for a minute, just whilst I rested my head on the arm of the sofa.
“Urvi,” a low murmur sounded in my ear and I frowned before snuggling further into the cushions. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? We’ve got to check your blood glucose before we move you to a bed, okay?”
I shook my head and didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to know what my stupid blood sugar was doing. My diabetes could go fuck itself. My hand was gently prised from under my cheek and the familiar sting of the lancet pierced the skin of my finger.
“Ow,” I muttered and managed to crack open one eye to see who was inflicting pain on me. Jack’s face was hovering close to mine and his was the hand I could feel resting on my shoulder. A woman I didn’t know was kneeling next to him and fiddling with my glucometer. “Wh–what’s going on?”
“Worries A Lot was not satisfied with my years of undergraduate training,” Kira said from behind both of them. She was sitting on the opposite sofa next to Ben and they were both sporting amused smiles. “He’s called in the heavies in the form of an actual doctor.”
“Bon soir,” the woman kneeling in front of me said. “You ’ave record of your readings?” she asked and I pressed my lips together before answering.
“No, I . . . no.”
I’d barely had time to take my blood glucose levels and dose my insulin this week. I definitely hadn’t had time to write every last one down.
“You must to do this,” she told me. “’ave you taken your long-acting insulin today? The . . .” she dug through my kit until she found what she was looking for. “The lantus?”
“No, I …”
She gave me a stern look and clicked her tongue as if it was my fault I hadn’t got around to administering it. I’d been close to death and then unconscious, lady!
“You ’ad a nasty ’ypoglycaemic episode,” she told me - something I already knew. “You will feel tired for the couple of days. It is better that you listen to your body with this. Let yourself recharge. Eat properly. Keep a good record of your blood sugars and see your doctor on your return ’ome.”
“Thank you but it’s fine,” I told her. “I’ve gone hypo loads before – no biggie. Everyone’s making a fuss over nothing.”
One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows went up.
“I’m afraid frequent ’ypos is not fine. It is dangerous.”
The way she said dangerous was so French and sexy. When I grew up I wanted to be her. Might be tricky to change my nationality, but . . .
“All I’m saying is that –”
“Take this seriously,” she told me, leaning into me and taking my uninjured hand in hers. “This is your life. You are young. Don’t take your ‘ealth for granted.”
Anger and frustration boiled up inside me until I just couldn’t repress it anymore.
“Seriously? You want me to take this seriously? That’s why I’m here in the first place. Ugh, I’m sorry I just . . . Look, thank you. I’m tired and I need to get to bed. I’ll take my lantus now. I promise.”
She squeezed my hand and gave me a quick nod before packing up her things. As she was leaving Jack stopped her at the door and asked another series of diabetes questions. Honestly? Was he about to open his own private clinic or something? This was getting ridiculous.
“I need to go to bed,” I told Kira and she started to help me up off the sofa. As we were walking towards the staff side Jack blocked our path, wearing a stubborn expression.
“You’re not sleeping in the bunk room,” he told me, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
I looked at him. He seemed a little fuzzy around the edges. Then I yawned. I didn’t even have the energy to cover my mouth. My eyelids closed on a long blink and I realised I was very close to simply falling asleep on my feet.
“She’s going to one of the cabins,” he told Kira.
“Like I trust you, twatbadger,” she shot back at him. “You could take her off to your lair and have your disgusting way with her whilst she unconscious.”
“Ki Ki,” I mumbled. “I do not think Jack is interested in having his way with me. I think he just wants to make sure I don’t sue him. Spoiler alert, Mr Bailey, I don’t have the money or the energy to sue