Masterpiece Theater

Why the fuck does my face hurt? Where the hell am I? What the hell is shoved down my throat? Why can’t I feel my body? Panic seized my chest. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t even breathing on my own. I forced myself to open my eyes.

Fluorescent panels everywhere above me. Bed underneath me, with rails. An IV jammed into the top of my hand. Beeping.

I was in a hospital.

Goddamn it, Finn.

I couldn’t talk. Even without plastic tubing in my throat, I wouldn’t have been able to say a word. My throat burned and trying to swallow was a bad idea.

Slowly, I turned my head to the side, the pillow rustling underneath my head. There, on the shitty couch reserved for visitors, was Jason, phone in his hand, his face scruffy. He hadn’t realized I’d woken up.

I raised my hand, vaguely registering that my nails were painted a shimmery blue.

Who the hell would’ve done that?

Weakly, my hand flopped back onto the mattress. I couldn’t raise it more than a couple inches.

Whatever drugs they had me on, they were good.

The noise was enough to alert my brother. He jumped off the couch and came over, linking his fingers into mine.

“Shit, Lor. You’re awake! Jesus. How are you? Stupid question. Do you need anything?”

I clasped his fingers tighter and moved my head. His presence was enough. He buzzed for the nurse anyway, and then sat back while they worked, refusing to leave my side even as they did a full body examination.

After tubal removal, the nurse and the doctor sat me up, helping me swing my legs over the side of the bed. Gingerly, the doctor prodded his fingers along the side of my neck. I gasped and gripped the edges of the mattress. I couldn’t speak, but I could make sounds and facial expressions.

Jason was up in a flash, coming directly to my side. I squeezed his hand to assure him that I was okay.

“The swelling has gone down. The bruising should go away in a few more days. Short words are best, yes and no, and the like. How’s your pain?”

I held up seven fingers. The nurse scribbled on the clipboard. They laid me back down, but raised my head. Jason helped the nurse pull my blankets over my legs as the doctor raised my gown to examine my body.

More bruising on my stomach. I vaguely remembered Finn throwing me to the ground after I wouldn’t respond to his so-called affection and kicking the shit out of me.

That was after the first blackout and what caused the second.

When the doctor prodded my ribs, I jerked, and sent a fresh wave of pain through my whole body. The adrenaline was enough of a kick for me to grab his wrist and bend it backwards, total fight response.

“Laurel,” Jason corrected. He put his arm around me and placed his hand on mine, urging me to loosen my grip. “He’s just doing his job. He’s not trying to hurt you.”

I nodded and loosened my hold, my body tense as he finished up.

“I wanna get some new x-rays this afternoon, just to track your progress. I don’t advise eating any solids, but you can have some Jell-O, or popsicles, and broth. No thick liquids yet.”

I nodded. I knew the routine. This wasn’t the first time I’d wound up in a hospital. It had just never been this bad.

The doctor left, leaving me with the nurse. Female company to deliver sensitive news.

“Your test results came back. Your initial panel for STIs all came back negative, so that’s good. There’s slight tearing, some bruising, and we were able to get a DNA sample. Do you know who it was?”

“Husband.” I choked out. I was pretty sure, from the metallic taste in my mouth, that something had ripped open in my throat.

“Your husband beat and raped you and dumped you here? Are you sure?”

I nodded. Jason clarified for me.

“They have a history of domestic violence. A restraining order on file. Should be a record of a petition for divorce as well. His name is Fintan Walsh. He lives in Chicago.”

“I see. I’ll let the doctor know. It’s standard procedure to notify the police.”

I nodded. She walked away. I didn’t break down until she had shut the door behind her.

Gingerly, he climbed into the bed beside me and did the best he could to pull me to him. His fingers trailed down my arm in slow circles. He kissed the top of my head and started talking, but I wasn’t really listening.

His voice and the combination of painkillers put me back to sleep.

**********

The lights were dimmer. I was alone in the bed. My body wasn’t as stiff, but my head swam. I couldn’t do anything to prevent the bile from coming up, so I was grateful for the plastic gray bin that someone-Jason I guessed-had set on my table, next to a huge mug of ice water. I dumped out the folded washcloths and heaved, pain wracking my body.

“Shit! Laurel! Shit!” Brian’s panic-filled voice surprised me. As I threw up nothing but stomach acid and blood, he took a washcloth into the bathroom and ran it under the sink, rushing back to dab it across my face. I heaved some more and he put his hand on my back, rubbing comforting circles over my skin.

I struggled for air. I set down the bin and took the washcloth from him, wiping at sweat, saliva, and blood. He handed me the mug and I took it, the ice numbing the burning sensation in my esophagus.

Calm again, I stared at him. Confused, overwhelmed, afraid.

Jason was gone and he was here. I wasn’t sure why, but I hadn’t expected him to show up. Jason had to have told him what happened, and by who. He should have been pissed at me.

Maybe he was.

Maybe he was just here to break up with me.

When he moved to touch my face, I jerked back. A flight response.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Laurel.” He whispered. I let him take my hand. “Jason is getting food. He told me you woke up. I came as soon as I could.”

“Why?” The word was so garbled, I was surprised he understood me.

“Why what? You’re my girlfriend. Someone hurt you. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Lied.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care about that. We’ll talk about it later, when you’re better, and home.”

“Home?”

“With me. Jason and I talked. We thought it would be best if...if you moved in with me. Just for now. Just until...until he’s caught. And you’re better. It’ll just be...temporary.”

He seemed to have trouble getting it out, as if he didn’t want me there, or didn’t want it to be temporary.

“Jason?”

“Jason, too. Yeah. He’s gonna stay in the guest room. Says the pullout isn’t comfortable enough for permanent living. You don’t have to worry about a thing. You’ll get better. Finn will go to jail.”

I shook my head. He didn’t understand. Jason apparently had only told him the bare minimum.

There wouldn’t be any jail time for Finn.

Cops protected their own, and the percentage of domestic abuse reported by partners of law enforcement officers made up the majority of all reported cases, but no one in the public knew that.

I was lucky with the restraining order. I should have realized he’d find a way to bypass it eventually.

Any report I filed against him mysteriously disappeared.

That was Chicago P.D. though. Maybe out here in California, it would be different. Especially if Brian was willing to put up money for a decent lawyer, instead of leaving me to a public defender.

There were too many questions, too many loose ends. I didn’t want to think about it right now.

I drank more water, relishing the feel of the ice as it hit the back of my throat. Even with the addition of a nicotine patch on my arm, I still wanted a cigarette. I wanted out of the bed, out of the hospital. Just out.

“Do you want something to eat? I can buzz for the nurse.”

Leaning back against my pillow, I shook my head. “Just...you.” I managed. He couldn’t fit into the bed with me and I wasn’t sure I wasn’t going to throw up again, so he pulled up a chair next to the bed as close as he could and took my hand, lacing our fingers together and kissing the top, right where my IV was hooked up.

Jason came back with In ‘N Out. The doctor came in with another round of meds. While Brian and my brother ate, I fell back asleep.