Chapter 24
Fat, ugly hags
“So, it’s just concussion and bruising?” I ask the doctor standing in front of me. He’s older than Dr Price, with thinning hair, and glasses on the end of his nose.
“That’s right,” he says over his glasses. “You’re very lucky, all things considered. You’re free to go once pharmacy drops off your prescription. I’ve sorted you out with some strong pain killers, and here’s a leaflet with some advice about eating well.”
“Thank you.” I take the leaflet from his outstretched hand, though I have no intention of reading it.
“I don’t want you driving for a few days, either. Do you have someone to take you home?”
I’d hoped Rhys would be here to take me home, but he hasn’t picked up any of my calls or messages from this morning.
“I’ll get a taxi,” I say, but this doesn’t satisfy him, so I add, “My husband will be home when I get there.”
“Alright,” he says reluctantly. “Make sure to take better care of yourself. No more exercising on an empty stomach.”
I nod and thank him as he leaves. I’m not sure if Rhys will actually be there when I get home, but I’m hoping to have enough time to have a shower and put on some fresh clothes before he sees me.
My meds only take twenty minutes to arrive, then I grab my phone and hoodie and make my way outside.
I’m still a little dizzy and unsteady on my feet, so I take my time.
My taxi isn’t due for another ten minutes anyway.
I stop at the toilet on my way out and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I wash my hands.
I look a state. The left side of my face is mottled red and purple from my cheekbone to my forehead and all around my eye.
There’s a gash splitting my left eyebrow in half, travelling straight up my forehead and disappearing into my hairline.
By the looks of the blood matting my hair, the cut ends about two inches into my scalp.
My skin is pale, even by my standards, verging on grey.
In a nutshell, I look like shit. I definitely have some work to do before I let Rhys see me again.
My phone beeps with an alert from my driver to say he’s arrived, so I hurry as fast as my wobbly legs will allow to the exit and climb in. I give him my address and we’re soon hurtling down the main road.
As we pull up to my house, I see Rhys’s car in the drive.
Mine is missing, and it takes me a few minutes to realise it’ll still be in the gym carpark.
Sighing, I thank the driver, transfer the fare, and head towards my front door.
I figure I’ll just say a quick hello and run upstairs to make myself presentable before explaining everything properly to Rhys, so I open the door and call out.
“Rhys? I’m home!”
He doesn’t answer, but I hear a rustling from the living room and a muffled ‘Fuck’.
I turn to the living room and step towards it, letting my imagination run away with me.
I imagine catching him doing lines of drugs off the coffee table or getting off to weird porn.
Then I walk in and see what he’s actually doing, and my heart sinks.
I wish I had caught him doing drugs or watching weird porn.
What I actually find him doing is lounging on our leather sofa stark naked with a skinny blonde straddling his lap.
“Dr Price!” I’m lost for words when I realise the woman who’d been in charge of my medical care last night, the doctor who knew I was married to Rhys, is now riding my husband in my living room. At least she has the decency to look embarrassed.
“Maddie!” she says, trying to smile and cover her chest with a cushion as if this is perfectly normal. I don’t bother to tell her she got my name wrong. “I didn’t realise you’d be getting out of hospital so soon. How are you feeling?”
A sudden surge of rage fills me. “How about you get off my husband’s dick and we’ll have a nice chat over a cup of tea?”
Dr Price – I feel ridiculous thinking of her by her title, but I don’t know her first name – looks as if she’s about to accept, when I explode.
“I have a head injury. I’ve been in hospital for nearly twenty-four hours, and I’ve just come home to find my doctor fucking my husband! How do you think I feel?”
My head feels like it’s being split open with an axe, but I’m too far gone to care
“This is all a misunderstanding…” she says.
“HE’S STILL INSIDE YOU!”
“Mat, calm down. You’re overreacting,” Rhys chimes in irritatingly calmly.
Dr Price climbs off him and frantically starts putting on her clothes. Rhys pulls on his boxers but doesn’t bother with anything else. My head bangs worse than ever, and I feel faint. I feel my way to the armchair, hating how weak I feel and look at the moment.
“Are you alright?” Dr Price asks, reaching out to touch my head.
I swipe at her outstretched arm. “If you touch me, I’ll break every single one of your fingers.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Mat,” Rhys says from the sofa.
“Fuck you,” I say, my head in my hands.
“Excuse me?”
I’ve never spoken to Rhys like this before, but my pain has dramatically reduced my tolerance.
“I said ‘Fuck. You.’ And you,” I say, pointing at the blonde looking between the two of us, unsure of what to do next. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
She nods quickly and runs barefoot past us and out of the front door.
I take a minute to process the fact that Rhys has cheated on me again.
Is this the first time since we got back together?
Or has he been screwing other women the whole time?
And then the worst question enters my mind: is this my fault?
“Can we talk about this like adults?” There’s a bite to Rhys’s tone which indicates he’s annoyed with me… Maybe this was my fault?
“Is she the first since we got back together?” I ask, my head still in my hands. The brightness of the room is too much for me to handle, so I keep my eyes shut.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why is she the first?”
“Why did you sleep with someone else? Again?”
He lets out a long breath, and I hear him move to sit on the coffee table in front of me.
“Look, I feel like a dick bringing it up when you’re hurt, but…
You haven’t been interested for weeks, and a man can only go for so long.
I had to get it somewhere – you were giving me blue balls!
It wasn’t fair. I tried to hold off, I really did.
But you’ve not been looking your best lately, so other women started to turn my head.
When you were in that hospital bed with your face banged up, next to Jas looking smoking hot, I couldn’t hold back anymore. ”
I slowly lift my head from my hands and look him in the eye. He looks at me sympathetically.
“You slept with her because I wouldn’t sleep with you because I didn’t trust you after the last time you slept with someone else?”
Rhys thinks about it for a second, then nods his head in confirmation.
“And, also, because I look like crap after sustaining an injury?”
“Well, let’s be honest, Mat… you’ve not been looking your best for a while…”
“I want a divorce,” I tell him, my voice deceptively calm.
That shuts him up. He looks at me, a million emotions on his face: he’s surprised, confused, angry, speechless, all at once.
“No, you don’t,” he says finally.
“I do, actually.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I have chance to think them through. This isn’t a fully formed plan by any means, but it’s too late to turn back now.
“Let’s be realistic, Matilda.” Rhys’s calm voice turns to a nasty sneer.
“If you divorce me, that will be it for you. You don’t have a hope in hell of finding anyone else to put up with you!
Imagine you on dating apps or in a bar, where the attraction is based entirely on what you look like.
No one would come near you. Not unless they have a fetish for fat, ugly hags.
” Though I’ve heard these things before, and I think them all the time myself, hearing them now stings like a bitch.
“Just… go shower, take a nap. We’ll pretend none of this ever happened. ”
Rhys stands and starts picking up his clothes as if his dick isn’t still wet from shagging someone else.
“No.”
“No?” he asks.
“No.” I stand. It’s painful, but I need to show him I’m serious. “I want a divorce.”
“Didn’t you hear me? No one else would want you. You know that, right?”
“I know. But I’d rather be alone forever than spend one more day with you.” I turn on my heel, pick up my phone and keys and walk out of the house. It’s only once I’m outside that I realise I have no idea where I’m going to go.
Refusing to break down where Rhys might see me, I stagger down several streets, turning random corners in an attempt to get as far away from him as possible.
Desperately trying to keep the panic at bay, I run through my options: Mum?
Living in Spain. Ivy? Living in Edinburgh. Violet? On holiday in Ibiza.
Shit. My only option is to get a hotel room for a few nights, but on a teacher’s salary, this is only a short-term solution.
My chest tightens as I think about how much my life is going to change yet again, and tears silently roll down my cheeks.
I book my second taxi of the day and sit on someone’s garden wall while I wait for it to arrive.
My head is throbbing, and I remember I’ve left my medication at the house.
And I didn’t have the foresight to pack any clothes or underwear or even my phone charger.
And I’m wandering the streets in yesterday’s clothes with a giant bruise on my face and old blood matting my hair.
It’s no wonder Rhys turned to someone else.
Twenty minutes pass before my taxi pulls up to the kerb in front of me. I climb in and the driver eyes me cautiously in the rear-view mirror.
“You alright, love? You running from someone?”
“Not in the way you mean. I’m fine,” I answer unconvincingly.
“If you say so,” he says. “So where to?”
A hotel, my brain says. Any hotel. Somewhere where no one knows me and I can hide for a couple of days.
But my mouth has other ideas: “The Nightingale,” it says.