Florence traces her finger across his pendant. She holds it in her hand, a smile opening up across her face. She makes a small sigh, as if she wants to tell him something but Martyn can’t stop searching her eyes. He’s lost himself there, he swears he doesn’t see the scars any more.
Why is he so obsessive, hanging onto her every word?
Florence might know who killed her family. She was about to reveal her secret but somehow she’s become entangled in this moment with him and he doesn’t want to disturb her, to pull her out of it. He can feel her breath on him, she’s that close.
She runs her fingers through her hair and then he sees a flash of something in her eyes. A look of determination. Florence grabs a fistful of her fringe, takes a breath, and another, much bigger than the last, and then tugs hard, pulling her hair right the way off her scalp.
Martyn tries to hide his shock. He’s speechless for a moment, his gaze moving between the wig in her hand and her scalp, taking in the patches of wiry hair between large sections of bald, waxy skin.
Florence shrinks into herself, searching his eyes for reassurance. She gazes up at him with a look of helplessness and his heart collapses. He wants to hug her, make her see it’s OK. It’s OK to be different. He admires her strength, showing him the ‘real her’. He could never be so brave. She must be sharing this with him for a reason and that makes his insides fizz.
Her eyes fill with tears. ‘This is how the world remembers me.’ Her voice cracks.
‘My family was dead, I was fighting for my life and a journalist managed to talk his way onto my hospital ward. He slipped past the nurses and security to find his fucking front page.’
Martyn flinches, he’s not used to hearing her swear.
‘It was the picture I became famous for. My hair, burnt right off my scalp. Two frightened eyes peering out through bandages. You must have seen it?’
Martyn remembers the heartbreaking image from the news story his mum was reading.
‘They also printed the “before” picture, which they stole from my Instagram page. I’d done some fast fashion collabs on social media while at uni, nothing noteworthy but enough to earn me the title of model.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘It made the before and after pictures that bit more startling. The headline might as well have read “beauty and the beast”.’ She laughs and wipes tears away.
Martyn wants to hold her. He wants to show her how wrong they were.
‘It went to the High Court for breach of privacy and I was awarded three million in damages – not that I needed the money, but still. It felt like a small win in my otherwise losing battle with life.’
Martyn stares at her, mesmerized. Inspired by her bravery, from somewhere deep inside he too finds a hidden strength, courage and a flare of desire. Suddenly he leans towards her and plants a kiss on her lips.
Florence blinks, her eyes widening.
Heat rushes to his cheeks.
‘I’m sorry.’ He shrinks back. Shame, thick in his throat.
Silence.
He wants the ground to swallow him whole. Martyn can’t bring himself to look at her.
She places a warm hand on his chin, guiding his face back to hers.
‘Why don’t you think I’m disgusting?’ she says.
‘Stop saying that.’
‘Everyone else thinks it.’
His eyes fill up with tears. ‘You’re beautiful.’
She smiles. ‘You’re a good liar.’
‘You have no idea. You have this thing where—’ He stops.
We’re the same. Martyn so desperately wants to reassure her, tell her how similar they are, they’re both broken, and that’s OK. The ache of years of being overlooked. Dismissed for being different. And he needs something from her now, as much as he knows she needs him. He doesn’t want to go home to his old life. He despises old Martyn.
‘You see me,’ he says quietly. ‘Nobody else sees me.’
She wipes away his tears. Her eyes search his and she leans in, so close to his face he feels her breath on his lips. Her mouth grazes his and his heart accelerates. Her lips feel uneven, but then suddenly smooth, wet and soft as her tongue enters his mouth.
Martyn’s never kissed anyone before. He panics – is he doing it right?
She pulls back a fraction and laughs. ‘You’re meant to close your eyes, silly.’
‘Oh.’ He reddens and then feels her lips pressing tightly against his, a fresh intensity, as her tongue finds its way to meet his.
He shuts his eyes, feeling his way in the dark. He remembers what they’ve taught him, so he lets go and allows himself to melt into the moment.
He feels aroused, he almost feels brave enough to put his hand on her. Does she want him to touch her? All at once he’s aware of how young and inexperienced he is and that makes him more nervous.
He lifts a trembling hand, he’s ready to be brave, but a noise outside the door breaks them apart.
Two green coats barge into her room, this time with a wheelchair. They exchange a disapproving look and Martyn backs away.
‘Florence, it’s time for your treatment now.’
‘Why do I need that?’ She stares at the wheelchair.
No answer. They wait for her to do as she’s told.
An awkward silence hangs between them and Martyn feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He looks at Florence, who flashes him a reassuring smile.
‘I’ll see you later,’ she says warmly.
She gets up and takes a seat in the chair, suddenly frowning.
‘Wait.’ She looks back at him. ‘I needed to tell you something,’ she says urgently.
‘It’s OK. Tell me later,’ he says.
But Martyn feels a lurch of panic as the words leave him. Because he has this terrible feeling he might never see her again.