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I spent the next few weeks fully immersed in my new book. Georgie had loved the pages I’d re-written, and that had sparked a desire to finally finish the damned thing. I wrote like mad for hours at a time, sometimes not even stopping to eat, and by the end of three weeks, I found myself at the end of the book, two weeks earlier than my deadline.

But that left me at loose ends, which I really hated. While I was writing, I could distract myself from thinking about Orlando and the stupid position I’d gotten myself into with him, but without my manuscript open in front of me, all I was left with was empty time and a mind all too eager to fill it with thoughts I really didn’t need.

He hadn’t called me once since our last conversation, presumably because I’d told him not to, and while I liked the fact that he respected my wishes, not hearing from him bothered me. It was a double-edged sword, and I was dangerously close to being skewered by it, despite my best intentions.

The situation with my mother hadn’t improved either, not that I actually expected it to. Her engagement announcement was in one of the local papers that I still had delivered to my flat, just so I had some idea of what was going on in the world, and she looked so sickeningly happy in the accompanying picture that I’d deliberately dumped my coffee on it without a second thought. Cleaning up the mess had been worth it just to see the ink run all over her face and make her, albeit briefly, as hideous as I was. I’d actually laughed out loud to think of her that way.

The details in the engagement announcement were brief, but it seemed as though she’d moved up her wedding date significantly, and was now having a large ceremony at Garret’s private estate, just outside the city. The big day was less than a month away now, and she hadn’t even bothered to call and tell me. I took that as I good sign that what I’d said had gotten through to her, and quickly discarded the stained and dripping newspaper.

I didn’t have long to dwell on her pointless life, though, because the day after I read her announcement, I woke up so sick I could barely breathe. Over night, my chest had filled up and become so tight that it felt like I was breathing through a straw with a hole in the side, my head had started to throb to the point where opening my eyes was out of the question, and every single inch of me ached like crazy. Like I’d said to Orlando, I hate being sick, and this felt like the mother of all illnesses crashing down on me.

I tried to weather the storm for a few days, staying in bed and doing as little as possible, but things only seemed to be getting worse. A fever had developed that had me seeing purple and blue spots on the walls, and made it feel like my eyes were about to explode every time I closed them. I was chilled one minute, and sweating profusely the next, with no rhyme or reason to any of it. On top of that, I started coughing so hard my whole body was retching with it, and made breathing even more difficult. I couldn’t even swallow sometimes for fear that the cough would start again. I grew weaker every day, and finally, I knew I had to do something.

Reluctantly, I called Olivia. I didn’t really know anyone else who would know what to do about this. I fought to suppress the spasm-inducing chills that my fever was slapping me with as I dialed her number and waited for her to answer.

“Olivia, I think I’m dying,” I rasped, fighting for air with each word, when she answered the phone.

“Peyton, you sound like shit,” she observed, though there was no real hint of concern in her voice.

“I’m sick,” I said, too tired to feel annoyed at her. “It’s getting worse, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“You could always be normal and go to a doctor,” she pointed out sarcastically. “What the hell do you expect from me?”

“Can you come over?” I felt like such an ass for putting myself at her mercy, but I really felt like I was dying, and couldn’t see any way around it.

“Why, so I can get sick, too?” She was repulsed by the thought.

“If I go to a doctor, I’ll need a ride,” I said.

She sighed. “Fine, but you’re not going to argue about going when I get there, are you?”

“No.”

“Do you even have a doctor?”

That brought me up short. The last time I’d seen a doctor was before we’d moved to London. I wasn’t even sure how the health care system worked in England, let alone how to find a doctor. I told her as much.

She heaved another sigh. “I’ll see if I can get you into mine, okay?” she said after a pause. “I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up.

I tried to make myself as decent as I could before she arrived, knowing that I’d have no choice but to leave my apartment, but the fact was I could barely get myself out of bed long enough to use the loo, let alone do anything with my appearance. I managed to get up and unlock my door before heading back to bed, every step causing unbelievable pain everywhere in my body. I collapsed in a heap of blankets, and saw nothing but darkness.

I awoke in a very bright, sterile-looking room, still wrapped in my own blanket, but with ugly grey sheets thrown over top. It took me a minute to realize I wasn’t at home anymore, and that there was an IV in my hand.

Olivia was sitting beside my bed, a file full of papers open on her lap, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“‘Liv?” I whispered, my voice sounding like I’d swallowed a road’s worth of gravel, even to my own ears. I felt strangely numb, but my chest was still tight, and I was still shivering from the fever that made my whole face burn.

“It’s about fucking time, Peyton,” she said, without looking up.

“What?” The fog in my head made it hard for me to understand what she was saying.

“I banged on your door for a good ten minutes before I realized it was open,” she said, closing the folder and finally looking at me. “I had to call an ambulance to get you here, because there was no way you were waking up to get to the car yourself.” She sounded more annoyed at the trouble she’d had to go through than concerned for the fact that I was obviously out cold when she’d arrived.

Even through the haze in my mind I cringed at the idea of the poor EMT’s who’d had to lift my bulk onto a stretcher. I cringed even more at the idea that I was outside of my flat, away from my comfortable cocoon.

“The doctor says you’ve got a pretty bad case of pneumonia,” Olivia continued, taking off her glasses and tucking them into her bag. “You’re dehydrated, so they’ve got you on an IV, and they’ve added a bag of pain medication for you, too.” She smoothed her hand over her dark blonde hair and straightened her navy suit jacket as she shifted in her chair. “Lord knows what other antibiotics they’ve put into the mix.”

“When can I go home?” I asked as a fresh tremor shot through me and I pulled my blanket more tightly around me. The light was hurting my eyes, and I craved the darkness of my room.

“Not for a few days yet,” she said. “They’re preparing a room for you right now.” She made it sound like I was at a hotel, waiting for the maids to be done before I could have the bellhops take my baggage to my room. I wished that were the case, that this was voluntary, but unfortunately, it wasn’t.

I was too tired to ask any more questions, so I closed my eyes and listened to the noises around me. We were in a curtained cubicle, clearly still in the Emergency department, and there were doctors and nurses bustling around outside the curtains. A baby was crying somewhere to my right, and a heart monitor was beeping incessantly to my left. The intrusion of other people, the unfamiliarity of my surroundings, and the discomfort of being unable to even lift my head were starting to get to me, and I felt tears sting my eyes.

“There’s no point in crying about this,” Olivia almost snapped when she saw the first tear slip down my cheek. “So you’re sick, big deal. You’ll get better, and then you can go back to your hole as though nothing had ever happened. Jesus, Peyton, I don’t know why you have to be such a spazz sometimes.”

I didn’t acknowledge that she’d even spoken, just continued to let the tears flow, more because I had no choice than because I wanted them there.

A short while later, a nurse came into our cubicle and took my temperature, her face kind and gentle as she pulled my blanket back to check my pulse. I noticed her eyes stray to my scars and closed my own eyes before I could see her reaction. The last thing I needed was to see a trained health care professional flinch away from them. That would do wonders for my self-esteem.

No matter her thoughts, though, the nurse was gentle, her voice smooth and calming as she spoke to me. She smoothed a cool cloth over my forehead, wiping away the clammy sweat that had been accumulating there, and then brought me another blanket as two orderlies came in to wheel me to my room. I was grateful that I didn’t have to get up, but horrified that I was being physically moved. I tried not to think about the poor men who had to force my fat ass down the hallway to the room that had been designated as mine.

When I was settled in a new bed, still wrapped in my own blanket, tears of humiliation streaming down my face because the orderlies had lifted me there, the nurse finally left me alone. The last thing I saw was her greyish-brown bun retreating from my room.

“Okay, I’m going to take off,” Olivia said as she set my bag, which I assumed she packed herself, on the chair beside the bed. “There are some books and things in here if you get bored, but I’d imagine you’ll want to sleep most of the time. You’ve got clean clothes as well, so hopefully they’ll help you change when you want to.”

I shuddered at the thought and tried to force a smile. “Thanks, ‘Liv,” I said weakly.

She didn’t respond to my thanks, just said, “Give me a call in a few days to let me know how you are.” She turned on her heel and left me alone.

The following few days were quite possibly some of the worst I’ve ever experienced, and given how much time I’ve spent in hospitals, that was saying something. A nurse came in every morning to take my temperature and check my other vitals before she sat me up and washed me down. I winced away from her every time she touched me, though she assured me she did this all the time. She dressed me in fresh pajamas every day, and helped me to a chair so she could change my bedding, insisting that getting rid of the germ-ridden linens was the easiest way to get me healthy again. I didn’t disagree with her, grateful that I didn’t have to continue to lay in my own fever-induced sweat.

When the fever finally broke, and the shivering stopped, I was allowed to use my private bathroom to shower myself. I was so exhausted, though, that I found I needed the nurse’s help, and that brought on a fresh wave of humiliation and discomfort. It brought back the memories of the nurses after my accident, gingerly removing my bandages to wipe the puss and discharge from my burns before washing the rest of me. They all had the same business-like air to them, the same indifference to the fact that they were washing down a human being rather than a piece of furniture or something, and that was almost worse than having them react to my scars. They were pleasant about it, to be sure, but strangely detached from the job itself.

The only good thing about my hospital stay was the fact that I was too sick to eat. The doctor assured me my appetite would return, but at that point, I really didn’t care. My pajama pants were definitely feeling a bit loose by the time I was finally discharged and allowed to go home.

Olivia graciously agreed to come and pick me up when the doctor sent me home a week after I’d been admitted. I was still exhausted, but I could breathe again, my fever was gone, and I wasn’t as achy as I’d been. One of my regular nurses helped me pack up my belongings and I was ready to go, waiting in a wheelchair in the hospital waiting room, by the time ‘Liv arrived.

That’s when my week got worse. As I sat there, fully exposed to the thirty or so people who were milling about in various capacities, I heard the smooth slide of the automatic door opening, and looked up, hoping to see Olivia. Instead, none other than Orlando Bloom strode through the doorway, looking as beautiful as the pictures I’d seen of him.

His hands were tucked in the pockets of his faded dark grey jeans, under a lighter grey hooded sweatshirt, with a black jacket over top, and brown boots on his feet. He pushed his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head, as he walked, inevitably because of where the nurse had positioned me, toward where I was sitting. I instantly wanted to sink into the floor.

And, of course, being as cool and collected as I am, I became so flustered that I dropped my duffel bag just as he was getting nearer to me. Heat instantly flooded my face as I tried to turn away so I could hide the scars that my track suit unfortunately didn’t cover. The nurse had pulled my hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of my face, so the twisted, hideous flesh was fully on display.

I reached down to pick up my bag, but before I could, a sleek hand with very long fingers closed around the handle and lifted it for me. I knew before I even looked up who it was, and I had to force myself to meet his eyes.

“There you go,” he said as he handed me the bag, a small smile on his face. I knew that voice so well by now, it threw me to actually put it with his face. The effect was more than I’d ever hoped for, but that somehow made the situation worse.

“Thanks,” I muttered, hoping he wouldn’t recognize my voice, weak as it still was from being sick. I inadvertently grazed his fingers as I took my bag, and a shock rippled through me at how warm he was, at how his skin seemed to burn, the way mine had when I’d been fevered.

That’s when I noticed the smile was frozen on his face, and he suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. I saw his eyes flinch away from me, and knew instantly that he’d seen my scars. I felt myself blush as I looked down at my lap.

“Uh, have a nice day,” he almost stuttered in his haste to get away from me. It was only there for a brief second, but I saw the disgust flash across his face as he glanced at my scars again. His steps were suddenly much quicker than they’d been before he stopped to help me.

A cold sensation washed over me as I processed what had just happened. The man I’d been falling for had just reacted to me much the way I’d known he would, and it stung even worse than I’d imagined. There was no mistaking the change in him after he’d really gotten a good look at me, the way he’d gone from easy grace as he’d handed me my bag, to stiff and uncomfortable as he’d hurried to get away. I tried to picture how I must have looked to him, a lump of human flesh sitting in a wheel chair, twisted and disfigured for all the world to see, and I winced.

What would he say if he knew that the woman he’d just flinched away from was the woman he’d been pestering to meet him? Would he be so insistent that I have coffee with him? Would he want to have conversations about sex with me? Would he be as charming and sweet as he’d been? I knew before my mind had even finished the questions what the answers were, and my stomach clenched at them.

I fought back some very insistent tears as Olivia finally arrived to take me home.