A Natural Act

By R.J. Sable

“The trick to coping with the pain is to really think about what’s happening and try to understand. I think about why
this is happening to me, why everything went so wrong.

Why my fiancé wants to hurt me.”

When Isabella West finds herself in hospital once more, she has given up on life. She is bruised, broken, and beaten. Far from the ambitious young law student she once was. Craig Carter, foundation doctor and resident bad boy, sees the mess of bandages that hide a beautiful woman and his morals won’t let him stay away.

Intent on helping her escape her abusive partner, Craig does all he can to help her get back on her feet but that’s where the help stops. He can offer her friendship and nothing more. He’s barely balancing his medical career with his family life and, with MMA-titles to uphold, the last thing he needs is an extra complication.

A complication is exactly what Isabella is. As the first woman to see behind his layers, Craig enjoys her company but she’s recovering from years of abuse and not ready for a new relationship. Craig isn’t looking for one so that suits him just fine. For now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.J. Sable
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311354822

R.J. Sable

RJ Sable is an author from the UK. She is a lover of language of all kinds and has a degree in linguistics and phonetics. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts she is only fluent in English and Swedish after having lived in Sweden for three years. When she's not writing, RJ can be found with an impossibly large cup of tea, a crochet hook, and a mess of tangled yarn. Alternatively, she might be on her beloved racing bike "Mary" or mountain bike "Bumble" annoying car drivers throughout the midlands.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I'm going to die this time. I'd almost bet my life on it, not that it'd be worth much at this point.

I'm in my numb zone; I can't feel any of it anymore. Not on the outside. That's not unusual. It only took me about a year to learn to block it out. The trick is to really think about what's happening and try to understand. I think about why this is happening to me, why everything went so wrong.

Why my fiancé wants to hurt me.

The word fiancé is like acid in my mind, it corrodes and burns and I know it will never sit right. I just came to that understanding at the wrong time. The second he proposed, I knew I would be in this position; it was just a matter of time.

He proposed in front of his family and I know how important he thinks it is to keep up appearances. He didn't miss a trick; he had everything in place. His three-piece tailored suit was pressed to perfection, his wing tips were shined so thoroughly I could see my reflection. He bent down on one knee and presented me with a diamond ring the size of a doll's head. The thing was hideous but it was obvious it cost a small fortune and that was what mattered.

It was a dream proposal that resulted in a nightmare for me because I knew what would happen if I said no, and I so dearly wanted to say no.

I'm not sure why it took his proposal for me to realise that I needed to escape. The notion of spending the rest of my life with Nigel was more terrifying than any beating or mind game he could dole out.

Still, I said yes.

He knew I would. I could see the victory in his eyes and he could see the understanding in mine. If I showed him up in front of his family and peers, I would be punished.

I'm still being punished. That's what he calls it in the aftermath. I hate the aftermath because you can't block that pain out. It throbs and it aches and there's no numb zone. There's just hurt - physical and emotional. Sometimes he apologises, sometimes he makes me promise I'll do better. It doesn't matter what happens in the aftermath, I'm always too broken to make any difference so I just give him the empty forgiveness he wants and concentrate on staying conscious.

I long to lose consciousness now. I've been in my head for too long and I haven't realised that he's stopped. I'm so numb that I can't tell. I'd open my eyes to look at him but one of them won't open and I daren't open the other one just in case I find I'm blind.

I know he's thoroughly furious this time because it's very rare that he hits my face. He kicked it this time. I guess that's what happens when you give somebody back their diamond ring just hours after accepting it.

I can vaguely hear his voice but it's muffled. I can still hear his tone now and I can tell he's panicked about something. Maybe he's realised I'm going to die as well. He's probably already figuring out how to get rid of me, what he'll tell people, how he can spin this in his favour.

I'm just glad it's finally over. There's a momentary flicker of shame at that thought but I'm too numb to consider it. I'm too numb to live.

I feel like I'm outside my body watching the world through a faulty telescope. I can see flashes of light through the eye I have left, I can't bear to open it more than a few millimetres because it's too much but I can tell I'm being moved.

It's strange that I can't feel it.

I can smell that sterile, alcohol based scent that tells me Nigel must have called for medical assistance. That surprises me and I'm almost thankful that he wants me to live until I remember why he gets to make that call.

I must drift in and out of consciousness but I catch snippets of conversations and words like fracture, bleeding, and surgery. I guess these words should scare me but the numbness is back as I go deep into my disoriented zone, oblivious to the world around me.

I don't know where Nigel is but I bet he's close. I belong to him, he wouldn't want to lose track of me. He's probably trying to figure a way out of this situation. No amount of clumsiness could explain away my injuries this time.

When will she regain consciousness? A no nonsense voice wakes me from whatever state I was in. Something feels different about my body and I'm not sure what.

I can't move my arms and my legs feel heavy. I feel far too much and yet not enough.

Depends on the individual, a harried voice answers. But she'll be in no condition to talk. The woman's voice is loaded with judgement. Whoever she is, she obviously doesn't think I'm in a position to have a natter. Considering I can barely muster the energy to see who is talking, I have to agree.

We need to speak to her. I don't buy his story, it doesn't sit right and he'll be back any second, the man responds.

I open one eye for a split second, just long enough to catch a glimpse of what is most definitely a police uniform. That means he's talking about Nigel - as if there were any doubt - and he'll be here any second.

My stomach rolls at the thought and an involuntary moan of fear, pain, and despair rolls from my parched throat.

She's awake, the officer points out the obvious.

She's in pain, the lady I'm assuming is the doctor snaps and I feel her warming presence closing in on me. Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart?

I grimace at the pet name but shake my head because the light was too painful last time I tried.

I know it hurts but it's just for a few seconds, she assures me.

Nigel must have trained me well because I want to obey more than I want to avoid the light.

I fight past the burning in my retinas and let her check my pupils. Or rather, pupil. I can't open one of my eyes, I think it's swollen shut.

Can you tell me your name? She asks once I gratefully close my eyes.

I try to speak but whimper and I soon feel a glass of cool water being pressed into my left hand. I'm grateful but I can’t really move my arm so I'm not sure what to do with it. I hear the doctor tutting and the water is removed and pressed to my lips at the same time as the bed is mechanically tilted to help me sit up slightly.

The pain of being moved isn't as bad as I'm expecting and I realise I must be on some fairly strong medication. I gratefully lap the water up and it burns as it coats my sore throat but it's oh so refreshing and I cling to the scrap of humanity that drinking water brings back to me.

Isabella West, I rasp, barely recognising my own voice.

Can you tell us what happened to you? Officer Obvious demands, cutting off the doctor as she starts to speak.

I clamp my mouth shut and feel the all too familiar panic rising inside me. I don't know what to say; Nigel isn't here and I don't know what he's told them. If I say the wrong thing he'll... it doesn't bear thinking about so I keep my vice like clamp firmly in place.

You were attacked, the officer states but there's a hint of inflection, like he's waiting for me to confirm or deny.

I ignore him and try to keep from trembling. I'm somehow alive but, if I say the wrong thing, that won't be the case for much longer. I won't be able to work in the state I'm in and he'll keep me at home, where he can watch me. I can't risk saying the wrong thing when I know what I'll be going back to.

I don't want to go back but I have no choice. He's seen to that.

Who attacked you?

When I maintain my silence, the doctor bustles in frustration. With me or the officer, I'm not sure.

Was it your boyfriend? He demands.

I can feel my body shaking despite the numbing medication and I just want him to leave. If Nigel sees him in here, he might jump to conclusions and I'll be punished no matter what.

Her fiancé, Nigel's sharp tones break the silence and I order my body to still. I can't give him any reason to suspect I've said anything I shouldn't have.

And it most certainly was not.

We need to question Ms West. Alone, the officer replies stiffly.

I don't think so. Not without legal representation, Nigel replies. His voice is cool and that's why I know he already has this all figured out. He's transitioned into his role as lawyer and his words ooze controlled confidence. I believe you're familiar with my firm, Callaghan & Sons.

It's hard not to be; everyone in the city knows the name of his family's law firm. Mostly because of the less than stellar reputation of most of our clients.

I know who you are, Mr Callaghan. Which is why you can't act as Ms West’s representation. It's a conflict of interest.

I'm still her lawyer and you can't question her until alternative representation is secured. She's in no condition to be answering your questions in any case.

And we need to establish what put her in that condition, the officer returns with the hint of a growl in his voice.

I don't need to look to know Nigel is smirking. The officer is frustrated and that makes him weak in Nigel's eyes - he's showing his hand.

I've already told you what happened. Why are you not out looking for the two men who broke into our car whilst I was paying for fuel?

Apparently that's the cover story. I'm careful to pay attention because I know I'll be expected to remember it. Nigel gives a brief summary of events which I'm pretty sure is for my benefit. When the officer talks directly to me instead of him, Nigel takes a step closer and I flinch despite my best attempts.

I know I shouldn't have done it but it was a reflex and it's too late to take it back now.

The officer's eagle eyes hone in the movement and I see the confirmation of his suspicions register in his expression. He takes a step to put himself between Nigel and myself and I'm grateful but I can see the flicker of anger in Nigel's otherwise collected expression. I feel bile rising in my throat because that flicker doesn't bode well for me.

My fear seems to be sobering me up and the pain in my body seems to be throbbing faster as I become aware of the sheer volume of the noise around us. It's obviously a busy night and nurses, patients, and doctors are rushing through the ward in every direction.

I expect Nigel would have wanted a private room as a reflection of his status. They must not have had any and I suspect that irritated him as well.

The officer opens his mouth to speak but his radio goes off at that second and he grimaces as a harassed voice blares into the room.

I can't hear what he's saying because my non-swollen eye meets Nigel's and I’m too consumed by what I see there. It holds my full attention because I'm receiving the message loud and clear.

Don't ruin his reputation.

I snap back to the room around us as I hear the officer curse under his breath. I catch the last few words of the voice over his radio demanding his attention for a drunken brawl breaking out in the waiting room of the ER.

Don't leave him alone with her! He barks as he bolts through the hanging fabric divide and down the corridor.

Wait! The doctor groans in frustration, watching his departing back. Useless. The lot of them, she mumbles, more to herself than anyone else.

If I could, I’d grin, because I like this doctor. She seems capable, competent, and so far she hasn’t asked me any awkward questions.

You heard the man, get away from her, the doctor bustles, coming to my side and turning her back on me.

I’m not going anywhere, Nigel replies indignantly, looking down his nose at the woman.

Listen, I don’t give a hoot who you are or how important you think you are. I don’t know if you did this or not but if there’s even the slightest chance you hurt this woman, I can’t allow you to be here. She’s my patient and my first responsibility, she snaps.

Now you listen to me, Nigel bites back with an eerie coolness. Your job is to look after my fiancé, if you want to keep that job, I suggest you keep your mouth closed and get on with it.

The nurse laughs and I’m awed by her carefree reaction to his threats. I don’t remember a time his threats didn’t chill me to the bone.

You’re not a threat to my job, boy, she chuckles and I know how much Nigel hates being called boy by the tense set of his facial muscles. Do you have any idea how short-staffed we are? They’re not going to fire me because some up-himself young lawyer has something to prove. Now, she sobers and puts herself back between the two of us. Leave before I make you leave.

I hear a small snort of derision from Nigel and I sort of see his point. I’m not sure how this tiny, grey haired doctor is going to force him to leave but I admire and envy her gumption.

The doctor just smiles at Nigel’s reaction and her eyes flick to the side, her grin broadening as she beckons somebody over. Whoever it is, they’re just out of my line of sight. I close my functioning eye for a brief second of respite before it snaps open at the deep growl of a man’s voice.

Problem, Jenny?

Chapter 2

The man’s rumbling vocal chords force my eye wide open and I find myself wishing I could open the other one to get a better look.

A young man with his hair shaved off stands before us. His intimidating form looms over the end of my bed and my vision scans the multiple tattoos which peak out from beneath his white tank top. His skin is impressively tanned considering the time of year. His baggy, grey jogging bottoms hang low on his hips and I have to wonder who he is, dressed like that in a hospital. Whoever he is, his presence dominates the room. He seems incredibly comfortable in his skin and very aware of the way people seem to stare at him.

And who can blame them?

He looks like a thug they dragged off the street and I have to wonder if that’s not the case considering the Neanderthal level aggression that radiates from him as he studies Nigel.

Quite an attractive Neanderthal though.

I swallow slightly and force my gaze up to his. Everything about his exterior screams violence but… then there are his eyes.

They’re the sharpest of blues and they slice over Nigel like daggers, studying every detail of his exterior. There’s a subtle intelligence there that doesn’t match his aggressive stance and it makes me shudder as his haunches rise and his fists close around the metal end of my bed.

I know you’ve finished for the day, duck, and I’d never normally ask, but security are run off their feet with the drunks and the police officer got called away to assist. Can you escort this gentleman out of the ward? The word gentleman is said with utmost contempt and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Nigel.

I must be on some sort of happy meds because the doctor’s derision sort of makes me want to laugh.

That’s enough, Nigel bites with a flicker of irritation. I have every right to be here. I will not stand to be disresp-

He do this to you? The man ignores Nigel and looks straight at me.

I swallow and retreat slightly because he oozes aggression but as his eyes meet mine, they soften. It’s not a monumental difference but it’s enough to give me a glimpse of the man. The real man. There’s something there that’s familiar to me, something shared, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I instinctively know that – no matter how terrifying he looks – this man is no threat to me.

Nigel, however, is the very definition of a threat so I shake my head quickly, responding to his question in the negative.

He studies me for a fraction of a second longer before nodding, seemingly coming to a decision. Wordlessly, he grabs the scruff of Nigel’s collar and roughly drags him away.

What the- Nigel’s high-pitched protests are cut off as the man places a firm hand around the top of his neck and squeezes, cutting off his oxygen supply.

Thanks, Craig! The nurse calls over her shoulder, already dismissing my tormentor and the bulky man who is frogmarching him away.

Wait, I groan, my quickening heartbeat pounding in my chest.

He’s hurting and embarrassing Nigel. He won’t like that, not one bit. And public image is so very important. He’s being embarrassed in front of every single person in the hospital.

And I’ll be the one to suffer for it.

I’m suddenly feeling very sober as I struggle to manoeuvre my broken body away from the bed. I don’t know what to do but I know I need to stop this. I need to do something.

There are alarms and beeping sounds all around me and I feel lightheaded as my brain issues signals to my body which are repeatedly rebuffed. I lie almost immobile in my bed as my mind screams for action.

Shh, dear, the doctor urges. I need you to relax. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I can’t draw in oxygen fast enough and the bigger my breaths, the more my ribs hurt. My vision is prickling and fading to black as the nurse does something to the IV drip attached to my arm.

My last thoughts are of the impending punishment as the world around me fades to grey.

***

It’s been almost two hours, Craig. I don’t think he’s coming back, I hear the gentle encouragement of the doctor before I open my eyes.

There’s a small grunt of acknowledgment but that’s the only response I hear.

She sighs. You finished almost four hours ago. You should be at home resting.

She’s met by silence this time.

Don’t make me call your family, she threatens.

I open my eyes in time to see the tattooed man narrow his eyes at the doctor.

The doctor just laughs. That look may work in the ring, Craig, but it won’t work on me. I know you too well.

It’s a cage, Jenny, Craig responds with just a hint of a smile.

It’s another glimpse of an interior so unlike the exterior. It’s soft and warm but he’s cut muscle, hard edges, and the quintessential bad boy.

She chuckles. Just testing you.

My eye flutters closed again because my hair brushes against my lashes. My body is still too heavy for me to be able to remove the strands from my eyes.

A gentle gesture strokes the hair away from my swollen face and tucks it behind my ears. Gratefully, I open my eye, expecting to see the doctor but I gasp in surprise when I’m met with the inked giant.

S’okay, he reassures me. Won’t hurt you.

I just nod meekly because I still believe he won’t but I’m not really sure of anything else. I don’t know where Nigel is and, for the first time in years, it doesn’t seem all that important.

My body hurts too much for me to worry about anything else. Well, aside from the extremely large, slightly intimidating man in front of me.

You hurting? He asks me. His voice is so gentle that it almost takes my breath away. The man seems like a walking contradiction.

I don’t answer but he seems to know that I am. He leans over and adjusts my pillow slightly. Even with the medical tape over my squashed nose I’m still overwhelmed with his scent. It’s the smell of clean laundry and a hint of cloves. It’s a surprisingly pleasant combination.

His forearm brushes against mine and my skin ripples with goose bumps from the warmth. It makes me realise how cold I am.

You’re freezing, he frowns, shooting an irritated glare at the doctor’s back. She’s busy with a patient on the other side of the room and oblivious to the glares she’s receiving.

With surprising grace and agility considering his size, he swings his bodyweight past the side of the bed and reaches into the cupboard next to me. Whatever he’s looking for is on the top shelf and his lithe body stretches out with the movement. I can’t help notice that muscles on his arm. I didn’t even know there were muscles like that in the human body.

I groan because this is not the time to be appreciating the aesthetics of tattooed men who hang out in hospitals for no apparent reason.

Pain medication will kick in soon, he frowns again, placing another blanket over me with continued tenderness.

Clearly he misinterpreted my groan. Thank goodness.

Rest, he instructs, folding his body back into the chair beside my bed once he’s tucked all the ends of the blanket in.

Where am I? I manage groggily.

Derby Royal hospital.

Who are you? I ask, surprising myself because talking is a bit of a chore but I just need to understand why my bedside is being guarded by this confusingly alluring stranger.

Craig, he smirks, knowing full well he hasn’t really given me an answer.

As his lips curve up, I’m struck by just how attractive he really is. It was obvious he was fairly good looking from the very first moment I saw him but it became secondary to the fear generated by Nigel’s presence.

And you’re Isabella, he grins gesturing to the chart on the table.

I nod.

And you’re a bit of a mess, he gestures to my face and frowns.

I can’t explain or understand how much it hurts to see him look at me like that – with sadness and frustration. It shouldn’t bother me. I don’t know this man.

Sorry, he continues when I close my eyes instead of responding.

It feels like he’s apologising for the fact that I’m beaten and broken but that’s not his fault. It’s mine.

I keep my eyes pressed closed to prevent the tears but it’s too much and I shake slightly as silent drops course over my cheeks. The dampness is brushed away with a soft tissue and I open my one eye to find Craig’s two.

The crystal sharp blue of his eyes meets mine with a frown of concern on the bridge of his nose.

Sorry, I sniffle. He already has to look at my swollen, bruised face. He shouldn’t have to see me snotty and crying as well.

Don’t apologise, he scolds and I meet his eyes to see how serious he is.

Very.

Nothing to apologise for, he explains when he sees my shock.

What does my face look like? I ask with a cringe.

Want me to get a mirror? He replies with the doubtful lilt of one eyebrow.

I shake my head slightly. I’m not sure I could cope with seeing that train wreck.

So you just want me to describe it? He frowns doubtfully.

I nod as best I can.

I’m not sure I can, he grimaces apologetically.

I grin at the slightly comical expression on his face and it feels foreign to my muscles. I don’t remember the last time I smiled so genuinely. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t too scared to smile.

I’m not looking for a lavish linguistic description. Just tell me how bad I look on a scale from slightly mushed fruit to thoroughly pummelled chicken breast.

His lips quirk upwards and I think he might be fighting a smile. You’re joking about this?

Would you rather I cried some more?

No. I guess not, he replies pensively. There’s a period of silence and I take a few deep breaths and reposition myself in the bed slightly. I’m slowly starting to feel a bit more human and I’m not sure if that’s good or not because humans have the ability to feel emotions and emotions can be more painful than physical affliction.

Until now, I’ve been quite happily ignoring the reason why I’m lying in this hospital bed in favour of the pleasant, inked distraction at my bedside and my drug-addled stupor.

You look like crap, Craig says eventually and with a shockingly blunt delivery.

I thought I might, I sigh in acceptance.

Your eyes are very beautiful though, he says, his voice lowered slightly. He’s obviously trying to make me feel better.

Um, I hedge. You mean my eye?

Well, I’m assuming they’re both the same, he grins, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees. He studies my face as though trying to see through my swollen eyelids.

Unless you have heterochromia iridum, he says, more to himself than to me. He leans forwards even further and grabs my chart, scanning it quickly before putting it back and facing me again.

Nope, two blue-grey eyes, he nods, seemingly satisfied.

My eyes are grey, I tell him.

Not according to my eyes. And not according to the chart, he winks. And the charts never lie. That’s the first thing you learn working here.

I nod like I know what he’s talking about but I’m looking at his eyes and wishing mine really were blue because his eyes are beautiful.

What’s hetero chromo uranium? I ask eventually because I’ve been one-eyed staring at him for too long.

Heterochromia iridum, he replies with a low chuckle. It’s basically Latin for having two different coloured eyes.

Why didn’t you just say that then? I tease. I’m not sure why. This is the most relaxed and friendly conversation I’ve had in months and I’m enjoying it.

Maybe I was trying to impress you, he shrugs.

With Latin? I grin again.

Did it work? He meets my gaze with a knowing look.

I can neither confirm nor deny, I reply nonchalantly. To be honest though, I may be slightly impressed. He’s obviously quite intelligent despite the gruff front.

That’s lawyer speak if ever I heard it, he shakes his head and looks at me with mock reproach.

I have a law degree, I admit.

Oh? He prompts with seemingly genuine interest. You’re a lawyer?

Um, I hedge again. Not really. I’m more of a receptionist.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on my non-career.

Everybody has to start somewhere, I shrug as best I can. I’m not happy with where I am in terms of my legal career but it’s the least of my concerns at the moment.

True. I spent my first year at this place doing all the crap nobody else wanted to do, he nods.

And now? I prompt. I want to know more about this man. I need to figure out what it is about him that feels familiar. It’s almost like looking inside myself when I look at him but that’s not possible.

He’s a big burly man and I’m the pathetic woman lying broken and bruised in a hospital bed. I know I need to escape from that. I just don’t know how yet.

Pretty much the same, he admits with that handsome grin. But I get paid slightly more.

I hate my job, I admit. I think I’m admitting it to myself for the first time as well. I’m not quite sure why I’m telling him.

Then find a new one, he shrugs like it’s that simple.

It isn’t so I just shrug.

He doesn’t say anything else and I’m beginning to notice that he seems comfortable with silence. He only seems to speak when it’s necessary. It’s strangely favourable in that I don’t feel compelled to fill the silence with random drivel.

I must drift off in the amicable silence because there’s light filtering in through the window at the end of the ward when I awake.

I can open my injured eye now but only fractionally and it’s more comfortable to keep it closed.

My eye automatically zones in on the chair next to my bed and my heart sinks slightly in disappointment when I find it empty.

I’m not sure why. All I know about him is that his name is Craig and he works at the hospital. He had no reason to be here and I have no reason to want to find him here.

I’m alone again.

And that’s just fine because I’d rather be alone than have to confront Nigel.

Chapter 3

Coffee, Craig’s voice rouses me from my silent contemplation.

I’m glad to be roused because my mind was in a dark place and there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

You came back, I whisper.

Figured you’d need caffeine, he shrugs, looking at me curiously.

His large frame makes the sterile room feel smaller and warmer and I don’t even try and fight my smile at his unexpected reappearance.

That sounds heavenly, I nod gingerly, still very aware of my injuries.

You can’t eat though, he smiles apologetically.

I don’t think I could anyway, I half-smile. My stomach still feels like it’s being kicked.

He narrows his eyes as he hands me a Styrofoam cup but that’s his only response.

I take a tentative sip of my coffee and do my best to mask my reaction to what I’m fairly sure is either battery acid or crushed caterpillars. It’s thoroughly repulsive but it wouldn’t be proper to be ungrateful when he’s here, being nice to me.

Ooh, Craig! A nurse who I haven’t yet seen coos as she comes over and starts prodding at my arm. I thought it was your day off today.

Craig shrugs, his eyes watching her hands like a hawk as she continues to check my IV.