proper nurse but I have a degree in it and I know, for sure, that a panic going into week number two should probably be treated with benzos, or something.
Ones that go up the bum. Not revealing a new kink over text, just saying I’ll assist if you need it.
It’s straightforward enough. I got loads of practice during my A&E placement: on your side, knees to your chest, I’ll pop it in, you CLENCH.
You have plenty of lube, so we’re good to go.
There’ll definitely be an NHS guideline for it. I’ll check.
I really miss you, G.
Talk to me, please. Dx’
Greta’s eyes stung with the words. Dylan was lovely and funny and sweet, too fucking lovely and funny and sweet. Why wasn’t she angry? Why wasn’t she demanding to know what was going on? Greta knew exactly why and felt her resolve to push back and resist start to fall away.
Greta:
‘It’s gone too far, Dyl. Gx’
She sent the screenshot. A beat passed as she stared at her phone in the middle of the hallway.
Dylan:
‘Fuck. You don’t have to do this alone, G! Where are you?’
Greta:
‘I’m WFH’
Dylan:
‘I’m on my way. Dx’
Greta didn’t protest. She didn’t call her to stop her. It had been over a week since she had seen her or spoken to her properly. While standing in the hallway, her feet warmed by the under-floor heating that Dylan had called “boujee as fuck”, she knew she needed her to come.
***
At Greta’s behest, Dylan let herself into the apartment.
Greta had given her the building’s code and a key the previous week, after ‘Stoolgate’ had made her late.
She found Greta on the sofa—an enormous, low-back corner group of dark maroon corduroy—her feet resting on the huge ottoman opposite.
The walls were draped in art Dylan didn’t really like, and twin floor-to-ceiling iron pillars stood as grand reminders of the building’s industrial past. Through the huge corner windows framed in exposed brick, the balcony looked out over the city they loved, the city that had raised them both.
Standing in the doorway, head pressed against the frame, Dylan waited for a beat, watching Greta stare vacantly out of the window.
‘Hey.’ Dylan’s voice was quiet, barely cutting through the silence of the huge room.
Greta blinked, as if pulled from the deep reverie she had slipped back into after Dylan had announced herself from the hallway.
Her eyes finally refocused as she slowly raked her gaze over Dylan.
Standing there in her 501s, a grey geometric print sweater, and the battered Converse on her feet.
Her olive skin was still flushed from the rush to get there.
Greta blew out a long breath as she drew up her legs, she didn’t say anything.
She just dropped her head to her drawn-up knees, hugged her legs to her chest and let out the first sob.
Crossing the room in a few strides, Dylan slid onto the corduroy and pulled Greta against her. ‘It’s okay,’ Dylan whispered into her hair. ‘We’ll work it out.’
‘How?’ Greta sobbed.
‘Together. That’s how. We’ll sort it together. Don’t push me away, Greta. Please I can’t—’
‘I could lose everything, Dylan.’
‘You won’t. I promise you, you won’t.’
Dylan pressed her face into Greta’s hair.
Heaving sobs racked Greta’s body as she buried her face in the soft wool of Dylan’s jumper.
Dylan just pulled her closer, holding her as the emotion physically shook her.
They stayed on the sofa, the room silent except for Dylan’s whispered reassurances and Greta’s sobs, which eventually grew sporadic, then softer and less pained.
With her head resting over Dylan’s heart, Greta cried herself to sleep.
***
‘You didn’t get mad,’ Greta whispered into Dylan’s chest a while later, startling Dylan, who was starting to nod off.
‘Hmm?’ Dylan hummed, gently pushing back the strands of hair that had fallen over Greta’s face. ‘Why would I get mad?’ she added softly, kissing the top of her head.
‘I’ve treated you like shit again. And you didn’t get mad.’
‘What would that have achieved? I knew you were either panicking or something had happened that you weren’t ready for my help with.
’ Greta pressed her face deeper into Dylan’s chest, a bid to stop the tears from starting again.
‘If I’d have turned up in a freshly dry-cleaned loincloth beating my chest like a Temu Tarzan, hammering at your door and demanding you talk to me, I’d have just stressed you out even more…
You’d have got Michael involved, he’d have wanted to borrow my loincloth, it would have been a whole thing.
’ Greta huffed out a laugh. ‘I think you know by now that even when I’m not here, I’m not going anywhere.
’ An involuntary whimper escaped Greta’s throat as fresh tears stung her sore, bloodshot eyes.
Dylan tightened her embrace, pulling her closer.
‘Even if you run, G, I’ll be waiting when you realise you’ve run too far. I’m not fucking going anywhere.’
This woman, twenty-one years her junior, was fast becoming her safe space and the only person who could bring any sort of clarity to the noise of her own thoughts and emotions.
In Dylan's absence, Greta’s usually ordered, brilliant mind felt scrambled, but there, held against her strong body, the world felt less like it was collapsing in on her.
Dylan whispered into her hair, a steady rhythm of promises that it would all be okay.
Greta wanted to believe it. She wanted it so much her heart physically ached for it.
***
After disappearing for ten minutes and crashing her way around Greta’s kitchen, Dylan returned with two mugs of black tea, handing one to Greta before settling on the sofa, twisting her body to face her.
Now shoeless with one leg tucked under the other, her head resting against the back of her hand as she watched Greta.
Sitting lengthways, Greta’s back pressed firmly into the arm of the sofa, legs outstretched across the cushions, her feet resting on Dylan’s thighs.
Dylan kept her gaze fastened on Greta as the steam rose from their cups.
‘When’s the meeting?’ Dylan asked, blowing on her tea before tentatively taking a sip.
Greta stared into her mug, one hand holding it steady on her thighs, the fingers of the other fidgeting with the string and card tag dangling over the rim. ‘Thursday afternoon,’ Greta replied flatly.
‘Have you contacted a union rep? Or someone from the GMC?’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely not. No.’
‘It might be an idea, G.’
‘And say what, Dylan?’ Greta’s tone was far too sharp and she didn’t check herself as she continued to lash out. ‘Seriously, Dyl, what shall I say? That I’ve fallen for a student I’ve been fucking for two years? Who also happens to be a hook—’