Masterpiece Theater

I couldn’t sit still. I paced the hospital waiting room, my Converse scuffing against the tile floor. Jason slouched in a chair, the vinyl cover cracked, revealing a flimsy amount of padding underneath.

We got the call just as we were leaving the club Jason had taken me to. My whole body ached and my wrists were still red from the rope he’d used. He had been right about needing the whiskey; I still wasn’t sure if I was sober enough to face Laurel.

If she ever woke up.

According to one of the nurses, someone-a man-drove up to the emergency room, yelled for a doctor, and as soon as she was in a wheelchair, he left, no explanation given.

She was in surgery. Her nose was fractured, and she had two broken ribs. She was bleeding internally, but they had to go in and figure out why.

They had to perform a rape kit.

“One of us should have been there.” I muttered. “This wouldn’t have happened if-” I bit back a curse.

“Brian, neither one of us could have prevented this.” Jason spoke so calmly. He didn’t seem affected by this at all.

“The hell are you talking about? Of course we could have. If we weren’t screwing around, she would be okay!” Heads turned. I felt my face grow hot. I put a cigarette in my mouth and stormed out of the emergency room doors. Jason followed behind me.

He sat down on a bench. I leaned against a stone pillar and inhaled deeply. I could tell he had something to say, he was just waiting for me to be calm.

“Why the fuck aren’t you pissed? That’s your fucking sister. You’re practically fused to her side! Someone attacked her and you’re just sitting there like it’s a fucking routine check up!” I spat.

He still didn’t react. He waited patiently for me to finish my cigarette and get quiet.

“Has Laurel ever talked to you about Finn?”

“Who?”

“Her ex. The one before you.”

“The one in Chicago?” I huffed. My chest felt tight. At three in the morning, with the promise of rain, the air should have felt cool and relaxing, but instead, my whole body was on fire. I was beyond pissed, at Jason, the guy who did this, Laurel for thinking being a bartender was safe, but most importantly, myself, for going behind her back and abandoning her.

So fucking stupid.

“He isn’t just an ex.”

“What, they’re still together?”

My cylinders were misfiring. I tried to ease the pressure in my chest, taking a deep breath and lighting another cigarette.

“He wouldn’t let her go anywhere without him, unless he knew for a fact it was me she was spending time with, and no one else, and even then, he usually stuck around. He went through her phone, cut her off from all of her friends. He hit her.” He said it so nonchalantly, like he was reading the weather report, or the stock market updates.

Laurel didn’t strike me as stupid. Being in a situation like that, especially with Jason in her life, shouldn’t have happened. She was too strong-willed and independent. If she’d wound up in that kind of relationship, she must’ve been too deep before realizing what was going on, or not had a choice.

“They broke up a year ago, didn’t they? You’re saying he followed her here and did this?”

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and started chewing on it. He picked another spot on the ground to stare at, trying to figure out the best way to say whatever he wanted to say next. I smoked, doing my best not to jump down his throat.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.” He stood and scrubbed his face with his hands, brushing them through his spiky bleached hair. He stood less than a foot away from me, but even with my heightened emotions, I felt no kind of attraction or tension.

Our session earlier seemed to have done the trick.

“What?” I growled. He shook his head and stepped away from me, putting distance between us that I wasn’t sure I wanted.

“Finn wasn’t her boyfriend. He’s her husband.”

The cigarette fell out of my mouth. I was sure I went deaf, because I couldn’t hear anything else. Not the sirens from the ambulance that had barreled in, not Jason trying to explain the bomb he just dropped, not the thunder that I felt rattle my bones seconds before lightning flashed.

The only thing I could hear was the pounding of my heart in my brain. There was no other explanation. I was short circuiting.

I didn’t remember leaving. Sounds started processing again, one by one, and by the time I could hear properly, my feet had taken me blocks away, in the rain. I was soaked and standing across from a twenty-four hour diner. I went in, and sat, and shut my phone off so I didn’t have to talk to Jason.

I just needed time.

******************

At some point, after the rain had stopped, and the sun broke through the clouds, I managed to make it back to the hospital. I had to call Jimmy and have him pick me up. I told him he didn’t have to stay and that I would call him with updates.

Jason was sitting outside her room-he’d left a message saying that she was out of surgery, resting comfortably. He stood to greet me.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

“I care about her, Jason. I’m not gonna leave her lying in a hospital bed, wondering why I’m not there with her. I’m not…” I trailed off and shuffled my feet. “I’m gonna be there for her. I’m not gonna skip out on her.”

“You want out.” It wasn’t a question and I didn’t answer. He nodded in understanding.

“I’m gonna go back to the apartment. Shower, pack her a bag. I’ll see you in a couple hours. Go in, sit with her. Just don’t be too hard on her.”

In the hospital room, the overwhelming urge to run bubbled up again. I stood my ground, looking down at her, wanting to go after the bastard that did this.

Her face was swollen, a bandage over her nose and stitches in her lip. A ring of finger-shaped bruises wrapped around her neck. A tube had been stuck down her throat, helping her breathe mechanically. The doctor had to sedate her to make sure she actually rested.

The final diagnosis, from what Jason had left on the voicemail, was brutal, but she would recover. A broken nose, crushed trachea, two broken ribs, and a bruised liver. Her fingernails were broken and dirt and blood were embedded underneath.

She hadn’t gone down without a fight.

I knew, though, that if she caught one look at her nails, she’d have a cow. It didn’t matter what we were doing or what her plans were, her nails had to be perfect. Trimmed, cleaned, and polished. She had a standing appointment with Ali at the nail salon after the gym every Sunday morning. I had enough scabs and forming scars on my back to prove that it wasn’t a total waste.

I buzzed for the nurse. I couldn’t do much of anything, but I could make sure her nails didn’t show evidence of the attack.

“Something wrong?” The nurse asked from the doorway. I cleared my throat.

“No, uh, she’s fine. She’s...resting. Um...this is kind of an odd request but...could I get a nail file?”

“Excuse me?”

“A nail file, and one of those scrubby, polishing blocks? Do you even have those? Some fingernail clippers. Do you have nail polish remover? Or nail polish? Can you even paint over old nail polish? Fuck, what the hell do I know? Jesus, I’m useless.” I started to ramble. I combed my fingers through my hair, making it stick up at funny angles.

I hadn’t been this freaked since our first show.

“I’m sorry. What exactly do you need?” The nurse asked.

“She can’t wake up and see her goddamn hands looking like that! She just can’t, okay? She needs a fucking manicure!” I shouted. She jumped and scurried away. A doctor came in to take her place.

“Can I help you, Mr. Haner?”

“What? No. Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her.”

“If you can’t compose yourself, you’re going to have to leave.”

“I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure some of the nurses can gather up what you need. I know it’s difficult to sit and wait, but if you can’t stay calm, you will be escorted off the premises.”

I nodded. “Thanks, doc.”

Losing my shit because of her fucking nails. God, I was exhausted. Scared. Worried. Panicked.

I was going to kill him.

And realizing this made me realize something else.

I was in love with her.

And I fucked up.