I will also continue to add and edit.
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Chapter 1 -
Spoiler: show
I was beginning to fade; the pain numbed all my senses. My eyes lost focus, and when another cool breeze hit me, they focused again but for only a moment. Teeth gritted, but with the marks of salty tears still staining my face, a placed my palms on either side of myself and pushed hard, trying to stand up. I groaned from the effort it took just to do that. I had managed to get into a sort of crouched position before I slumped back down again, cursing lowly when I hit the floor. My lower back was aching as well as everything else now.
It was early morning, maybe around 2am. It must have been at least minus one degrees out, but my coat had been taken off further down the narrow alley way and I could not get to it. My scarf was tied around my arm; the cream colour of it had long gone however. It had soaked up whatever blood had reached it and made it turn reddish-brown. I had decided that the gash on my arm was bleeding too heavily a few minutes ago, so I had to sacrifice the scarf.
Unable to get up and shivering at the constant breeze, I stared into the darkness in hope someone would happen to walk by...but for the mean time, I was kept company by my own thoughts. Something did strike me though, why did he have to do it here? Why not at his place like usual? Did he want me to suffer as much as this? After all, he seemed to have endless desires (when I say endless I mean endless...) and he must know I could have died here.
I still could die here. Dead. Gone, finally disappearing from this world. Maybe that would be the best thing. Nobody would miss me, except for Nan. No, that was a terrible thing to say. Jenny and Kade would miss me; we are almost like a family. Joy might miss me too; I am her second cousin after all. That was some sort of comfort, knowing that if I did die, people would care.
Dying...it wasn't something I planned to do yet though. I always thought it could happen early, ever since he came into my life. He's been in my life for a while now, since my fifteenth birthday at least. I had turned sixteen a few days ago, the party I hosted had been small. I've gotta say though, it was the best night of my life. It was one of few good memories. I didn't invite him though...but he had found out he wasn't invited the day after. He wasn't happy.
I pushed him to the back of my mind, but I found myself beginning to fade all over again. I assumed it was from the loss of so much blood, and to add to that my eyes heavy and sore from the black bruises on them. I felt my eyes roll back into their sockets, and I forced myself awake again. Knowing I couldn't keep them open for long, I called out. My voice was frailer than I thought, but I tried again, repeating my cry. Just the word help, I couldn't think of anything else to say.
Just as I was about to give up, I heard something. Footsteps, clanging of metal when he or she must have kicked a can they stumbled on in the darkness. My eyes trailed to where I thought the noise was coming from. I saw a couple of figures, and as they drew closer I made out a man and a woman. They were in their late thirties by the look of it. I could hear mumbles, and then a shocked cry. They could see me. I must have looked a mess. Well, I was glad I had managed to pull my skinny denim jeans back up once he'd left, otherwise they would have seen a lot more.
"Oh god, oh god..." the woman was repeating.
"Hello? Can you hear me Miss?" I heard the man say, his voice rising above the woman's mumbles. I groaned in response, not able to form proper words at that moment.
"Oh my god...what happened to her Terry? Oh my god..."
"Dianne, shut up a minute, be useful and keep her awake. I need to phone an ambulance". He glanced at me, grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket and jabbed at the keys as quickly as his hand could manage. Listening to the faint dialling sound, I watched the woman stare me for a moment, before she lowered herself to my level.
"S-Stay awake" she murmured. Her efforts weren't going to work. I couldn't blame her though; I'd be shocked if I found myself like this. After a moment of being able to hear the man's calm voice explaining that he's found a girl badly beaten in an alley way on Morris Street, she spoke again. "What's your name?"
"C-Cassidy Smith" I replied, voice strife with pain as I attempted to move my arm into a better position.
"Stay awake for me Cassidy, please". I gave a slight nod, not really registering the words except for awake and please. "Oh God...".
I coughed before adding, "D-Do you believe in a God? Y-You seem to be saying his name a lot...". Dianne realized it was a joke, and gave a small laugh. Hearing laughter made me feel better, emotionally anyway, it didn't make the ever-increasing pain go away.
"Yes, I do believe, saying his name is blasphemous, but it's a habit. All my prayers are towards you now though, Cassidy". I tried to curl my lips into a smile, but I inhaled deeply when I felt a pain jab from inside of my chest. I began to make out red and blue lights. I didn't have to try to keep awake now...they were here to save me.
"I-I don't believe in God...b-but thank you anyway". As more figures approached, and words being directed towards me again as they reached out to finally stop the flow of blood coming from my arm. I hadn't done a good job by the look of it. That's when the questions started. "What's your name sweetie?" and "How old are you?" and "Can you tell us what happened?". Dianne had already answered the first one for me. I mumbled "Sixteen" after one them told me I had a nice name and repeated the second question, and I shook my head defiantly when they asked me what happened. Like I was going to tell them, he'd find me if I did...he was going to find me anyway. He knew I'd be saved most likely, maybe he sent my saviors.
Although, as I stared up at the couple, Terry and Dianne, I decided against that idea. They seemed normal, but nervous, worried and curious about this unexpected drama in their lives. Hands rushed around me, trying to identify what was wrong exactly before they tried to move me. I heard a voice ask Dianne if she wanted to go to the hospital with me, and without hearing her answer, I blacked out. The pain had finally taken over me.
It was early morning, maybe around 2am. It must have been at least minus one degrees out, but my coat had been taken off further down the narrow alley way and I could not get to it. My scarf was tied around my arm; the cream colour of it had long gone however. It had soaked up whatever blood had reached it and made it turn reddish-brown. I had decided that the gash on my arm was bleeding too heavily a few minutes ago, so I had to sacrifice the scarf.
Unable to get up and shivering at the constant breeze, I stared into the darkness in hope someone would happen to walk by...but for the mean time, I was kept company by my own thoughts. Something did strike me though, why did he have to do it here? Why not at his place like usual? Did he want me to suffer as much as this? After all, he seemed to have endless desires (when I say endless I mean endless...) and he must know I could have died here.
I still could die here. Dead. Gone, finally disappearing from this world. Maybe that would be the best thing. Nobody would miss me, except for Nan. No, that was a terrible thing to say. Jenny and Kade would miss me; we are almost like a family. Joy might miss me too; I am her second cousin after all. That was some sort of comfort, knowing that if I did die, people would care.
Dying...it wasn't something I planned to do yet though. I always thought it could happen early, ever since he came into my life. He's been in my life for a while now, since my fifteenth birthday at least. I had turned sixteen a few days ago, the party I hosted had been small. I've gotta say though, it was the best night of my life. It was one of few good memories. I didn't invite him though...but he had found out he wasn't invited the day after. He wasn't happy.
I pushed him to the back of my mind, but I found myself beginning to fade all over again. I assumed it was from the loss of so much blood, and to add to that my eyes heavy and sore from the black bruises on them. I felt my eyes roll back into their sockets, and I forced myself awake again. Knowing I couldn't keep them open for long, I called out. My voice was frailer than I thought, but I tried again, repeating my cry. Just the word help, I couldn't think of anything else to say.
Just as I was about to give up, I heard something. Footsteps, clanging of metal when he or she must have kicked a can they stumbled on in the darkness. My eyes trailed to where I thought the noise was coming from. I saw a couple of figures, and as they drew closer I made out a man and a woman. They were in their late thirties by the look of it. I could hear mumbles, and then a shocked cry. They could see me. I must have looked a mess. Well, I was glad I had managed to pull my skinny denim jeans back up once he'd left, otherwise they would have seen a lot more.
"Oh god, oh god..." the woman was repeating.
"Hello? Can you hear me Miss?" I heard the man say, his voice rising above the woman's mumbles. I groaned in response, not able to form proper words at that moment.
"Oh my god...what happened to her Terry? Oh my god..."
"Dianne, shut up a minute, be useful and keep her awake. I need to phone an ambulance". He glanced at me, grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket and jabbed at the keys as quickly as his hand could manage. Listening to the faint dialling sound, I watched the woman stare me for a moment, before she lowered herself to my level.
"S-Stay awake" she murmured. Her efforts weren't going to work. I couldn't blame her though; I'd be shocked if I found myself like this. After a moment of being able to hear the man's calm voice explaining that he's found a girl badly beaten in an alley way on Morris Street, she spoke again. "What's your name?"
"C-Cassidy Smith" I replied, voice strife with pain as I attempted to move my arm into a better position.
"Stay awake for me Cassidy, please". I gave a slight nod, not really registering the words except for awake and please. "Oh God...".
I coughed before adding, "D-Do you believe in a God? Y-You seem to be saying his name a lot...". Dianne realized it was a joke, and gave a small laugh. Hearing laughter made me feel better, emotionally anyway, it didn't make the ever-increasing pain go away.
"Yes, I do believe, saying his name is blasphemous, but it's a habit. All my prayers are towards you now though, Cassidy". I tried to curl my lips into a smile, but I inhaled deeply when I felt a pain jab from inside of my chest. I began to make out red and blue lights. I didn't have to try to keep awake now...they were here to save me.
"I-I don't believe in God...b-but thank you anyway". As more figures approached, and words being directed towards me again as they reached out to finally stop the flow of blood coming from my arm. I hadn't done a good job by the look of it. That's when the questions started. "What's your name sweetie?" and "How old are you?" and "Can you tell us what happened?". Dianne had already answered the first one for me. I mumbled "Sixteen" after one them told me I had a nice name and repeated the second question, and I shook my head defiantly when they asked me what happened. Like I was going to tell them, he'd find me if I did...he was going to find me anyway. He knew I'd be saved most likely, maybe he sent my saviors.
Although, as I stared up at the couple, Terry and Dianne, I decided against that idea. They seemed normal, but nervous, worried and curious about this unexpected drama in their lives. Hands rushed around me, trying to identify what was wrong exactly before they tried to move me. I heard a voice ask Dianne if she wanted to go to the hospital with me, and without hearing her answer, I blacked out. The pain had finally taken over me.
Chapter 2 - (there's a bad word in here, beware! also, I named the Doctor after a character from Casualty if its familiar to you)
Spoiler: show
I was able to smell the hospital before I could see it; my eyes had shot open once, and I immediately closed them because of the brightness. I noticed that the pain wasn't as bad, but it was still lingering. Not enough to cause major issue, just enough for me to grit my teeth and just bear it anyway. My turquoise coloured eyes flickered again, and then I was finally able to open them.
I surveyed my surroundings. Around me were more beds. I could see a figure of a man, in a doctor's uniform, tending to someone opposite me. I was lying almost flat, the pillows propping my head up a little.
The position wasn't the most comfortable. I was just about to move my arms when I realised there was a drip connected to my hand. It startled me. I had always seen them in use but never actually had one. I couldn't feel anything being injected into me though, if injected was the right word for it.
Then I examined myself, the duvet wasn't pulled up and over me, just up to my knees. I was wearing a hospital gown. I lifted it up at the neck with my free hand and saw I was wearing the same bra. It wasn't ripped or stained; I don't even know how I managed to get it back on. He didn't take it off properly though; he was too pre-occupied with everything else. I typically assumed my underwear was the same then. I doubt the nurses would of changed it anyway.
My hair wasn't its normal honey colour though. It was a dirty actually, it was windswept and with a bit of dry blood at the roots. I hoped someone would be able to wash it for me while I was here, I didn't mind having messy hair but I hate having dirty hair. It grossed me out. Not as much as nail-biting though I must admit.
I tried to shuffle so I was sitting upwards, but as soon as I moved pain shot through my entire body. A loud 'oww' escaped my lips, and the beeping noise in the background, which turned out to be a heart monitor, increased. The figure opposite me suddenly appeared at my bedside. I must have been loud enough to arouse his concern.
"Stay still a second for me Miss...Smith?" he said calmly, having glanced at what I presume was a name plaque above my head. I nodded stiffly, not being able to relax my face because of the pain. I glanced to where his hands were, they had blood on them. I didn't start panicking but I wondered with a slight nervousness where the blood was coming from. He called out for a nurse, a woman appeared and the two talked for a brief moment, his hand still covering something on my waist. When he saw my worried gaze he spoke again.
"One of your stitches has split; it's nothing to worry about Cassidy". The nurse handed him what looked like a needle and thread. I winced. I hadn't had stitches for a while but from my experience, they hurt. He crouched down a little, "If you can, could you just turn to the side for me?". I lent to the side slowly. I felt his hands come into contact with it. This time I could see.
It wasn't a large cut, but it was in the shape of something. A love heart. My eyes widened. Why would he feel the need to cut a shape into me? I couldn't help but let tears form. Why this love heart was getting to me I don't know. Maybe because I knew he couldn't possibly love me and that I wouldn't ever love him, but he was a bastard nonetheless for doing it.
The doctor seemed ready to stitch it back up, but acknowledged my nervous stare at what he was about to do. Unbeknownst to me, less than two minutes had passed by. It felt longer for a reason I didn't understand. "Now this might hurt, but I promise I'll be careful". I had heard this many times, but something about his voice made me believe it this time round. When the needle came into contact with the heart shaped wound, I let out a sharp cry and he gave me an apologetic look. I was glad he did it as quickly as possible.
"There we go...now move slowly if you are going to move again". I rolled back, and decided to go back into the position I woke up in. It seemed the safest.
"T-Thanks" I murmured, looking at his handy-work but once again feeling distressed about the heart. Mainly because I didn't want that there for the rest of my life, and because it would be obvious someone had done this. Maybe it was already obvious some had done this, I don't know, but now it was definite.
"That's quite alright". He turned to wash his hands in a basin nearby. "I believe I haven't introduced myself. I'm Doctor Adrian Fletcher". He looked at me as he said his name, and I smiled at him albeit a weak smile. He had a nice name. I gave him a quick, subtle look up and down. He was around 5''10', no more than twenty-five years old, pale blue eyes and dark medium length hair. He had some stubble as well. I blinked, closing my eyes for longer than I should have, when I opened them again, he was looking at me, head cocked to one side.
"I-It's um, nice to meet you". His lips curled into a brief smile, and he waited for me to speak again. "Could you tell me...what injuries I have please?", I needed to know. This time it was more serious than a few minor cuts and bruises. Dr Fletcher moved a little closer, leaning back on a wall.
"Of course...from what we know by checking you over, you have various flesh wounds or cuts as most people call them. You have bruising on most parts of your body...arms, eyes, neck, chest and...thighs". He paused looking a little concerned when I refused to look him in the eye as he told me. "You also have a broken wrist and three broken ribs". I sighed when he finished explaining.
It was bad though. If he was capable of this, he was capable of much more. Did he know I was here now? I hoped not. I needed time to recover before he came looking for me and did it again. Dr Fletcher must have noticed I was deep in thought, for he moved even closer, still leaning back.
"How's the pain at the moment, on a rating from 1-10?". I snapped out of it. It was not good to dwell on thoughts of him in this state.
"Oh um...5" I said quietly, "It's bearable".
"Okay, if it gets any worse or there are any changes, call out for a nurse or press the buzzer". I nodded to make sure he knew I understood. "Or if you see me on the ward just call my name and I'll come running!" he said almost cheerfully. It was surprising that he hadn't asked me what happened exactly. I wasn't ready to speak about it, and I wasn't going to tell him anyway. No one was going to know. For a start, it was embarrassing, and...well, I've never been more scared about anything my entire life.
"Do you want me to call mum and dad?" he asked. I knew my reply was going to make him feel awkward.
"Oh...there's no mum and dad. I live in Applefield Care Home". I paused, and he frowned a little.
"I'm sorry-", I didn't like it when people pitied the fact I didn't have parents, it just reminded me of them. I did have an older brother, but he and his current girlfriend had eloped to Australia a few years ago, I've never met him. My parents didn't die in a car crash, as most people assume. They died in a train crash actually. Apparently it was a quick death, I'm glad about that. They died when I was three. I lived with my
Nan in her apartment on the outskirts of London until I was ten, then she got sick.
A bout of cancer it was. A tumor on her arm had been removed and it tested positive for cancer. She did recover within two years, but I had moved to Brighton to my Mum's cousin's care home. I had made friends, close friends, and my Nan was still too weak to look after me so I had to stay. I don't regret that decision. I just regret meeting the wrong person three years later.
I had intercepted his reply however,
"You could call Joy for me, Joy Fielding. She runs the place and we are loosely related". Dr Fletcher seemed relieved he didn't have to continue his apologies,
"Ah ok, I'll get on that for you". He turned to go and I remembered something,
"Oh, Doctor Fletcher?" He stopped and looked at me again,
"Mhm?"
"Are the couple that found me still here? Dianne and Terry I think their names were...".
"Oh, Mr and Mrs Lewis. They left when they found out you were stable, but they said they'd visit you again". I relaxed; I needed to thank them both. I wondered how he knew their last names, maybe he knew them? Or maybe I was just over-thinking it and he'd probably just asked them anyway. I yawned, and just realised how tired I actually was. My eyes suddenly went heavy.
Dr Fletcher was still standing there, still looking a tad concerned.
"I'll leave you too get some rest" I heard him murmur, I watched him go and closed my eyes when he was out of sight.
I surveyed my surroundings. Around me were more beds. I could see a figure of a man, in a doctor's uniform, tending to someone opposite me. I was lying almost flat, the pillows propping my head up a little.
The position wasn't the most comfortable. I was just about to move my arms when I realised there was a drip connected to my hand. It startled me. I had always seen them in use but never actually had one. I couldn't feel anything being injected into me though, if injected was the right word for it.
Then I examined myself, the duvet wasn't pulled up and over me, just up to my knees. I was wearing a hospital gown. I lifted it up at the neck with my free hand and saw I was wearing the same bra. It wasn't ripped or stained; I don't even know how I managed to get it back on. He didn't take it off properly though; he was too pre-occupied with everything else. I typically assumed my underwear was the same then. I doubt the nurses would of changed it anyway.
My hair wasn't its normal honey colour though. It was a dirty actually, it was windswept and with a bit of dry blood at the roots. I hoped someone would be able to wash it for me while I was here, I didn't mind having messy hair but I hate having dirty hair. It grossed me out. Not as much as nail-biting though I must admit.
I tried to shuffle so I was sitting upwards, but as soon as I moved pain shot through my entire body. A loud 'oww' escaped my lips, and the beeping noise in the background, which turned out to be a heart monitor, increased. The figure opposite me suddenly appeared at my bedside. I must have been loud enough to arouse his concern.
"Stay still a second for me Miss...Smith?" he said calmly, having glanced at what I presume was a name plaque above my head. I nodded stiffly, not being able to relax my face because of the pain. I glanced to where his hands were, they had blood on them. I didn't start panicking but I wondered with a slight nervousness where the blood was coming from. He called out for a nurse, a woman appeared and the two talked for a brief moment, his hand still covering something on my waist. When he saw my worried gaze he spoke again.
"One of your stitches has split; it's nothing to worry about Cassidy". The nurse handed him what looked like a needle and thread. I winced. I hadn't had stitches for a while but from my experience, they hurt. He crouched down a little, "If you can, could you just turn to the side for me?". I lent to the side slowly. I felt his hands come into contact with it. This time I could see.
It wasn't a large cut, but it was in the shape of something. A love heart. My eyes widened. Why would he feel the need to cut a shape into me? I couldn't help but let tears form. Why this love heart was getting to me I don't know. Maybe because I knew he couldn't possibly love me and that I wouldn't ever love him, but he was a bastard nonetheless for doing it.
The doctor seemed ready to stitch it back up, but acknowledged my nervous stare at what he was about to do. Unbeknownst to me, less than two minutes had passed by. It felt longer for a reason I didn't understand. "Now this might hurt, but I promise I'll be careful". I had heard this many times, but something about his voice made me believe it this time round. When the needle came into contact with the heart shaped wound, I let out a sharp cry and he gave me an apologetic look. I was glad he did it as quickly as possible.
"There we go...now move slowly if you are going to move again". I rolled back, and decided to go back into the position I woke up in. It seemed the safest.
"T-Thanks" I murmured, looking at his handy-work but once again feeling distressed about the heart. Mainly because I didn't want that there for the rest of my life, and because it would be obvious someone had done this. Maybe it was already obvious some had done this, I don't know, but now it was definite.
"That's quite alright". He turned to wash his hands in a basin nearby. "I believe I haven't introduced myself. I'm Doctor Adrian Fletcher". He looked at me as he said his name, and I smiled at him albeit a weak smile. He had a nice name. I gave him a quick, subtle look up and down. He was around 5''10', no more than twenty-five years old, pale blue eyes and dark medium length hair. He had some stubble as well. I blinked, closing my eyes for longer than I should have, when I opened them again, he was looking at me, head cocked to one side.
"I-It's um, nice to meet you". His lips curled into a brief smile, and he waited for me to speak again. "Could you tell me...what injuries I have please?", I needed to know. This time it was more serious than a few minor cuts and bruises. Dr Fletcher moved a little closer, leaning back on a wall.
"Of course...from what we know by checking you over, you have various flesh wounds or cuts as most people call them. You have bruising on most parts of your body...arms, eyes, neck, chest and...thighs". He paused looking a little concerned when I refused to look him in the eye as he told me. "You also have a broken wrist and three broken ribs". I sighed when he finished explaining.
It was bad though. If he was capable of this, he was capable of much more. Did he know I was here now? I hoped not. I needed time to recover before he came looking for me and did it again. Dr Fletcher must have noticed I was deep in thought, for he moved even closer, still leaning back.
"How's the pain at the moment, on a rating from 1-10?". I snapped out of it. It was not good to dwell on thoughts of him in this state.
"Oh um...5" I said quietly, "It's bearable".
"Okay, if it gets any worse or there are any changes, call out for a nurse or press the buzzer". I nodded to make sure he knew I understood. "Or if you see me on the ward just call my name and I'll come running!" he said almost cheerfully. It was surprising that he hadn't asked me what happened exactly. I wasn't ready to speak about it, and I wasn't going to tell him anyway. No one was going to know. For a start, it was embarrassing, and...well, I've never been more scared about anything my entire life.
"Do you want me to call mum and dad?" he asked. I knew my reply was going to make him feel awkward.
"Oh...there's no mum and dad. I live in Applefield Care Home". I paused, and he frowned a little.
"I'm sorry-", I didn't like it when people pitied the fact I didn't have parents, it just reminded me of them. I did have an older brother, but he and his current girlfriend had eloped to Australia a few years ago, I've never met him. My parents didn't die in a car crash, as most people assume. They died in a train crash actually. Apparently it was a quick death, I'm glad about that. They died when I was three. I lived with my
Nan in her apartment on the outskirts of London until I was ten, then she got sick.
A bout of cancer it was. A tumor on her arm had been removed and it tested positive for cancer. She did recover within two years, but I had moved to Brighton to my Mum's cousin's care home. I had made friends, close friends, and my Nan was still too weak to look after me so I had to stay. I don't regret that decision. I just regret meeting the wrong person three years later.
I had intercepted his reply however,
"You could call Joy for me, Joy Fielding. She runs the place and we are loosely related". Dr Fletcher seemed relieved he didn't have to continue his apologies,
"Ah ok, I'll get on that for you". He turned to go and I remembered something,
"Oh, Doctor Fletcher?" He stopped and looked at me again,
"Mhm?"
"Are the couple that found me still here? Dianne and Terry I think their names were...".
"Oh, Mr and Mrs Lewis. They left when they found out you were stable, but they said they'd visit you again". I relaxed; I needed to thank them both. I wondered how he knew their last names, maybe he knew them? Or maybe I was just over-thinking it and he'd probably just asked them anyway. I yawned, and just realised how tired I actually was. My eyes suddenly went heavy.
Dr Fletcher was still standing there, still looking a tad concerned.
"I'll leave you too get some rest" I heard him murmur, I watched him go and closed my eyes when he was out of sight.
Chapter 3 -
Spoiler: show
Adrian Fletcher's Point of View:
“Mr Deary, I urge you to stay overnight. You’ve broken almost every bone in your arm. Not to mention in places you can actually see the bones. You can’t possibly go home and function normally”. It was the stubborn patients I had most difficulty with, how they refused to stay in hospital and thought they were going to be just fine. When obviously, in cases such as Mr Deary’s here, they were not. The ER team and the surgeons had managed to be able to keep his arm though, he should consider himself lucky.
“I’ve broken many more bones in the past Doctor Fletcher; I’ll be fit as a fiddle tomorrow!” I had to hold back the urge to roll my eyes. However, I knew men like Mr. Deary. He sounded like a Londoner, not an Eastender for sure but all Londoners had that spirit. I know I did. North West London born and bred. I was about to protest my case further when his wife joined the conversation.
“Oh Tom dear, do as the Doctor says? I’m not going to have you complaining all night about how it hurts”. Finally, someone was talking some sense into him. Mr Deary gave his wife a thoughtful look, and then he relaxed his stance.
“Fine then...” I smiled before leaning over to sign on the clipboard above him that he’d be staying.
“Thank you Mr Deary. A nurse will be here shortly to change the dressings. If the pain gets worse remember to call someone, we can’t have you suffering in silence eh?” The middle-aged man let out a sigh, which almost sounded like a chuckle. He nodded; I flashed a small smile at Mrs Deary, who seemed pleased her husband decided to stay.
I walked away, pulling out my A5 notepad and pencil. Most of the doctors here used tablets or iPads now, but I preferred hand written notes. I had all the patients I was caring for down, their injuries and basic information. Through my time as a doctor, I must have gone through at least twenty of these. The nurses always teased me if they managed to read personal notes at the back; they were little reminders of things I had coming up and not written down on my calendar yet.
I flicked through the notepad to Mr. Deary’s page and added the time I checked up on him and how he was. Satisfied, and with nothing to do for the time being, I made my way to my office. Having an office was actually a big thing. I had been here, in St John’s Hospital, for over a year now. It wasn’t my first hospital. I had to do training in another before becoming a full-time one here in Brighton. The seven years it has taken me to get here have been worth it. It’s what I love doing. Knowing you’ve helped someone, no matter what their injury is rewarding. The pay is better than I could have ever imagined, and my colleges are, for the most part, friendly likeable people.
Of course, every job has its low points. Like many doctors, losing a patient is always hard. Whether it be to death, or they simply get better. It’s odd to say, but sometimes you develop bonds with a patient. Especially if they are elderly or young, they appreciate what you do more. I reached the wooden door of my office and reached out for the door handle.
“Fletch!” I spun my head around to see Nurse Victoria Adams bounding after me. Well, not exactly bounding, just walking quickly. I smiled at her and lent against the wall. Nurse Adams was in her thirties, a chatty woman who loved to gossip but always got the job done. She wore glasses, and had long ash coloured hair which she tied back for work. She wasn’t exactly skinny either, but she was almost always happy and I enjoyed talking to her.
“You alright, Vick?” We tended to be on a first name terms in St John’s.We used nick names around here too, even during working hours. I suppose you could call it unprofessional, but I think it makes patients feel more comfortable.
“Oh, I’m quite alright. I was just wondering if you had the file for Cassidy Smith.” Ah. Cassidy Smith...I was, to say the least, quite worried about that young woman.
“Yeah, I do have her file. Come into the office for a second”. I opened the door and went to the cabinet, I flicked through the various files, passing Mr. Deary’s and finally getting to Miss Smith’s file. It was quite thin for now. “Hold on, I need to add something”. Nurse Adams waited patiently while I scribbled down something under personal information. The name Miss Smith had mentioned to me, Joy Fielding who runs Applefield Care Home. I had heard of the place before, one of my older friends had actually fostered a child with his partner.
“Could you call Applefield Care Home for me? She has someone who needs to know what happened to her”. I handed Victoria the file after I spoke.
“Of course I can...poor girl. I can only dread to think what exactly has happened”. Victoria’s tone went solemn. I stood waiting for her to speak again, she frowned momentarily.
“We’ve informed the police, all the evidence of her injuries point towards-“
“Assault, I know”.
“Or maybe even more, if you know what I mean” she added, with a clear pitiful tone. I did know what she meant, but there was no chance of knowing for sure if the girl didn’t tell us or let a Nurse check her. I doubted she’d do either.
“She seemed so nervous Vick. You might not believe this but there was a heart cut into her waist. What sort of sick person would do that?” I could only imagine. I assumed Miss Smith was attacked by a man; a woman might not have been able to inflict those injuries.
“I knew about the heart, Lori told me”. That didn’t surprise me; Lori Evans had been the nurse who was on the ward when I discovered it. There was a silent moment between me and Victoria. We were probably thinking the same thing. Through your time as a doctor, or as a nurse, you’d come across many cases of assault, rape and abuse. However, nothing hurt as much as looking on without anything you can do except from treat the person for their physical injuries, and then watching them walk out of the hospital doors scarred for life.
“I just hope she’ll tell the police” Victoria mumbled before reaching for the door handle again. “See you on lunch break Fletch. Get that paperwork done as well; otherwise Doctor Grant won’t be too happy. I’ll go see if anyone’s asked Miss Smith if she wanted anything to eat”. At the mention of paperwork, I let out a low sigh before going on to say
“Alright then, make sure she doesn’t eat too much, it could make her nauseous”. Nurse Adams nodded, “Oh, and tell me when the police arrive though Vick. I want to know what she says”. It seemed I cared more than usual. Not that usually I didn’t care that much. There was something about that girl though, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I opened my notepad again and reached for a different pencil on my desk. I began writing down the following:
Will check on who visits her, if there are any dodgy characters I’ll keep an eye on them. Will change her dressings myself and make sure that wrist was put in plaster correctly.
I put the pencil down and shut the notepad, tucking it into one of my uniform pockets. I took one glance at the paperwork which seemed sky-high. I stood up, and made my way outside to get a coffee from the machine. It was going to be a long morning.
“Mr Deary, I urge you to stay overnight. You’ve broken almost every bone in your arm. Not to mention in places you can actually see the bones. You can’t possibly go home and function normally”. It was the stubborn patients I had most difficulty with, how they refused to stay in hospital and thought they were going to be just fine. When obviously, in cases such as Mr Deary’s here, they were not. The ER team and the surgeons had managed to be able to keep his arm though, he should consider himself lucky.
“I’ve broken many more bones in the past Doctor Fletcher; I’ll be fit as a fiddle tomorrow!” I had to hold back the urge to roll my eyes. However, I knew men like Mr. Deary. He sounded like a Londoner, not an Eastender for sure but all Londoners had that spirit. I know I did. North West London born and bred. I was about to protest my case further when his wife joined the conversation.
“Oh Tom dear, do as the Doctor says? I’m not going to have you complaining all night about how it hurts”. Finally, someone was talking some sense into him. Mr Deary gave his wife a thoughtful look, and then he relaxed his stance.
“Fine then...” I smiled before leaning over to sign on the clipboard above him that he’d be staying.
“Thank you Mr Deary. A nurse will be here shortly to change the dressings. If the pain gets worse remember to call someone, we can’t have you suffering in silence eh?” The middle-aged man let out a sigh, which almost sounded like a chuckle. He nodded; I flashed a small smile at Mrs Deary, who seemed pleased her husband decided to stay.
I walked away, pulling out my A5 notepad and pencil. Most of the doctors here used tablets or iPads now, but I preferred hand written notes. I had all the patients I was caring for down, their injuries and basic information. Through my time as a doctor, I must have gone through at least twenty of these. The nurses always teased me if they managed to read personal notes at the back; they were little reminders of things I had coming up and not written down on my calendar yet.
I flicked through the notepad to Mr. Deary’s page and added the time I checked up on him and how he was. Satisfied, and with nothing to do for the time being, I made my way to my office. Having an office was actually a big thing. I had been here, in St John’s Hospital, for over a year now. It wasn’t my first hospital. I had to do training in another before becoming a full-time one here in Brighton. The seven years it has taken me to get here have been worth it. It’s what I love doing. Knowing you’ve helped someone, no matter what their injury is rewarding. The pay is better than I could have ever imagined, and my colleges are, for the most part, friendly likeable people.
Of course, every job has its low points. Like many doctors, losing a patient is always hard. Whether it be to death, or they simply get better. It’s odd to say, but sometimes you develop bonds with a patient. Especially if they are elderly or young, they appreciate what you do more. I reached the wooden door of my office and reached out for the door handle.
“Fletch!” I spun my head around to see Nurse Victoria Adams bounding after me. Well, not exactly bounding, just walking quickly. I smiled at her and lent against the wall. Nurse Adams was in her thirties, a chatty woman who loved to gossip but always got the job done. She wore glasses, and had long ash coloured hair which she tied back for work. She wasn’t exactly skinny either, but she was almost always happy and I enjoyed talking to her.
“You alright, Vick?” We tended to be on a first name terms in St John’s.We used nick names around here too, even during working hours. I suppose you could call it unprofessional, but I think it makes patients feel more comfortable.
“Oh, I’m quite alright. I was just wondering if you had the file for Cassidy Smith.” Ah. Cassidy Smith...I was, to say the least, quite worried about that young woman.
“Yeah, I do have her file. Come into the office for a second”. I opened the door and went to the cabinet, I flicked through the various files, passing Mr. Deary’s and finally getting to Miss Smith’s file. It was quite thin for now. “Hold on, I need to add something”. Nurse Adams waited patiently while I scribbled down something under personal information. The name Miss Smith had mentioned to me, Joy Fielding who runs Applefield Care Home. I had heard of the place before, one of my older friends had actually fostered a child with his partner.
“Could you call Applefield Care Home for me? She has someone who needs to know what happened to her”. I handed Victoria the file after I spoke.
“Of course I can...poor girl. I can only dread to think what exactly has happened”. Victoria’s tone went solemn. I stood waiting for her to speak again, she frowned momentarily.
“We’ve informed the police, all the evidence of her injuries point towards-“
“Assault, I know”.
“Or maybe even more, if you know what I mean” she added, with a clear pitiful tone. I did know what she meant, but there was no chance of knowing for sure if the girl didn’t tell us or let a Nurse check her. I doubted she’d do either.
“She seemed so nervous Vick. You might not believe this but there was a heart cut into her waist. What sort of sick person would do that?” I could only imagine. I assumed Miss Smith was attacked by a man; a woman might not have been able to inflict those injuries.
“I knew about the heart, Lori told me”. That didn’t surprise me; Lori Evans had been the nurse who was on the ward when I discovered it. There was a silent moment between me and Victoria. We were probably thinking the same thing. Through your time as a doctor, or as a nurse, you’d come across many cases of assault, rape and abuse. However, nothing hurt as much as looking on without anything you can do except from treat the person for their physical injuries, and then watching them walk out of the hospital doors scarred for life.
“I just hope she’ll tell the police” Victoria mumbled before reaching for the door handle again. “See you on lunch break Fletch. Get that paperwork done as well; otherwise Doctor Grant won’t be too happy. I’ll go see if anyone’s asked Miss Smith if she wanted anything to eat”. At the mention of paperwork, I let out a low sigh before going on to say
“Alright then, make sure she doesn’t eat too much, it could make her nauseous”. Nurse Adams nodded, “Oh, and tell me when the police arrive though Vick. I want to know what she says”. It seemed I cared more than usual. Not that usually I didn’t care that much. There was something about that girl though, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I opened my notepad again and reached for a different pencil on my desk. I began writing down the following:
Will check on who visits her, if there are any dodgy characters I’ll keep an eye on them. Will change her dressings myself and make sure that wrist was put in plaster correctly.
I put the pencil down and shut the notepad, tucking it into one of my uniform pockets. I took one glance at the paperwork which seemed sky-high. I stood up, and made my way outside to get a coffee from the machine. It was going to be a long morning.
