Two Tribes by Fearne Hill

Author:Fearne Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fearne Hill

I slipped out of the ward a little after ten. From prior experience, I’d learnt that announcing an intent to self-discharge generated a flurry of excitement. Well-meaning nurses questioned my wisdom. I was a nutcase—unwise decisions were part of the package. I waited until I detected a commotion in the bay next door, then simply wandered away.

For the best part of the last two years, I’d been shacked up with Darren Eames. On and off, anyhow. We’d met in a professional capacity, a smooth way of saying I’d been a reluctant guest at the local psych hospital and he’d been assigned as my community liaison nurse after they’d foolishly declared me sane enough to be let loose in polite society. I didn’t know the precise rules governing nursing staff fraternising with patients, but I reckon Darren and I broke every single one of them. He swore he’d never made a move on a patient until me. For a long time, I believed him.

Thank God he was out at work when I quietly let myself into the house. My wrists were bloody killing me; I was in no mood for tears and recriminations. After hauling my abused body up the stairs, I rooted through his bathroom cabinet for codeine. An afternoon blacked out on the sofa beckoned.

Darren knew me too well. Gingerly holding both bandaged arms up against my chest and like a man three times my age, I made my way back downstairs to find him waiting for me at the bottom. At some point during the night’s shenanigans, Phil would have texted him and reassured him his presence wasn’t required. Hurt blue eyes assessed me speculatively.

“Let me get you some water for those.” He took the codeine packet from me. “Watch you don’t trip—those trackies are way too big for you.”

Well, duh. Like I hadn’t noticed. Like I cared.

Darren Eames was a catch. I was lucky to have him. I knew this because he reminded me almost daily. And in many ways, I concurred. God knows what he saw in me, although when we got the balance of my meds right, Phil insisted I still had amusement value. Nearly ten years my senior, Darren possessed appealing chunky, sturdy good looks. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, he was an exact replica of every other bloke who’d fucked me. A mental health professional might be so bold to suggest my taste in men stemmed from having never recovered from my first ruggedly handsome, blond almost-lover. One of the many reasons I never attended my psych appointments.

Darren was solicitous, too. Like now, as he helped me onto the sofa, arranged the cushions behind my head and laid my arm at a comfortable angle on the arm rest. His pampering was not unexpected. Out of the bedroom, he handled me with kid gloves, contrasting nicely with the rough, forceful way he threw me around in the bedroom. I had no complaints in the sex department—Darren fucked me like a champ, every chance he got.

Moreover, as

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