Nemesis Visits

I go through Harri's old clothes, making a note of sizes. I have to assume that they fitted her as I hadn't noticed them being overly big or small on her last night. I also have to assume that they reflect her chosen style. There's the hoodie but I guess that's as much practical protection against the cold as anything; I do note that it is (or at least was) pale blue. Next is her shirt -- a long-sleeved checked shirt that I think of as a lumberjack shirt. However, it is tailored as a woman's shirt. She wore a white tee shirt underneath but, again, this might be just for warmth. Her jeans are just that: a fairly ordinary high street pair so it doesn't look like she's particularly into designer brands. Overall, and thinking about her hairstyle too, she seems to have a bit of a tomboy look going on, albeit a reasonably feminine one.

The shopping is an interesting challenge, which I begin by visiting the three charity shops nearby. Had I been looking for dresses and party frocks I'd be spoiled for choice but I guess more practical clothes tend to get worn out and binned rather than given to charity. The only jeans I find have sequins sewn in a heart shape on the bum pocket, so they're no good. However, I do find a pair of dark blue cargo pants for a fiver that I buy. I find a checked shirt made of lovely, soft brushed cotton but it is a size too big, according to the label. There is also a cream-coloured shirt with a button down collar and I debate which of the two I should buy; in the end, I buy both.

I am about to leave the third shop when I notice a denim-blue woollen jumper with a geometric pattern around the neck and shoulders and around the hem. It is incredibly warm when I hold it and, when I look at the label and find that it was made in Iceland, I'm not surprised. It is expensive, though, a fair bit more than the shirts and cargo pants together. I hold it up, looking at it as I debate whether to buy it or not. The shop assistant comes over, "I think that's a bit small for you, dear," she advises, trying to be helpful.

"Oh, it's not for me, it's for a friend who's in hospital," I tell her, "but it's a bit expensive, so I'll leave it."

"If I took five pounds off, would that help?" she asks. That would still mean it costs more than the rest but...

Oh sod it, I think. "Yes, it would, thank you." So I buy it.

Underwear I cannot get secondhand so it's off to the cheaper clothing shops. Though Harri could probably do with a new bra, the whole sizing thing is just too complicated for me to even begin; it also feels too intimate a garment for me to buy for her. Strangely, I don't feel the same about panties, perhaps because they come in anonymous looking packets of five so I simply buy a pack of the same bikini style. I also buy a couple of tee shirts (one white, one pale yellow) and a multi-pack of socks.

Maybe it was stupid to spend the money but, all in all, I think it's sixty quit well spent. I hope she likes them all.

Harri is due to be discharged this morning, once the doctor has checked her, and I head up to her ward carrying a large carrier bag of clothes. She waves when she sees me and the swelling around her mouth has gone down just enough for her to smile.

"Hi, Maxie. I was beginning to worry that I'd have to leave wearing this hospital gown!" I put the bag on the bed and she reaches in to pull out the clothes. "Maxie, you Muppett, these aren't my clothes, you brought the wrong bag." That she feels relaxed enough with me to call me a Muppett gives me a warm feeling inside.

"No I didn't: these are definitely yours," I tell her. "They certainly don't fit me!"

"Maxie, you didn't just go out and buy these did you?"

"Okay, yes, I did. I've washed your other clothes but they're all ripped and worn and still have stains. Please, I really want you to have these. I couldn't... well, they're mostly second hand because I couldn't afford brand new, sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Maxie. You shouldn't have spent your money on me... but thanks, it's very kind of you. Can you help me get dressed? My ribs really hurt when I bend and stretch." I agree and draw the curtains around the bed. Harri immediately slips out of bed and pulls the hospital gown off with a slight grunt of pain. Underneath, as I should have anticipated, she is naked but she seems entirely unselfconscious of her body as she stands in front of me.

The skin over her stomach and ribs, particularly on her right side, is discoloured red and purple by bruises and the sight of it upsets me. But what I notice even more is her naked body. She has a small build, so while her hips are slim and her boobs small, she is still very definitely female and I can see why the 'feminine tomboy' look would work for her. Quite simply, I find her gorgeous and cannot help staring as I fight to keep my eyes from the triangle of short, brown hair between her legs. Fortunately, she thinks it is her injuries that have caught my attention. "The bruises look horrible, don't they?"

"They really do," I agree, managing to drag my eyes back to her face. I reach across and pick up her bra from the pile of clothes on the bed. "Here, let's get you dressed before you get cold," I say as I hold the bra up. She slips her arms in and turns so I can fasten it at the back. "It's only your old bra washed, I'm afraid. I think you have to try a bra on to be sure it's comfortable and supports your boobs properly."

"Hehe, not with my little titties I don't: no weight to support, unfortunately."

"There's nothing wrong with your boobs," I tell her. I don't know if it's because of the feeling of affection and care I have for her, but I find her boobs almost irresistibly cute; her whole body is, to me, very lovely and I can feel the stirring of arousal inside me at the sight of it.

"Apart from being too small to be called boobs, that is," she complains. "You've got decent sized boobs," she adds and it makes me laugh and I'm glad of the distraction.

"If there's a nurse the other side of that curtain, what's she going to think of us?" I ask.

"That we're perfectly normal women, I should think: never happy with our own bodies but complimentary to our friends. Uh, sorry, but can you hold my knickers so I can step into them and not have to bend." I swallow hard and nod. Does she realize how intimate this all is; let alone what it's doing to me? My cunny feels warm and I'm sure it is moistening rapidly.

I kneel on one knee and hold a pair of her new panties for her. Her cunny is at eye-height but I keep my gaze down; this is hard enough as it is and looking at her sex might undo my self-control. Harri's hand rests on my head as she steps each leg in turn into the panties and I pull them up to mid-thigh, leaving her to finish. "You're, erm, you're not very self-conscious, being naked, are you, Harri?"

"What? No, being naked doesn't bother me at all. My parents are naturists so I've sort of grown up with it being no big deal, I guess." I pick up the cream, button-down shirt that I opted to bring and hold it up for her to slip her arm in.

"It must be cool, having broad-minded parents," I say and she frowns slightly.

"They're naturists but doesn't make them broad-minded about everything, just about nudity," she replies, a little tersely. There's obviously some history there. "Ouch! Why does just doing up buttons make this wrist hurt?"

"Here, let me," I tell her and finish buttoning the shirt up the front and then the cuffs. "Now, sit on the edge of the bed and I'll help with your socks and trousers."

Finally, I help her put on her Doc Martens boots (that were, before the dirt and scuffs, a rather nice purple colour) and tie her laces. Once fully dressed, she looks down at her clothes. "You did well picking these out, I really like them."

"Thank you. I tried to work out your style from the clothes you were wearing the other night."

"You succeeded, well done. What's that left in the bag?" she asks. The jumper is in its own bag inside the carrier bag and I pull it out and hold it up. "Oh Maxie, that's lovely!" she exclaims, reaching out, "and so soft and warm. Will you?" she asks, raising her arms and immediately cries out, dropping her arms. "Oooh, that hurt!" She complains so I help her to ease the jumper on more carefully. Once done she leans in and gives me a gentle hug which I very carefully return, anxious not to hurt her.

She sits on the bed, swinging her legs and we talk until the doctor finally arrives. He checks her over and gives her a lecture, explaining what to do and not do as well as any symptoms to look out for. Finally, she is discharged.

"Come on, Harri," I tell her, "Let's take you home."

CHAPTER 12: Temptation and Guilt

Harri is awed by the apartment and thrilled with the guest bedroom and she quickly settles in. She's under strict instruction to rest for the next week or so, take painkillers and try to breathe normally, even if it hurts. Despite this, I make a point of handing her a set of keys on the first day. "I want you to feel this is your home," I tell her, "and that you can come and go as you want." I smile at her, "Now go and sit down, you're supposed to be resting!"

The resting isn't too much of a problem, though boredom may become an issue: Max's collection of films on DVD is limited to action films with the occasional comedy and, somehow, the almost constant violence of most of them really doesn't appeal much anymore. Harri seems to share my view, not surprising given recent events, and we spend quite a lot of the time talking. I find her very easy to be with, much like Mary.

Her complete lack of self-consciousness with respect to nudity returns as a problem the next morning; a problem for me and my libido, that is! She is still very sore so I suggest a long soak in the bath might help. I draw the bath for her, adding some bubble bath and leave her to undress and get into the bath. The problem arises twenty minutes later when I hear my name being called plaintively. When I open the door Harri calls out, "Maxie, I'm stuck: I can't get myself out, it hurts too much!"

So I have to go in to help and the thought of woman-handling a naked, wet and slippery Harri out of the bath is both highly appealing and intensely challenging to my resolution to behave myself and not act as Max would. Harri, however, seems determined to make it even harder for me as I approach the now almost bubble-free bath.

"Maxie, before I get out, could you shave my legs? It's been weeks and," she raises one slim, toned leg from the water, "they are a bit hairy." I look and, okay they're not smooth but 'hairy' is over-stating it. If this is weeks of growth then all I can say is: I wish the hair on my own legs grew as slowly!

"Okay," I agree with very mixed feelings.

I admit that I enjoy shaving her; smoothing the shaving cream on, carefully using the razor and checking they're smooth and helping her to rinse and then onto her left leg. When I glance at Harri she is lying back with her eyes closed. "Enjoying yourself?" I ask, smiling.

"Mmmm, yes," she sighs. "You're very caring you know."

"Thank you. Okay, that's your legs all nice and smooth."

"Thanks, Maxie. Uh, would you do my armpits too? Please?" Of course, I agree, though I have now to deal with working close to her boobs. Actually, her name for them, titties, is a good one. Oh, fuck me; they are so cute and lovely.

"Okay, all done," I tell her. "Now, do you want to get out now or have you any more hair..." I stop myself, blushing as I realize the only place left with hair, "Erm, maybe not," I say and Harri laughs, briefly before wincing.

"Ow, laughing hurts. No, Maxie, I think you've dealt with enough of my body hair for the time being!" she grins mischievously as my blush deepens. "Can you help me out please?"

Her slippery, wet skin is even nicer to touch than I'd feared. Shit, this is going to be hard living with her: my heart already has a place for her, since that first conversation in the ambulance, and now my body is starting to long for her. I need to keep a distance because I am not, will not be Max.

Over the next day or so I learn more of Harri's story, or at least as much of it as she is prepared to tell me. She is twenty-four and has had a somewhat chequered life. She has had problems with the police in the past, as I think I knew from her desire not to involve them in the assault on her.

"What happened with the police?" I ask late on her second day with me and she hesitates, reluctant to tell me at first.

"O-kay," she says at last, "you deserve to know the whole truth after all you've done for me. I was arrested for theft and convicted... but I didn't steal anything!" she insists. "It was a guy in the company I worked for at the time, one of the top managers and I was just a secretary. He planted stuff on me, in my coat: his wallet and a memory-stick thing full of Company files, confidential stuff that I had never seen because, well, I wasn't supposed to." There is a cold, sick feeling in my stomach and an awful premonition of what's coming. No, surely not; it couldn't have been her... "Security searched me as I went to leave that evening to go home and found the stuff on me. I got sacked on the spot but they also called the police and had me arrested."

"But why did he plant that stuff on you," I ask, though I know with a depressing and bitter certainty what her answer will be.

"It was because of the Company Christmas party a few days before. He was coming on to me and, well, even though I didn't like him or his touching me, I danced with him because, well, he was a manager and I was just a secretary. Then he said he needed to go outside for a smoke and would I come with him to talk about my career in the company. Shit, I was so stupid; I thought he was going to offer me a promotion or maybe a place on their training programme. As soon as we were outside he was all over me, grabbing my bum and my breasts and then..." she sobs and I can see tears falling so, even though I know my part in this misery, I put my arm around her and she presses herself against me. "... then he put his hand inside... inside my knickers... and... he stuck his fingers... inside me."

She fights the heaving sobs that wrack her, each one, I realize, must be agony with her bruises and broken ribs. I hold her close, stroking her hair and trying to comfort her as my own tears fall. I know exactly what she went through, having experienced Jason's perverted affections myself.

"The following Monday I went to Jason -- that was his name, Jason Meyers -- and told him that I was going to report him for sexual assault. That's why he planted that stuff. When I told the police they thought I was just making up the assault stuff to get out of trouble." She cries and cries and all I can do is hold her.

Part of me is desperate to confess my role in all that happened to her but what good will it do, here and now? If I could convince her of what has happened to me and confessed what I did, what might she do? She would run away, probably, and be back on the streets with broken bones and bruises. I'd be making her homeless for a second time when I promised to take care of her, at least until she is better.

I help her up and guide her to her bed where she carefully lies down on her less injured side. I cover her with the duvet then lie down behind her, my arm over the covers holding her, trying to comfort her. Before long her sobs quieten and she drifts to sleep. I lay awake for a very long time, struggling with the pain that comes from the empathy of our shared experience of sexual assault. Worse still is the guilt that I hurt her further, all in the name of protecting that pervert, Jason. Shit, I hate myself... or is Max I hate... but I'm Max or was Max and will be Max again, sometime... oh Nemesis, Goddess, somebody have mercy on me... I will care for this woman; do my best to help her get better and her life back on track, whatever it takes...

I wake, still curled protectively around Harri but, even though I'm still dressed, I'm cold and stiff from sleeping uncovered. I feel Harri stir. "Thank you, Maxie," she says sleepily, "thanks for looking after me."

"Harri, it really is the least I can do," I tell her, with more honesty than she can possibly realize. "It was horrible, you getting fired and convicted and ending up on the streets because you complained of what that rapist Jason did."

"I didn't end up on the streets because of him. Oh, I lost my job because of him and my criminal record made it almost impossible to get a decent job after that, so I had to move back in with my parents, but I wasn't homeless." I feel a slight relief: what I'd done hadn't led directly to her being homeless and, therefore, to her getting beaten up.

"Then, what happened?" I ask. She is silent for a while.

"It was my Dad. Something happened and we... we fell out, big time. He was so angry with me for... for something I told him. He threw me out. That was five or six weeks ago. I was stopping with friends for a bit but then that fell through. I ended up for the last couple of weeks sleeping rough or in homeless hostels. Then I got beaten up and an angel called Maxie rescued me." I feel her snuggle back against me. "There you are, that's my story, so far. I like the happy ending."

Oh, Goddess, I cannot say anything now, please, please understand.

I get up and shower and put on clean clothes. As Harri showers, I cook a late breakfast for us both and she comes out wrapped in Max's dressing gown when I call her. We're still eating when the doorbell goes: it is Mary.

I buzz her in and a few minutes later I'm introducing her to Harri. We sit and I recount the tale of what happened after I left the pub. "Good on yer, Maxie," Mary says at the end, "for trying to give that dingo-faced wanker a good braining. I wouldn't have figured you for the all-action, avenging super-hero type."

"Well, I'm obviously not: I couldn't even pick the bloody scaffold tube up! If dingo-face hadn't walked into the scaffolding I'd be in the same state as Harri."

"Well, you're definitely my super-hero, Maxie," Harri declares.

"Careful, Harri, you'll give Maxie a big head," Mary laughs, "either that or she'll soon be walking around in a spandex costume!" I poke Mary in the arm but laugh too.

"So did you just come over to deflate my ego, Mary?" I ask.

"No, actually: Tom might have found you a job, one that needs your spreadsheet superpowers."

"Oh wow. At Tom and Andy's firm?" I ask.

"No, it's a mate of Tom's, John O'Neill, who runs a small building company. They need someone to help out with the accounts and wages and, well, all the money stuff. It's all spreadsheets apparently and when Tom was talking to John he suggested you. If you're interested, give him a call; here's John's phone number."

"Mary, you're a bloody marvel!" I tell her in a cod Australian accent, "How can I repay you, sport?"

"Well, for a start, never do that bloody awful Aussie accent again!" she laughs.

"No worries," chips in Harri, in a rather better Aussie impersonation.

"And you can stop it too," Mary warns. "Smartarse Pommies! Perhaps I won't invite you out with the girls tonight after all."

"Oh go on," I plead, "No more accents, I promise." Mary relents and invites me, and Harri too, to the usual venue at the wine bar tonight.

CHAPTER 13: One Step Forward, One Step Back, One Step Together

It was a good night out and Harri seemed to get on well with the others. Except for Paula, that is. I think she said something that Harri didn't like. I was chatting with Jo and Wendy at the time but happened to look across and saw Harri frowning and annoyed while those around her laughed. When I asked her a little while later what the matter was she just replied that Paula was annoyingly ignorant but wouldn't say more.