04

/* This is a work of fiction and all resemblance to any person, place, event, nationality, or landmark is purely coincidental. I have employed my artist's pejorative in adapting and modifying the events and places to suit the narrative. Would encourage the readers to first read 'My Almost Brother: Ch 1&2' before to get familiarized with the preceding story. All rights reserved */

Chapter 3

The Week After

Over the next few days, my life followed an altered routine.

During the day I craved work and being busy.

Everybody said that they always found me running hither and thither over the next few days. I volunteered for the graveyard shift, I took it upon myself to complete pending reports and correspondence, I even went so far as to volunteer when the Arse-bitch, our HoD, requested volunteers for the initiation training for the first years.

My only objective was to get dog-tired by the end of the day so that I could somehow stumble into our home, down a glass of Glenlivet and pass out on the couch.

And follow this same routine the next day and the next.

It was Brady, the most outspoken amongst us roomies who pronounced his judgement on Tuesday night a week later, in the few minutes before I passed out.

"You cannot run away from him forever. Sooner or later, you will have to confront him and your feelings for him"

"Shhh...Shuuud...Shaaaduuup" That was the best I could come up with before I passed out into oblivion again.

I got up the next day, which was a Wednesday, my day off, with a massive hangover which was quite acceptable as on most days I had been having alcohol on an empty stomach. That I was not barfing out blood was a bloody miracle.

Even a hangover was better; the shooting headache helped me forget that which I was desperately trying to forget.

But even with the hangover, I decided that I could not put it off any longer. The point that Brady had made last night, the picture that I had been desperately trying to obliterate with alcohol these last few days; now was brought in sharp focus to me;

My desperate longing for my Brother.

I tried internally to rationalize my emotions by saying to myself, "Okay, part of the reason was that he was a very handsome guy who was a sharp contrast to his siblings both because of his genial manner and because of that mystery about him."

I still didn't know what he did and why he needed a bodyguard.

Afreen the autophile amongst us roomies had pointed out with patient aplomb that the black Mercedes in which he departed that day was an Armored Maybach S680. Also, there was his crazy assertion that Mom had contacted and sought him out, which was very puzzling and mysterious indeed.

I consoled myself that yes, what I had wanted so much from him was companionship and belonging.

At least that's what I told myself.

I didn't have any brother growing up; an elder brother whom I could run to with problems and who would solve them for me. So basically, what I was getting confused with were Daddy issues. That's what any shrink would say.

In the few hours that we had been together, he had been confident, humorous, and caring without being nosy and most importantly he was modest and carefree.

Neither showing off his wealth nor insulting others about their lack of it.

Yes, he did tick all the green flags!

And then I suddenly jerked awake. (With a sharp shooting headache due to my jerky movements)

"Bloody hell girl, what the fuck!"

"He is your bloody brother, not a guy you can shag or plan on keeping!"

I must have said this aloud because all the other three slowly trooped into my room and sat down on my bed. One of them handed me a lime soda which I downed in a gulp.

Then, slowly and tentatively, I opened my eyes against the sunshine peeking through the curtains and looked around at the assembled three.

Brady was almost six feet with mocha-colored skin and was of mixed-race background basically from the Caribbean where his original ancestors had enormous sugar plantations way back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Over the next couple of centuries, his family had diversified into a cluster of automobile manufacturing units and allied businesses in the main hubs spread across the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean.

He was buff, an avid gym enthusiast with a shaved head and was gay. He was also in CMT like me and assigned to Oncology at the Uni

Afreen was a tan, sporty brunette who wore her straightened hair till her waist, who was about my height with almond-shaped turquoise green eyes. She was the quiet one, preferring to spend more time on the internet and hence her knowledge of trivia was phenomenal.

And she was a rare breed. A foodie who could also cook very well.

So, on our off days, she cooked while the other three of us did the dishes and other household chores. This arrangement worked out perfectly for all of us. Her family was originally from Iran and had migrated to Britain just before the Islamic revolution. Now her family ran carpets and loom businesses spread across the UK and Western Europe while here she was in CMT with me assigned to the Clinical Biology labs at the Uni.

Finally, there was Helen who was short at five feet four, a Scot and currently assigned to paediatrics at the Uni during her CMT

Her relationship with me was best characterized by saying that we were not enemies.

Her original Gaelic name was Eilidh but was anglicized to Helen.

She belonged to proud Scottish nobility with a family tree tracing back to the Battle of Stirling Bridge with her extended family owning quite a few castles in Aberdeenshire.

She was your typical Hebridean Lass. Emerald blue eyes, red hair which was framed around her head (which my grandmother would have called as a blunt cut) and freckles. She was the youngest amongst us, always wore a nose ring and dark eye shadow (still a rebel at twenty-nine with the goth look)

Despite our strong differences of opinion on Scottish Independence, Brexit and British Royalty, both of us were united in our resolve to not let our ancestors and their troubles dictate our present.

All four of us had met in medical school and decided we got along well with each other and thus we all became roomies in a houseshare. This arrangement was about nine years old and had held strong all this while

And now, into this mix was airdropped Johan!

Naturally, it was Brady, the eldest among us (he was thirty-three), who parried the first charge.

"We are already romanticizing a shag, are we!" His sing-song voice made the thrust more brutal.

I decided to go with the truth. We had all been together for too long now, for me to invent some random lie.

"I don't know. I am confused by my emotions."

It felt so cathartic to finally let it all out.

"I know that before our meeting, I did not even know about his existence. But now that I know, I cannot go back to not knowing. You all have seen how much of a dish he is. He is even more wonderful as a person."

"How can a dishy be more wonderful than that?" Even with her quiet voice, Afreen could not mask her desire which cut me to the quick (But why exactly? .... Bugger!)

"He is Swedish as I told you. You told me (this pointedly to Afreen), he had an armored car! He is rich. I mean much wealthier than me. But never once did he advertise or talk about his money or his social class."

I was warming to the subject and was in free flow. Even Afreen's words of a moment ago were forgotten.

"How many good-looking men, who are as attractive as him, have you seen, thanking an unknown counter girl at a diner, thanking her genuinely with a smile, after requesting just some napkins?" I was being all protective of him.

Now looking at Helen I could see her eyes widen and her face forming a quizzical expression.

"Helen will tell you that this courtesy is unknown by the British (and Scottish) upper class who deem it as their right, any service demanded from the working class"

Helen still had that quizzical expression and was slowly nodding her head.

"You should have seen that girl's reaction." I wanted to desperately showcase his democratic behaviour

"She was blushing like crazy and did not know whether to scream or cry"

"And that day was the first time that he met me. He did not know me from Eve. But he was confident and emotionally secure enough to say that he was having trouble with the left side driving in Britain and agreed to let me drive his Armoured Mercedes here. You all saw me getting out of the driver's seat".

I stopped for breath. I did not realize I was speaking for so long.

"No self-obsessed and chauvinist British male would do that. Hand over control of his car, even if he was on a first date with Danica Patrick." I defended my brother's action valiantly

For the edification of the uninitiated, Danica Patrick was an Indy race car driver who had taken a pole position at a Grand Prix.

The second charge was also parried by Brady, though it was not that much of a surprise.

"So, we all agree it was a date!" His continued use of the sing-song voice grating on my hangover was riling me up.

"Damn it, Brady! Enough of this piss already. I accepted to you guys that I was confused about my feelings. I accept that I want him as an older brother, but his Adonis-like face gets in the way. I don't know whether I want to hug him, or I want to kiss him. My head is killing me here and you guys are here with the Spanish Inquisition."

"Just leave me alone, you daft pricks!" The last bit was for the whole of humanity in general.

Trying to lighten the mood, Afreen mischievously prattled along

"You do the hugging while we will do the kissing". And she puckered her lips in an exaggerated kiss.

The flash of anger and jealousy that tingled up and down my spine and contracted my eyes and face into a malevolent stare was a surprise even to me.

Sensing my mood, Helen immediately came and hugged me tightly while gently caressing my back and shoulders like trying to calm an angry child.

"Calm down! Shhhhh...Calm down! Nobody is taking him away from you. Calm down! Brady, go and get some lemon soda and Afreen, could you quickly fix some breakfast? Anything solid will do. Or else she will be pissing out blood now....Shhhhh. Calm down!"

I was horrified at my feelings. I could not imagine I had grown so possessive of him after just one meeting. I tried to say something to Afreen, but she was already gone, and Helen finally released me and looked me squarely in the face.

"Even you did not realise how enamoured you were, did you?"

Her voice was just a bland question, without any insinuation or judgement.

That's why I liked her. She knew how to behave in which situation. She was like the mother hen of our group.

"Don't worry about Afreen. She will just tease you a bit, but she doesn't mean any harm!"

"But your feelings, you will have to sort yourself out! I cannot do that for you! But getting pissed every night is not the answer. Now go and get ready and later eat something before we leave!"

I raised my brows quizzically (that's the best I could do now) as they all knew today was my day off.

"There has been a multi-car pile-up somewhere on the M25 and they are handing out critical cases to different hospitals including the Uni. All of us have been paged" she explained while finally releasing me and getting up.

That explained the Spanish Inquisition court in my room.

Chapter 4

Wednesday morning

After a quick shower, I came out of the shower cubicle and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom and evaluated myself critically.

I couldn't do much about the face, which I was not already doing with creams and lotions.

Maybe if I coloured my hair, the fluorescent lights in the hospital could catch and reflect it better.

My teardrop shaped 34B titties were decent enough with nipples that did expand into penny-sized puckers when sucked. Only if I had big surrounding areolas as the pornstars did, then the sucking and engorging effect on the nipples could be better.

Continuing gazing downwards, my washboard abs which I maintained with regular running, flared into strong hips and a perfect heart-shaped arse.

I had been complimented for my arse suitably by both the men and women.

My unblemished arse was my best asset with the coffee-stain-like birthmark on my right hip providing the icing on the cake.

I was just contemplating whether I should shave off the landing strip which I maintained over my slit or just trim it down when I stopped dead in my tracks.

Holy fuck! Holy shitty fuck!

What in the blue blazes was I doing?

Was I mentally grooming myself to make myself "presentable" to Johan? Though his name had not popped into my head, even I couldn't lie to myself about my real intentions.

Shaking myself like a terrier shaking off water, I composed myself and quickly donned the doctor's green scrubs and the white apron and headed down to breakfast

Afreen, God bless her, had wrapped some egg and mayo butties in foil and we stuffed them in our bags and loaded ourselves onto Brady's Urban Cruiser. As we started, down the street I saw that same woman, now wearing a Hijab, whom I had seen about twice before in a similar spot in the last week. She usually was with another portly guy, but today he seemed to be absent.

As we drove down, I made it a point to look at that woman through the tinted windows of the Urban Cruiser and found her reaching for the phone, with the obvious purpose of making a call. On the two prior occasions when I had seen her, she had done the same.

They looked like tourists, but somehow, I could not quite shake off the feeling that she was there to keep an eye on me.

On the way to Uni, I tried to take stock of my actions and their results after I met with Johan.

Firstly, the very next day I called the number given by Johan. I had mentally debated quite a bit with myself and had finally decided on the strategy and the conversation to clarify my actions and emotions of that day.

Only to be disappointed by a voicemail prompt.

My other attempts on succeeding days were also met with the same results so I left a couple of voice mails to that number, to which I hadn't received any response to date.

When I could not reach him, I tried calling Mom (Of course I could not call Andrew), but there too was a voice message telling me that she was touring Mainland Europe with Andrew.

This probably was her inventory assessment tour, cataloguing and detailing the assets of her would-be husband.

It was euphemistically branded by her as a get-to-know-each-other-better tour. She was a skilled and practised hand at delicately and subtly finding out and evaluating the monetary value of free-hold properties and investments of her prospective husband.

When it came to the eventual divorce, she believed in the Boy Scout motto 'Be Prepared'.

But this time it was different.

When I next called Vennela, her manager, I was surprised to find out that her itinerary consisted of visits to actual tourist spots.

The Trevi Fountain in Rome, the Hapsburg castle in Vienna, the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral in Spain and other places in which I knew she didn't have an iota of interest.

Finally, I googled Johan.

I didn't find much on him on the internet.

That bit about Annika I found, but the majority of the articles were in Swedish, and I didn't have the patience or skill to translate them to English.

Yes, I was a dinosaur when it came to all things technological. Which meant that Mom had hired professional help to dig into Johan.(Ya, we both were dinosaurs that way)

I couldn't fathom why!

I was thinking about all my actions taken and the lack of results thereof when a voice message from Mom reached me stating that she was back in London and that she would reach out to me.

Now this was disturbing on at least three counts.

First, her itinerary as conveyed by Vennela had many more days left in it and that meant she had cut short her trip.

Second, she had never reached out to me before. She had a laissez-faire attitude to her eldest daughter's (Yours Truly's) upbringing and the established practice was that I reached out to her in case I needed something. She never bothered with trifles like asking how I was or how was work.

And finally, at the end of her message, she asked if we could settle our hand-to-hand (which I had threatened her with during my car ride with Johan), with a Krav Maga bout. Though her tone was flippant and nonchalant, I could detect an undertone of worry and concern which was totally unlike her.

So, in response, I left a voice message for her saying that I was ready for the bout anytime.

We had reached Uni by now and I could see the bedlam that the pile-up had wrought.

Ambulances screaming their two-tone sirens, doctors and nurses running with the patients on gurneys, and many of the less critically wounded patients were just piled up in the Hospital's Main Atrium and Lobby which meant that the ER was already overflowing beyond capacity.

By the looks of it, there didn't seem to be any administration overseeing things.

We jumped down from the Urban Cruiser and ran to the nearest patients in the Lobby.

An hour later, the bedlam had increased multifold.

Though the number of injured people had increased a little, the situation was made increasingly difficult by the attendees of the patients, all of whom seemed to think that their kin were not being treated adequately.

The doctors and health workers were constantly harassed and targeted by the attendees and now the presence of the reporters and camera crew was making matters more difficult.

Naturally, the increased stress was making tempers frayed. Shouting and heckling were becoming more pronounced by both the doctors as well as the patients and their attendees

The NHS was good with individual care but hopeless in case of a large-scale medical emergency!

I was set up in the Atrium along with a few other doctors and currently suturing a patient's cut on her forearm while she wailed unnecessarily, when I noticed a Black Mercedes roll to a stop in the foyer.

The same Black Mercedes from that night

My heart skipped a beat.

Then I saw Ralf get out. (I had even started thinking of his name in the Swedish pronunciation).

With due respect to Shelley, my heart beat out a tune... 'If Ralf comes, could his employer be far behind'

And then Ralf opened the rear doors of the Mercedes and He emerged.

I stopped suturing.

And dramatically all the bedlam and noise quietened down as if turned off at the click of a switch.

Today his hair was in a wavy slick back style.

His eyes were Hazel which meant he was wearing coloured contacts (or was this his natural colour and he was wearing coloured contacts that day, I didn't know)

A friendly disarming smile, a scruffy few days' growth on his Adonis-like face with a beige turtleneck pullover, tan fleece jacket, black jeans and suede shoes completed his ensemble.

If we had been in a church, I am sure all would have burst out in a collective Hallelujah.

The reaction to his entry here was what I was now becoming familiar with whenever he walked into a room. I knew all the women (and many men too) young and old alike were creaming their knickers seeing this man candy in front of them. (I knew I was!)

The rest of the men had jealousy writ large on their faces.

He walked in like a Royal.

Waving to the kids and patients, shaking hands with random doctors who were too tongue-tied to speak, he at last reached me.

My patient had forgotten her wailing since she saw him get out of the car. Now with her eyes as big as saucers (as the saying goes) and her jaw almost dropping to the floor she was ogling this god-like creature standing in front of her.