CHAPTER FIVE

LAURA

 

MY HEAD POUNDS; my mouth is dry. I shift, and a tug on my arm stings. I follow the needle in my hand all the way up to the bag that it’s attached to. I’m in a hospital. I remember then that I had a heart attack. I lie back heavily on my pillow. I want to smile because I’m still alive. I didn’t die. Tears slide from the corner of my eyes instead of the smile. I lie listening to sounds of someone moving around outside my curtain, unaware I’m awake. I’m not ready to face the world. This cubicle feels like a safe place, just for this moment, before the world will come crashing back in around me.

I lose myself in the noise of shoes squeaking on lino tiles. The sounds of utensils being placed on silver trays, the trickle of running water, and the shuffling of someone, keeps me busy. My curtain is finally pulled back, and I get to see the owner of the squeaky sneakers-not shoes. A girl with bright red lipstick that is stuck to her front teeth. There is always that question: should you say something or not?

“Good morning, Laura.” She smiles, while taking my blood pressure. Say something, I chastise myself, but I don’t want to be that girl who is mean. But leaving her with the lipstick would be mean, too. I can feel my heart rate accelerate. It’s none of my business, I tell myself.

“Still a little high,” she frowns as she speaks. Checking my heart rate, then temperature, and after that she checks my drip, all the while saying nothing. I can feel the sweat coat my forehead, joining the tears that had dripped down the side of my face.

“The doctor will be here shortly to speak to you,” she smiles again, and I can’t look away from her lipstick teeth. What is wrong with me? Say something. She pats my leg and leaves, pulling my curtain shut. She must think I am crazy. I almost laugh at that thought; I’m the one in a psychiatric hospital. The laughter doesn’t pass my lips as another voice fills the quiet space. The voice says what I should have because he does it with a sneer.

“You got lipstick all over your teeth,” I can hear the squeaky sneakers move, then stop. “Damn it,” the nurse says, maybe seeing herself in a mirror and, realizing I hadn’t said anything. She must think I’m such a bitch.

“Yeah, that shit’s got to be embarrassing,” Craig says and I close my eyes briefly, hoping he stops.

“What do you want, Craig?” The bite in her tone, tells me she isn’t just pissed over him pulling her up on her lipstick malfunction. This isn’t the first run-in she’s had with Craig.

“Don’t be like that, Eleanor. Bitterness doesn’t taste nice,” he says.

“God I hate you.” Her response is low, but I still hear it.

“There’s a fine line between love and hate. I think you hold a lot of love for me.”

“You arrogant piece of – “

“Eleanor.” I’m sure that is Rose’s voice. Oh god. I am going to witness someone getting fired. An employee fighting with a resident, wouldn’t be allowed, and from the way they speak to each other, that tells me something is going on between them. If anyone asks me anything I will say I was asleep. Or maybe having another heart attack. My heart pounds heavily enough to cause one. Maybe I need to shout that I am here, awake and uncomfortable.

“Rose,” Eleanor’s sneakers squeak again, and I’m trying to picture what is going on outside my curtain. I can picture Eleanor turning to Rose, her face red with anger and now embarrassment at being caught.

“Is everything all right here?” Rose sounds like the head nurse. The one that knows there is a problem, but she is giving you the briefest way of escape.

“Yeah, I was asking her to stitch up this cut,” The squeak of Eleanor’s sneakers makes me assume she has turned to Craig, with narrowed eyes. That is how I picture her. I give her a bit more attitude; hand on one hip with an eyebrow raised.

“Were you cut, Craig?” Rose asks. Now I wonder where he is cut and if he is cut, how had he gotten cut? The sound of a belt being opened is so distinctive to me. The buckle hits the floor. A sharp intake of breath sounds. 

“Fix him up,” Rose speaks and Craig shuffles, dragging the belt along the ground. “Pull up your pants, Craig,” Rose speaks through what sounds like clenched teeth.

“Is it the blood, Rose?” he asks too innocently.

“You could have warned us,” Eleanor speaks as Rose pulls back my curtain quickly before closing it. “I always go commando, you know that,” Craig says, and my cheeks heat. Rose hears it too, she visibly stiffens then shakes her head. Taking a deep breath she smiles at me. “Laura. How are you feeling?” She hugs a file to her chest. I wonder if it’s mine; if it is, it’s thin.

“I’m alive,” I force a smile. She pulls up a chair beside my bed. Is this the part where she tells me the bad news? That I have x amount of time to live? I chew my lip, waiting.

Craig hisses in pain, Rose glances at the curtain joining the one they had gone behind as if she might see through it. “Jesus take it easy,” he says. Rose refocuses on me.

“You had a panic attack.” It takes me a moment to absorb what she was saying. “You mean a heart attack?” I question.

“I understand why you would think that; both are very similar.” I don’t know if this is good news or bad news.

“Is this the first time this has happened?” Rose asks and I nod.

She pats my hand. “Don’t look so worried, we can fight this. With the correct tools, and understanding your triggers, you can stop this.” Triggers, tools, words and more words. I want to hear pill. But that is the second resort, never the first. No, first they have to drag us through our emotional baggage. If we come out just a bit shaky and with a twitch, we don’t do so badly. If it’s worse, like you lose your sanity and a limb, they will give you the pill.

“Are you checking me out?” Craig’s voice interrupts my panic.

“I’m stitching you up,” Eleanor says and Craig hisses. I wonder if she is yanking on the stitch?

“I swore I could have felt your big blue eyes on my ass,” he manages to say before hissing again.

“Laura, you will get through this,” Rose speaks and pulls me back into my thoughts.

“I don’t mind if you check me out. I’ve been told I have a great ass,” Craig speaks again and like that the darkness recedes. The squeak of Eleanor’s sneakers sound quickly on the lino.

“Just give me one moment,” Rose excuses herself. The moment she’s gone, the curtain dividing myself and Craig is yanked opened. There he is, sprawled out on the bed. I can only see the top part of him, thankfully.

“I knew I recognized the name,” I pull on my blankets. The hospital gown isn’t exactly a barrier. He makes me feel so exposed. I shake my head slightly, but my hair doesn’t come down like it always does. It’s tucked neatly behind my head. Lodged. My face burns.

“It wasn’t your voice, let me tell you.” He’s staring at me, waiting for what, I don’t know. I give a smile that feels way too twisted on my face.

“Are you doing the fuck off thing again? Like you did to me outside yesterday?”

Was I? Had I been here all night?

“No,” I manage to say.

“That sounds like a whole lot of fuck off,” he’s smiling, not offended, if he really thinks that’s what I mean. Rose returns and I feel relief.

“Pull that curtain back over,” she barks at him. I wonder how far he pushes the staff. “I was only being friendly.” Rose doesn’t respond, and Craig drops the curtain.

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. “I want you to stay here tonight for observation and tomorrow you can return to your unit,” she says with a smile. Like going from a hospital bed, to a bed in a psychiatric unit was any better. On paper, it is worse.

“Thank you,” I say and she stands, still holding the file. She leaves my cubicle and walks into Craig’s.

“You can go now, Craig. You just need to fill out a report of what happened.” The shuffle of paper and the click of a pen sounds.

“I don’t need the papers, there’s nothing to report,” he says. No laughter in his voice.

“You just got ten stiches in your leg.”

“I’ll survive,” he says as he walks away.

“Craig-” His footsteps pause, but he doesn’t speak.

“Fill in the form and drop it at the front desk when it’s done. You know the rules.” He moves again, this time towards Rose.

Once he leaves, so does Rose. I focus on the other sounds but there is no squeaking shoes, only the click of the radiators cooling down and distant noises from the hospital. Most people hated hospitals. I don’t mind, it feels like I am camping out. The cubicle is my tent. My barriers that no one can cross. The illusion always dissolves when the curtain is pulled back. But if I can get an hour, ten minutes or just one, I can pretend that I am safe.