Page 90 of Unbind

‘I was having a nightmare, I think. I’m not sure. I dreamt I was in prison—or remembered.’ It must have been a flashback of some description. It was precisely the same as that horrific bout of flu I had my first winter there—minus the saintly apparition of my late baby sister.

None of the unpleasant physical symptoms of being ill or having a fever come close to the horror of that terrifying hinterland in which I just found myself. It has me determined to stay awake. I can’t bear to be sucked down into that dystopian twilight again.

‘It’s over now,’ she says, stroking my hair off my head. ‘I’m here. You’re safe.’

53

ADAM

My continuing physical misery aside, I feel pretty damn contented to be sitting in the library with Nat. Yesterday was a blur of pain and sweating and even fucking hallucinations. This morning, I’m nowhere near ready to head back in the office, but I’m feeling strong enough to allow her to tuck me up lengthways on the sofa, pillows stuffed behind me and a cashmere throw over my lower half.

She’s sitting at the other end of the sofa, by my feet, her laptop on her knees. To my immense frustration, she refused point-blank to go into work today, just like she refused point-blank to leave my side yesterday after she found me weeping like a baby for my dead sister.

Fuck that was horrible.

And mortifying as hell.

When I continued to drone on about how embarrassed I was, she remarked that it was far less embarrassing than when she drooled all over me during her hypo. I won’t admit it, but I suppose I take her point. At least my little display of vulnerability wasn’t in front of someone I activelydespised, like hers was. I don’t like appearing vulnerable to Nat, though. It’s really important to me that I’m someone she can depend on to be there for her when she needs me. Involuntary downtime doesn’t factor into that dynamic.

Nat looks pretty engrossed in her work. She swore blind that she’d get more done from here than in her studio with her team to distract her. She also promised that working out of my library, with its crackling fire and stash of Hermès throws, was preferable to freezing her tits off (her words) at work.

I take advantage of her apparent focus to slowly extract my phone from where I’ve hidden it between the sofa cushions.

‘Put that down,’ she says without looking up.

‘I’m just checking the weather,’ I lie. ‘Anyway, I’m fine.’

’Spoiler: it’s going to be cold and rainy all day. And you need to rest.Put it away.’

The strength of my sigh makes her laugh. ‘Isn’t it annoying when you feel fine but a certain person keeps fussing over you like you’re on death’s door?’ she asks me with a perky smile.

Checkmate to her.‘Yeah. It certainly is,’ I grit out.

‘Will you be okay for two minutes if I pop into the kitchen? I want to talk to Kamyl about the broth I’ve asked him to make for you.’

‘Honestly, tell him not to bother. I’ll just have some toast or something.’

‘Hmm.’ She pretends to ponder. ‘It’s so frustrating when a meddling busybody overrules what you want to eat, isn’t it?’ she asks now. ‘Like, for example, when you’d love some pancakes and someone keeps asking Kamyl to serve you up legumes.’

I poke her in the side of her thigh with my big toe. ‘Isn’tit just.’

We smirk at each other.

‘I think you’ll live,’ she pronounces, setting her laptop on the floor. ‘I’ll be right back. I want to make sure he’s putting ginger and lemongrass in it.’ She pauses at the door and beams at me. ‘I’ll be back in a second to breathe down your neck once more. Enjoy your reprieve.’

I roll my eyes at her departing back. How the tables have turned. She’s definitely milking this situation to her full advantage.

‘What do you normally do when you get sick?’ she asks me as I carefully sip my steaming hot and truly excellent bone broth. The lemongrass and ginger and fresh herbs are wonderfully fragrant, and it’s light enough not to turn my stomach. The bowl is on a tray which is balanced on my knees, and I’m leaning forward as I take spoonfuls in order to minimise the chances of boiling hot liquid hitting me in the gut—or the nuts.

‘I don’t get sick. I haven’t had a bug like this in years.’

‘But if you did,’ she insists.

‘I dunno. I’d do what most adults do. Dose up. Suck it up. Deal with it. And I’ve got Dyson on speed dial as well as a fleet of staff to tend to me, which makes me luckier than most.’

‘So you wouldn’t have anyone who—’ She stops herself.

‘Who what?’

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