Well, that was a bit unfair.
Sat on her well worn sofa, Madeline flicked angrily through one of the gossip rags. Usually, she wouldn't even bother but she picked it up, simply because it had Torsten's face splashed on the front page. The more she read, the more enraged she felt herself becoming. Why were they saying that the relationship was in jeopardy? Had
he said something about it? No. Of course he hadn't. If he wanted to break up, she was sure he'd come to her first and explain.
What was really irritating her was the use of the word
girlfriend. Not once had she seen her name in the newspapers. Whether that was Torsten's doing or not, she wasn't really sure. Maybe he was protecting her. It just made her seem like this non-entity; a ghost. A faceless being that was sucking up his valuable time and causing a great deal of stress between the general female population of Britain.
There were echoes of her last relationship, too. Torsten was spending less time with her. She'd maybe seen him perhaps twice in the past three weeks. He was married to his job, she understood that. She didn't feel like she was being ignored, she was just a little…frustrated. Seeing him doing endorsement deals rather than snuggling up in bed with her was irksome. Still, she supposed it couldn't really be helped. She just hoped she wasn't becoming a Quidditch widow. Urgh.
Rolling her eyes, she scrunched up the newspaper and lobbed it into the bin with surprising accuracy, only to hear a tapping on the rain-soaked window. Confused, she opened the window and in came a small, very wet brown owl. "Hello," she greeted him or her, reaching out to stroke its fury little head before slipping a coin into its pouch and offering it some water before letting it fly away. Strange. She never got much mail. Maddie frowned as she flipped over the letter and opened it, her amber coloured eyes scanning the words before panic filled her.
"Shit."
Quick as a flash, the tall blonde sprung into action. Skidding into her bedroom, she hastily gathered some things together. She'd heard all about this illness. It was just flu and it wasn't anything major but losing one's magical ability was kind of a big deal. Into a bag went a thick blanket, a flask full of fresh chicken soup and a packet of painkillers. As a child, she was always taught not to rely on magic. Her mother was a sensible minded woman. Madeline was taught how to cook using electricity, how to change her money into Muggle currency, how to use public transport and how to generally function. The painkillers were used for her time of the month. For some reason, those potions just did not take the edge off the cramps.
She exploded into St. Mungo's in a cloud of coconut scent and
muted hues. She was about to ask which room Torsten was in but then she remembered, she wasn't family. Staff would imagine that she was just a crazed fan, desperate to get close to him. She chewed on her lower lip when a bright coloured floral arrangement caught her eye. It was massive and she put two and two together. Teetering after the man holding the flowers, she stayed quiet and close, waiting outside in the corridor until the man wandered off. How much trouble would she get into for this? Uh-oh.
Poking her head around the door, she found herself grinning. What a little cutie! He looked so sad, bless him. Closing the door, she stepped in swiftly, elbowing her way through the sea of get well baskets and balloons. "It looks like a bloody jungle in here," she remarked, figuring that his fans might have been here before she'd arrived. Madeline strode forward and perched on the edge of his bed, reaching out to stroke some of his hair out of his forehead. He was burning up. "Hey stranger," she said with a sunny smile. "Nice pyjamas."
Shifting, she opened her bag and threw the blanket over Torsten's legs. He had a fever he needed to sweat out. Swiftly, she popped two small white tablets out of the silver foil packet, poured him a glass of water and pressed them into his hands. "Swallow these," she told him, not in a forceful manner. "They should help a little."
Then she noticed his cast and she frowned. "Ouch," she said gently, trailing her fingers over the rough plaster, letting her touch continue down the length of his fingers softly-softly. "Well that's a bit rubbish," she said. She'd broken plenty of bones in her life but they'd always been fixed in a matter of moments. He must be in a lot of pain, not to mention extremely uncomfortable in his predicament. "How are you feeling?" She asked him as she adjusted his blanket, testing his temperature by pressing the back of her hand against his clammy forehead. "Would you like some soup? I have a feeling it may be contraband."