quatre

                                    

                                          
'Where you from, love?' she asked casually as she sorted through the green medical box. 
                          
'London.' I hissed through my teeth. 'I live i- I lived in London, with my bo- with my friend.' I struggled slowly through the words. 
                          
She looked up at me, eyebrows raised. 
                          
'You live in London with your boyfriend. No need to lie to me, I own a B&B. I 'ardly discriminate.' she said, tutting slightly in a motherly way as she pulled a wipe out the box. 
                          
She dragged it gently across my hand, but I still flinched, the wet wipe stinging against the cut. 
                          
'You're gonna need stitches.' She said, sighing, as she began to rummage through her box once more. 
                          
'Tell me about your boyfriend. Distract yourself.' the woman said calmly, as she began to thread the needle she'd pulled out the box.
                          
'I don't have a boyfriend.' I said firmly. 
                          
'Not anymore.' she commented. I just looked away, clenching my jaw, both against the pain in my hand and her question. 'What happened?'
                          
'We... I left.'
                          
'Why?' she asked, seeming to be still fully absorbed in stitching the wound. 
                          
'He was sad. I was making him sad.'
                          
'Sad?'
                          
'Depressed. Clinically. He was hurti- he wasn't good to himself, and it was my fault.'
                          
'Did you hurt him? Physically?'
                          
'No.'
                          
'Verbally?'
                          
'No.'
                          
'Cheat?'
                          
'No.' 
                          
She sighed, biting the thread with her teeth. 
                          
'Then I don't see how it's your fault.' she replied, looking up at me, her forehead wrinkling slightly. 
                          
'It just was.'
                          
'In my eyes- and purely in my little blind eyes- you need to suck it up.'
                          
I pulled my hand away, frowning at her in confusion. 
                          
'You're projecting what seems like his
mental illness onto yourself. It most likely isn't your fault, so I don't see why you're making it your fault. You've not done anything wrong.'
                          
I looked down at my now stitched hand, thinking about her words. 
                          
'Go home.' she said quietly, 'You'll be lost in Big Bad Newcastle.' 
                          
'Not yet.' I whispered. 'We aren't ready.'
                          
She smiled, patting my good hand with her calloused own. 
                          
'Then get ready.'
                          
~~