Reasons to stay alive; Part VIII

He was the reason I should keep inhaling and exhaling, the reason I wanted my ‘spike’ to come down so I could get better and we could run away together. He was also the reason I wanted to stay there forever, forever being nursed by him.

My heart sank. He was married too. I’d even cheekily asked if he was still with his wife to which ‘Haydn’ replied “Yes he’s married, lives with his wife and kid”.

“Oh”.

I didn’t really know what else to say to that, that was the end of it for me. No happily ever after saved by my prince who was going to help me out of this shitty mess. My spike could sky rocket for all I cared, no one gave a shit and I felt so fucking miserable.

Haydn was the other male nurse on the ward, he was small ,thin and very tanned, in fact I’d genuinely thought he was Asian until I was informed he’d just been to Cyprus. That to some of you might make me sound bad, but it was an innocent observation and he even later on told me “Nobody believes I’m English”. Phew it wasn’t just me then! Haydn was funny, he whistled and sort of sauntered in and out of my room with a very happy disposition, I’d not only assumed he was Asian but I’d also convinced myself he was gay too, which was because Id never met such a happy smiley bloke before (I was very presumptuous and naive back then, thats what a Norfolk countryside childhood did to me).

Anyways I was crushed, my heart was in some black hole knowing it would never be loved and I was dying and that was ok because as I mentioned I felt like a total loser and an absolute joke. My friends from school were working high powered jobs or marrying rich folk in the city and doing exactly what it is was they were supposed to be doing. Clare was marrying a professional sportsman, Lizzie was working in Dubai and running her own PR firm (Daddy had been a PR superstar in London) and the rest of them were ‘lunching’ in London together talking about life and forgetting about me. I didn’t fit their circle, I never really did to be honest, I never felt good enough/rich enough or posh enough and now my situation proved my point.

For three nights in a row he’d attended to me, touched my wrist so gently it sent shivers up my sweaty body sort of like when someone strokes your hair and it feels lovely. This felt lovely too but in a way that I wanted him to never stop. He’d ask me if I wanted anymore water in his west country burr, of course I did! I had been constantly thirsty since arriving but also wanted water because I wanted him to have to come back in my room again. The first three nights he asked me a few questions such as where my family were, what did I do; normal everyday questions that were very embarrassing for me.

“Oh I work as a receptionist in a brothel” Yeh it wasn’t exactly going to go down well so I figured I’d lie and tell him I still worked in fashion. He’d probably seen my notes but was just being polite.

I was completely infatuated with this tall, skinny, tattoo covered bald headed male nurse! He wasn’t even my type, I usually liked hair ;). On his right forearm (the skin I did see was very hairy which I found odd considering he was so bald) was a tattoo of the Union Jack and what I thought looked like a monkey from the ‘Planet of the Apes’ until he laughed and told me it was a lion.

The next night he was gone, I was pining for him like a teenage girl, distressed and emotionally drained. I didn’t want blonde nursey, I didn’t want happy Haydn I just wanted him. For four nights I cried myself to sleep I had no idea where he’d gone and wondered if he was ever coming back.

I wasn’t just crying myself to sleep because he’d gone and disappeared off the face of the Earth but I was still frightened and had no idea how to get out of ‘R’s’ grips. In those 5 lonely days and 4 hellish nights ‘R’ had the balls to visit me in hospital, he’d given me the  main ‘work’ phone now and expected me to continue to make bookings via the BBM channel. Of course I didn’t say no, I couldn’t say no and by now you know this is my issue. Can’t say no to giving people money when Im skint, I can’t say no to lending a friend I know either wont give my dress back after wearing it out or the type to return it  with ciggie burns and I certainly couldn’t say no to drugs when I was that low and frightened to fall asleep in case I’d missed a booking. ‘R’ like many sociopaths and world class manipulators made me feel he was doing me a massive favour by giving me the responsibility of the phone whilst I dying in my isolated hospital bed! I should feel grateful, proud that no one back at flat 16 was as good as me at getting the girls punters! Jesus Christ what a friggin talent I had. How grateful I should feel that he wanted me back and like he kept saying “Your talented! You should be so happy I’m keeping your job open for you”.

We all know it wasn’t a real job; there was no security, no tax, no sick pay, no holiday pay nothing but stress and palpitations. I have to say since getting my first job aged 13 I have had my fair share of shit narcissistic wanker bosses and ‘R’ wasn’t the last either. From side room 7, Ward 15 at Southport and Ormskirk NHS trust hospital I was running 50 girls single handedly from my bed. I’d say at least 20 at the Liverpool apartment and around another 30 dotted over the North West but predominantly the rest were holed up in an apartment in Manchester City centre above the Premier Inn.

I’d managed to get out of night shift which started at 9pm and stopped at 8am! Lucky me. I’d had to say no to that part because most of time I was drifting in and out of consciousness after my meds at 9pm. Yum, Tramadol, codeine and an IV line to stave off the spike! Best bit about hospital besides him. 

I was exhausted, still sweating like a Bitch, still ‘down-Lo’ and still no closer to getting away from ‘R’ or getting closer to the other ‘R’ aka ‘Him’. That glimmer of hope, that fantasy of having a normal, stable, happy successful life was once again gone in the blink of an eye. Doctors were still totally clueless as to what I had and I’d refused point blank to let them do a lumbar puncture! Absolutely fuck that! Didn’t they know I’d read every single ‘Take a Break’ magazine my mum had ever bought and I’d read many times about how those dreaded needles the size of a telegraph pole pierced your spine and in some horror cases paralysed you! I’d told them “just treat me for what you think it is please” but they’d told me it wasn’t that simple. So for now it was plenty of antibiotics via IV and pain killers for the constant horrendous migraines that woke me up every morning just before the noise of that bastard phone did reminding me it was now my ‘shift’.

I needed to tell someone, I just had to. Maybe if I couldn’t have him he’d be my friend anyway and I could get him to listen to me offering perhaps some sound advice. Then again I didn’t want him to think of me as another ‘fuck up’ one thing I’d learnt is that blokes don’t like crazy according to James who’d told me daily I was crazy as well as having AIDs

Worryingly now Id started to freak out that I actually did, that working in that environment had somehow given me a new air borne strain.

Fuck sake, I just had to pray for a miracle.
Thanks for reading my blog you bunch of beauties xxx stay tuned for the next part

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