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 f**king 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 f**k-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?"