Every time you make a move

Love Dares You-Pt.2

Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, later on in the day

"Do you think I'm overdoing it with the pink lipstick?" Monica Brannigan fretted, staring back at herself in the small mirror over the hospital room's tiny sink in the corner.

She anxiously searched her parents who were in the reflection over her shoulder, sitting beside Johnny on his bed.

"How can you overdo it? You've always been a gorgeous wee cracker, Mo." Mr Brannigan encouraged.

"You're just saying that because you're my dad." Monica turned back around to face him.

In the next ten minutes or so Monica was due to meet Johnny's blood donor. It'd be the first time in a few days that she'd be away from her son's bedside, so she thought that she might as well have put a bit of effort into her appearance with all that she had with her in the pockets of her trusty peagreen coat and denim jeans and the little trinkets her friend Paula had brought to her. She'd brought her a tube of lip balm and mascara, and a packet of tissues that she'd easily forget about at the most inconvenient times.

"Do you have something to tie your hair with? You'll look more headstrong if you're not afraid to show your face." her mother Patsy Brannigan advised gently.

Monica reached into her coat pocket for her elastic hairband, and without thinking she tucked her dark, towel-dried tresses back from her visage. But as she did it allowed the pink slap mark that was still imprinted on her cheek to be more visible than before.

She had almost forgotten about it by now, and it had faded a lot, but that didn't stop her parents from noticing.

"The side of your face is all red," her father warily remarked, "Have you had a reaction to something?"

"Shit!" Monica panicked.

She hadn't yet told her parents that Freddie had slapped her, only that she had left him, and she didn't feel like telling it anytime soon. Things were already ugly enough.

"I probably slept on my side last night, or leaned on my arm for too long" she fumbled for excuses, going back to the sink and folding a small flannel towel.

"What are you doing now?!" Patsy watched her daughter peculiarly as she ran the cloth under the cold water tap.

Monica pressed the flannel to her cheek, "Trying to make the redness go down, mam."

"Maybe tinted makeup would be better?"

"I don't have any with me, this is the next best thing!" Monica snapped frantically.

"Calm down Mo, you'll be grand!" Mr Brannigan assured her, "It's not like you're gonna meet your future husband in that room or-"

"Monica Brannigan?" A woman's voice announced with a knock on the open door.

All three of them looked to the doorway on which a short, round black woman donning a professional grey pant suit and braided hair stood.

The woman repeated with a Jamaican accent, glancing at the clipboard in her hand, "Which wan of yous is Monica Brannigan?"

"Me." Monica raised her hand.

"Me name's Abigail and I'm a family liaison," the woman calmly introduced herself, putting her hand forward, "Your son's donor is 'ere and ready to see you now."

"Nice to meet you." Monica stepped forward and automatically shook Abigail's hand in return.

"Come," she said, "Let's not keep 'em waitin'."