4

Maddee Schrader

Dr. Ulmer

Creative Writing – Fiction

10/12/09

Never Again

The new nurse on duty – Amanda, I think – stalks past me in the hallway, lips pursed. "Kate, they're back."

"Hmm?" I say. It's been a long night. A couple idiot college kids came in here with alcohol poisoning, a guy nearly chopped his finger off with a kitchen knife, and a girl swallowed the entire contents of her medicine cabinet. Exhaustion will set in within the hour.

"That couple. Big guy who looks like he rides a Harley and the wife. Little blond thing." Amanda lifts her eyebrows, plucked to thin ribbons. "She fell down the stairs again."

I feel my gut clench. "Twice in a week?"

"Yeah, we believe that one. Doc wants you to take a look at her. 207."

I rub my forehead with my palm and start walking that way. "Thanks." Matthew gives me these cases. I keep telling him I'm a nurse, not a damn social worker, but he just laughs and tells me I'm the best at it. I am. I know what to say, how to keep everyone calm, how to document the injuries, how to read the patients. With my past, I'm the perfect person for the job.

I pause outside the door to 207, ear to the crack between door and wall. The voice inside is low, almost a growl.

"It was nothin', alright babe? Just an accident. It happens, alright? They don't haveta know."

I rap on the door and step in. The little blond is perched on the edge of the table in the examination room, eyes on the ground. Blood traces her hairline like dried paint. There are splotches of it on her white tanktop, which is tucked firmly into her jeans. The bruise on her stomach is vivid enough to show through the fabric. Her hair falls from behind her left ear, a tangled curtain over her face. I leave the door open a couple inches, and pick up the folder in the plastic holder on the wall. The name is on the front tab. I shut down my emotions and smile. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Holman. I'm Kate."

The husband jerks his head at me from the plastic chair he obviously just settled in. "Just call me Mike."

I keep a serene smile on my face, noticing Mrs. Holman has yet to look up. "Alright, then. I've read the file, but would you mind telling me what happened exactly?

He shifts in his chair, but meets my gaze. "Lizzy here just tripped up on the stairs." Forces a laugh. "Right, babe?"

She nods, pushing the hair out of her face with her left hand.

I keep the scorn out of my voice. "Alright." I replace the chart and step toward the table. "I'm just going to see if this needs stitches." Using my fingertips, I examine her hairline. The skin is split open. It's a deep cut. Looks a hell of a lot like a knife wound. "Definitely stitches." I step back and search her face. The bruise on her right cheek is purpling, mottled with blue, bisected by a cut. It's fairly large, as are Mike's hands. I glance sidelong at him. He's texting someone. The phone's in his right hand, and the overhead light catches on a class ring on the same hand.

I check her neck. It's red, but not bruised. "How does your neck feel?"

She keeps her eyes down and whispers. "Sore." She flinches when Mike shifts forward in his chair. "Just from falling."

Mike snaps the phone shut. "Is this gonna take long?"

I bite my tongue to keep from unloading a host of words I'm not allowed to say at work. "Well, first I'm going to get your wife some pain medication. Then I'll need to take care of her forehead. If the wound isn't closed correctly and sterilized, it could get infected." I know that'll shut him up. All he cares about is how much money he'll have to spend. It's his type.

When I step into the hallway, I close the door and listen in again.

Footsteps. "See baby, I told you it'd all be alright. Just keep telling them."

No words, just soft sobs.

"Hush that up. I don't need them t' see you cryin'."

The sobs grow louder. I press closer to the door, body tensing.

Crack. "I said shut up!"

A sharp intake of breath. The world seems to hover on the edge of a cliff.

She breaks into hysterical sobs. "I can't – I – I can't do this anymore, you said you wouldn't hurt me again but you keep doing it and I can't keep lyin' to everyone-"

"I said shut the hell up! You dunno what I'll do to you if-"

A different voice, right beside me. "Dear God." Matthew looks stunned, sheer horror over his pretty-boy doctor face. "Let me get security-"

I hear another slap from inside the room, and an aborted scream. "You do that." I throw the door open.

Mike has his hands around his wife's throat, face red. The tips of her sneakers brush the floor as she tries to pound at him with her fists, but she doesn't have the strength. "I told you! I told you! I told you to keep-"

"Put her down," I say. My nerves are iced-down. I can't feel a thing.

He looks over at me, eyes bulging. "This ain't any of your damn business, you-"

"You have made it my business." I slam the side of my hand into his neck, and he gasps, dropping his wife. She crumples on the floor. He reels a little, rocking on his heels, before turning on me. "You're gonna pay for that."

I smile coolly. He charges at me, but I sidestep and trip him. He's like a greyhound bus. All momentum, no grace, no reflexes. I'm no ballet dancer, and I'm not tall, but the jiu-jitsu lessons have helped me know where to hit. He hits the floor as a couple security officers charge in. There's noise, metal crashing, a lot of swearing, but I filter it out and turn to the woman. Lizzy. She has her back against the wall, legs tucked in, arms curling over her head. The keening sound in her throat is almost too high-pitched to hear.

I lower myself to the ground a few feet from her. "Mrs. Holman." I touch her shoe. Any real physical contact right now will send her over the edge. "He's gone now. He can't hurt you any more."

She's still trembling, but the keening stops. Now she digs her fingers into her hair and curls up tighter.

I notice the cut on her scalp has re-opened. Blood trickles down her temple, onto her arm. "Mrs. Holman. Lizzy, you're bleeding. I can take care of you. No one is going to hurt you. He's gone."

Shaking, she uncurls just enough to lift her head. Pale blue eyes meet mine, too exhausted to be wary. "He's really gone?" she whispers.

"Too many people saw him attack you for him to get away with it." I dare to touch the top of her swollen hand. "Can I-"

She extends it. I take it into mine like it is an egg. There are absolutely broken bones. "If you can stand up, we can get some x-rays taken and get you taken care of."

Lizzy takes a shaky breath. "I – I just want to sit here."

"That's okay," I say. I scoot over next to her, propping myself against the wall. "That's just fine."

We sit for a long time. I hear the clock on the wall tick, voices outside, shoes slapping, gurneys rattling. It's background noise. I am listening to her breathing. It calms for a while, regular like ocean waves. When it starts accelerating and rasping, I turn, worried.

The words explode from her mouth amidst sobs. "What did I do? I tried to be a good wife, I did everything he wanted but I couldn't do it good enough-"

I fight to keep my voice level. Forcefulness won't help me now. "Lizzy, you didn't do anything wrong."

She twists sideways and buries her head in my shoulder. I swallow and carefully place my arms around her shoulders. Her tears soak into my shirt. "There, there. You didn't do anything. You're alright. You're safe here."

Eventually she calms enough for me to help her to her feet. Amanda and Matthew are both waiting outside the door. Matthew clicks his pen at a hundred miles an hour. It's his nervous habit; it helps him cope. It astounds me how he's such a good ER doctor who's seen blood, guts and gore, yet is thrown by husband abuse. Then again, his blood is sapphire, and if there was spousal abuse in his childhood, it was all verbal.

Wordlessly, we seat Lizzy in a wheelchair, which Amanda pushes. We get her to an X-ray room, and as I step through the door, I see pure black. It's over in a second, but I clutch the door frame to stay upright.

"Kate?" Matthew looks over his shoulder, frowning, black hair falling over his forehead. In an odd moment of clarity, I think he needs a haircut. "Are you alright?"

I open my mouth to respond, but black swallows my vision, followed by a flash of color.

"Shut up, Kate!"Red shirt, half-buttoned, boozy smell.

"I didn't do-"Slap across my face. Tears hot in my eyes. "Stop! Please!"

Someone touches my arm, and I flinch, jumping backwards. "Don't touch me!"

Matthew lifts both hands, lips cracked, eyebrows puckered. "I'm sorry? Kate, are you sure you're-"

Flashback again. Clearer. Immediate.

Another backhand, and he steps away. "Don't you go runnin' to your mama, she ain't gonna do nothin'."

I cringe, pressing into the wall, trying to make myself as small as I can. The less he sees, the less he can hit. "But I didn't do anything wrong," I croak.

He turns with surprising speed for being drunk. By the ways his eyes flare, I should have kept quiet. "Whaddya mean you didn' do anything wrong, I'm lookin' atcha, ain't I?" He lumbers towards me, raising the beer bottle above his head.

"No! Daddy, please, don't!"

"Kate." It's Matthew's voice.

I inhale sharply and blink, realizing I've pressed myself hard against the back wall of the hallway. I swear under my breath and hurry towards the end of the hallway, towards the staircase. Falling into the crash bar, I run down the stairs, everything in me intent on escaping the building, escaping walls. Concrete blur, another door, and then I'm outside. I step off the sidewalk and fall on my knees in the grass. The cold air sears my throat, and my breaths form pale white clouds. "Oh God," I whisper. I start shaking. It has nothing to do with the cold.

The door creaks open behind me, carefully shuts. Someone in a white coat comes and kneels beside me. Matthew uses a voice I've never heard before, the gentleness he uses with children, coupled with worry. "Kate, what's the matter?"

I lift my hands and examine them. They're trembling. "I – she-"

He lays a hand on my shoulder, removing it when I flinch. "Sorry, sorry. Just take your time."

I try to phrase it so many ways. I sound old when I finally speak. "Why do you think I'm so good at knowing which cases are abuse?"

He's silent. "My God. Kate. I didn't know."

"Why would you? I didn't need to tell anyone. It just – seeing him attack her like that-" I feel the first tear stream down my face and brush it away.

"Flashbacks, of course, and then-" He releases a deep breath. "Kate, if I would have known that, I never would have given you those cases. Never."

I push to my feet, the brisk front I've worn for the last few years surfacing. "It's alright. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it." I cut him off when he scrambles to his feet and starts to apologize again. "I said don't worry about it. I was able to help people. It's fine." My voice cracks on the last word. I swallow. Brisk, professional, professional, professional…

Matthew touches my shoulder, and I don't flinch this time. I think – I think I like the human contact. "Kate, are you absolutely, completely sure you're alright?"

"No," I whisper. I can't believe I'm saying this. "No, I'm not alright." The first sob breaks through, and I bury my hands in my face.

He stands there, frozen for a moment. I see the moment when he has to think to hell with it and carefully pulls me into his arms, like I'm an origami butterfly he's afraid he'll crush. It takes less effort than I expected to rest my head on his shoulder and let myself cry. The moment doesn't last long – I've trained myself to not cry – but for the brief time I'm there, I close my eyes and feel something. It's close to the guarded feeling I've had for my whole life. But different, because this time, I think I'm being guarded by someone else.

I think it's safety.

I sniff and pull back a little. "Sorry. I'll be back at work in a few-"

He keeps his hands firm on my shoulders. "Kate, just – be quiet and listen for a minute. You just went through hell. And I put you through it." He cocks his head warningly when I start to speak. I shut up. He continues. "Knowingly or not, I did. Just hear me out. I'm going to have Amanda drive you home. You're going to make yourself a mug of tea, and some toast, have that, and then go to bed. You're going to shut off your alarm, and I don't want to see you within fifty yards of this building until Monday."

I stand there with my lips cracked. What do I say to this?

He tilts his head again, that little flip of hair falling in his eyes again. "You really aren't used to people telling you what to do and being nice about it, are you?"

I shake my head.

"Oh, Kate." There's a little laughter in his voice. He embraces me once more. More professionally this time. "Come on. Let's get you home. And I'm not giving you any of those cases again."

"No," I whisper. "I want them. I want to make sure what happens to these women doesn't happen again. Never again."

He smiles, his teeth catching the moonlight. "Okay. I'll think about it. I'll think about never again."