Eternally North (20 page)

The real bugger of it
all was that I had medication in my bathroom cabinet, but the fact
that the extreme fatigue had kicked in meant I quite literally could
not move. My muscles had gone on vacation. The traitorous things had
probably joined Tink in friggin’ Vancouver, because it was
abundantly clear they were not here with me!

I could feel the
dryness of my mouth through dehydration, fever ravishing my body, and
my salty sweat was running into my eyes, causing them to sting and
blur. I knew I was in trouble. I could imagine my parents blaming
themselves for 'allowing' me to come to Canada. So much for fending
for myself!

I was fading fast, that
much was obvious; I was just waiting to see an obligatory oasis with
a refreshing spring to tease me in my hour of need – that's what
you see when you're popping your clogs, right?

What I didn’t expect
to see was a full embodiment of Tudor North running towards me in
slow motion, white as a ghost, muscles rippling against a tight white
tee and a look of concerned panic all across his face, with the theme
tune from
Baywatch
accompanying his every step.

What is it with him?
I am addicted. I, Natasha Munro, am a Tudaholic. I constantly think
of him, being with him, him wanting me. No matter what he does to me,
I cave like a junkie to a drug. Against Tudor I have no will power,
and even now, at my weakest, it’s the image of him coming to my
damsel-in-distress call to the theme of a nineties TV show that I
envision. I am royally fucked up. A glutton for punishment. Then
again, if I’m going to pass through the transcendental plane, his
face and fine physique are a comforting sight with which to send me
on my way.

Mentally kicking my own
arse, you know, as my leg wouldn’t move in reality, I groaned and
shut my eyes. When I opened them again, my mirage was before me, so
real that I wanted to stretch out my hand to touch it, to eradicate
the teasing vision.

Like a scene in a
dramatic war film, the ambient sounds muted and everything occurred
at a snail’s pace, a slow motion Spielberg-esque director’s cut
of the end of my life. In a dramatic twist, I was suddenly scooped up
from my impending carpeted doom by a pair of hulking arms and placed
on my soft, warm bed, my eyes trying to fight the pull of blissful
sleep.

I felt wetness on my
lips, water running down my sandpapered throat, soothing it like a
balm. A pillar of incredible strength held my head as the liquid
began to take effect and my vision began to snap back into focus. My
surroundings began to stitch themselves back together.

“Tash? Speak to me.
Are you okay?” the voice urged.

My still-unresponsive
body was guided gently back against a propped-up pillow, and my
knight in shining armour moved into the spotlight above me. I knew he
was real before I even opened my eyes. I could smell him, and even in
my current state I couldn’t help but want the damn man!

“Tudor? Are you
really here? If you are,
why
are you here?” I whispered.
After last night I thought I would never see him again.

He sat on the side of
the bed next to me, the mattress dipping low due to his huge frame. I
rolled my head in his direction and pulled a small, appreciative
smile. Despite what we had been through lately, I was bloody glad to
see him.

He leaned over my body,
placing his arms on either side of my chest; he took his left hand
and began softly stroking my hair. I naturally leaned into his touch.
He was searching my eyes, checking me over, his brow heavily creased
in worry.

"Tate called. I
only got his message thirty minutes ago. Tink has been trying to call
you non-stop and you haven’t answered all day. He was frantic, and
seeing as though you only really know me here in Calgary – at least
only I know where you live – he asked if I could come by and check
on you.”

He moved in closer and
shook his head. “I don’t think he was too happy about it, but he
claimed I was his only option. Bee also mentioned that you didn’t
turn up for school today.”

Oh My God! School!

I tried to sit up but
only managed a painful little flop. Tudor placed a hand on my arm.
“Don't worry, Tink called your school explaining you were ill. He
tried to catch you there, and made your excuses when they mentioned
you didn't show. He assumed you were under the weather and told me
where you kept the spare key, and here I am…”

He placed his palm over
my forehead to check my temperature, my neck for swollen glands and
finally the pulse on my wrist which kicked into a galloping sprint as
his rough and calloused hands roamed over my too-hot skin.

“I almost had a heart
attack when I came in and saw you passed out on the floor. I think
I’ve just aged thirty years. Jesus, how long were you down there?”
He leaned in and brushed his lips against my forehead, swallowing
hard. “To think I was at home this whole time unaware, while you
were here like that.”

He bent forward,
putting his hands on his head, elbows on knees. "You were in
trouble and no-one was here to help. You must have been so scared."

I couldn’t help it, I
let out a small giggle. Tudor whipped his head back, eyes wide –
obviously not the response he was expecting.

“I thought you were a
mirage. I knew I was in a bad way, I kind of expected the worst after
waiting so long on the floor, and when I saw you I thought I was
hallucinating.”

He still didn’t
budge. No Tudor-smirk.

“Don’t feel bad,
Tude, this just happens sometimes. I don’t know how long I’ve
been on the floor; I’ve been… a little out of it. I can say,
though, that despite everything that has happened between us, I've
never been so glad to see your ugly mug!" I tried to crack a
smile.

He raised his head,
staring straight forward, his voice tinged with sadness. “Tink said
you have a condition, one that’s personal. What’s wrong with you,
Tash? He wouldn’t tell me any more than that, said it was up to
you. But I'm freakin’ terrified, what I‘ve just walked into was
like a fucking horror film.”

He tilted his head to
his right, assessing me, clearly disturbed by my little episode.

I shrugged. “I just
have some hormone problems, an imbalance; a syndrome. I was really
poorly when I was younger and that had already left me very weak and
physically worn down, and a couple of years later, this bloody
hormone condition developed too. The specialists don't think the two
are related – it seems I'm just a magnet for bloody health
problems! If I get too stressed or run down it can send my capricious
hormones all crazy and I get real tired and achy, fever-like
symptoms,” I paused to bite my lip – I hated talking about this.
“I have medicine, in the bathroom cabinet but I couldn’t get to
it.”

He nodded slowly, still
looking slightly shaken by my confession, and then headed straight to
the en-suite.

“What am I looking
for?” he shouted back at me, mid-stride.

“Just bring all the
bottles off the second shelf,” I instructed weakly. Tudor walked
into the bathroom, and I tried to move myself into a more comfortable
position.

He came back out
holding five different bottles. When he lifted his head to talk to me
and caught me wincing, he rushed over to help.

“What’s wrong, are
you in pain?” he fussed, pulling the deep frown marks back on his
forehead, his hands hovering over my body not daring to touch.

“I just tried to
change position – it didn’t exactly go as planned,” I smiled
timidly, trying to breathe through my nose at the griping ache in my
stomach.

Tudor dropped the
bottles on the bed and began pacing. “I fucking hate this, Tash. I
can’t stand that you’re in this much pain. Do we need to go to
the hospital?"

He dropped to his knees
in front of me. "I’ll go with you this time, I swear. Anything
for you, just ask. Shall I get the Jeep?”

I shook my head as much
as I could manage. “Tudor, honestly I’m used to this. I don’t
need the hospital but… thank you for offering to take me.”

It must have been hard
for him to offer, from what Tink had said.

He turned away for a
second, inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. He turned back around
seeming more together. “How can I make you feel better, feel more
comfortable?”

“Could you just help
move me on my side, facing the door?”

He nodded and moved to
place his arms under my body and with a gentleness you would not
expect from such a big guy, he slowly rolled me over, placing his
hand under my cheek for support.

He walked to the other
side of the bed, and I sighed inwardly to myself. This was exactly
the position we were in only a few weeks ago and here he was, once
again, sitting on ‘his side’ of the bed. So much had happened
between us in such a short space of time, and I still wasn’t sure
where we stood. I still had feelings for him though, I just couldn't
help it.

Damn muscles and
tattoos!

“Okay, which of these
do you need?” he asked, interrupting my inner monologue, holding
the bottles in his hands and looking adorably confused whilst trying
to make sense of the labels. His lips were pursed in concentration
with his dimples showing proudly on his unshaven cheeks.
Heart-stoppingly-gorgeous.

He glanced up, eyes
narrowing at my blatant ogling.

“Erm, one from the
blue cap and one from the red right now, the others are for later.”
I said nervously looking away.

He twisted the caps
open, grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table, and lifted
me up to help me take them before settling beside me on the bed and
running his finger up and down my exposed arm.

I realised I was still
in my Lycra tank (with no bra – bugger!) and shorts that I had worn
for bed. Usually this would be my worst nightmare, but right then I
couldn't even bring myself to care. Much, anyway.

“What now, Tash? What
happens next?” He was so worried.

“I wait for the pills
to kick in, and in a couple of days all should be fine.”

“
We
will wait
for the meds to work you mean," he affirmed.

I groaned. “Tudor–"

“No, Tash, I’m
staying, don’t push me on this. You cannot be on your own. I’m
here and staying put. No arguments.”

Ha, I couldn’t be bothered to
anyway.

When I woke a couple of
hours later, it was to Tudor studying my face, incredibly serious and
full of gloom, only inches from me. In my exhaustion, the intensity
of this didn’t fully register, and I yawned, realising it was
really late. It must have been nearing midnight.

“You said earlier
that you can get ill like this when you are stressed, yes?”

His question caught me
off guard. “Mmm-hmm,” I replied, blinking the last remnants of
sleep from my eyes, trying to stop myself from falling back into a
much-needed slumber.

“
Why
are you
stressed? And don’t lie to me” he demanded, shifting closer,
holding my hand, tightly.

“Erm… gosh... it’s
just been crazy lately. The concussion didn’t really help and …
erm… just other things I guess,” I couldn’t look him in the
eyes.

“Other things being
me?” he questioned, then clenched his jaw to the point that I
thought it would break.

I remained silent.

“I said don’t lie,
Tash. Tell me straight, try to focus for me.”

“Fine. I guess
worrying about our… issues has definitely not helped. Or
over-working at school, but nor would getting smashed on amaretto
either!" I weakly tried to joke. It wasn’t working.

Tudor gasped and
covered his face with both hands, letting out a frustrated deep
groan; I managed to move my hands up to try to pull his away. The
medication was starting to kick in, thank God, and the beginnings of
muscle motion were returning. When he felt my touch he didn’t
resist, but let me slide his hands down, and it was then that I saw
his eyes glistening with hurt.

“Tudor, please. This
is not your fault. I have been dealing with this for a long time,
most of my life in fact. These… episodes happen every now and
again.
You
have not made me like this,
you
are not
responsible.”

He moaned. “But I
haven’t helped have I? I’ve made your life hell for the last
couple of months, due to my own fuck-ups, my own problems, none of it
your fault! And last night… Jesus, what I did to you last night,
making you feel like nothing...
again!
What have I done?"

He dropped his head and
his shoulders slumped. "No wonder Tink hates me, he probably saw
this coming. That's why he's been so hostile, so protective.” He
shook his head in defeat. “He knew I was no good for you and would
make you ill. He could see I'd screw it all up. No doubt he will
blame me for this too. Well, I deserve to be held accountable.”

“Tudor, stop. I can't
listen to you berate yourself. And I need to call Tink, tell him I'm
okay. I’ll explain how you helped, he'll be fine."

“I texted him earlier
from your phone. I said you would ring him when you had woken up.”

I nodded in thanks.

“Listen, Tudor,
believe me when I say this, it isn’t your fault. Despite all that
has happened between us, all of the drama, the... misunderstandings,
I can’t deny that you always turn up when I need help, and for that
I am truly grateful.” I managed to reach my hand out and touch his.
“I really appreciate that you came to help me today. I am not,
however, enjoying your self-flagellation.”

He was boring holes
into the floor. “Can we just forget everything I’ve done to fuck
up and start again? Please? I promise this time I’ll be different,
we’ll
be different. I won't lead you on and I promise you
won't be victim to my personal demons. I’ll be a good friend,
without all the other things getting in our way. I want you in my
life. I just want to let you know that my telling you
'you were
nothing'
and a
'mistake'
has haunted me. I-I don’t know
what I was doing, what I was thinking.”