The Power of Salvation Page 2
Memories of my own past float to the surface, but I push them down before they can creep in to ruin my night. I regain composure, hoping she didn’t see my distress. I am normally very pulled together in all situations in the hospital, but seeing women come in here abused—in any way—sets me on edge.
“Hello … my name is Dr. Bellisano. I’m working under Dr. Horton this evening. Can you tell me your name?” I ask, walking closer to the bed. The woman is shaking. With her one good eye, she’s trying to avoid me and doesn’t say a word in response to my question.
“Do you have any allergies? I need to know at least a few facts about you if you want me to give you any medication. I think you need some stitches as well.”
No answer. I don’t know how she made it past the triage team without answering anything; they must have taken pity on her. That’s fine—I can wait her out for a few more minutes in uncomfortable silence before I clear up her arm to prep for her stitches.
“Can you please tell me what happened?” Still nothing. I know most doctors wouldn’t push this so soon but I’m going in. “Do you want me to call the police? I heard you were mugged.” The mention of police must have been exactly what she needed to hear because the mute found her voice—a shaky scared one, but a voice nonetheless.
“Can you please call Luke?” She asks in a mouse-like whisper.
“You’re going to have to give me more than a name, sweetie,” I say, disinfecting her arm. “Do you want me to get you a phone in here so you can make the call?”
“Yes, please,” she whispers.
She seems like a kind person, which I know is weird to say when only meeting someone for a few minutes, but I can just sense it. It’s something that comes with the territory. Whoever did this to her, I want to rip off his dick and put it in a blender.
“I can see all your external bruises,”—this part kills me to ask but it’s my job to know in case more help is needed—“but do we need to check you for anything else?” She meets my eyes like she’s not sure what I’m asking. “Did your mugger … sexually assault you?”
“Oh.” Her face drops in sadness, and other than her black and blue bruises, she loses all other color. She looks just like a ghost. “No.”
I feel my own sense of relief at her answer. When her stitches are finished I give her some medication for the pain and walk out to find someone to bring her a phone to call whoever the hell Luke is.
The next couple hours go by in a blur—an 11-month-old with bronchitis, an elderly man who fell and broke his hip, a college girl who needed her stomach pumped, and the occasional cases of flus and viruses. It’s a very dull night in a Chicago hospital in fact. We are one of the busiest in the nation.
I head back to room three to check on the patient who was mugged. As I slide back the blue curtain, I see a man with his arm wrapped around her in a side hug—they both have their backs to me. They’re speaking in hushed voices so I can’t make out anything he’s saying, but I can tell she’s crying. He sweetly kisses her temple and it touches my heart—this must be her boyfriend.
A phone rings. His.
He’s off the bed in a second and pressing the phone to his face.
“This better be good news,” says a deep masculine voice, a voice that means business, which sets my nerves on fire. And that’s when we lock eyes.
It’s him. Mystery Man from the bar.
The woman turns around to see us both staring at each other and I blush. Caught staring at this man again … but this time in front of his girlfriend. He has a girlfriend! I feel immediate jealously and sadness realizing this. Why do I even care? I haven’t even spoken a word to this man … ever.
“I’m sorry … um…” I stumble over my words like the complete hot mess that I’ve become, “I just came to check on you but I don’t want to interrupt.”
I turn rushing out of the room. I don’t remember the walk from room three to the bathroom but somehow I’ve made it. I sit down on the floor and think.
He has a girlfriend. And she was mugged tonight. And I think she’s kind. What an asshole I am for even being jealous of her.
“Hey Bellisano, what the fuck are you doing in here? Is your shift over?” asks Ben, a nurse who thinks his shit don’t stink. That’s when I realize I’ve walked right into the men’s bathroom. Of course he would be the one to find me trying to hide out in my time of embarrassment. “Get back out there.”
I don’t even reply to him. I get up off the floor and push open the swinging door to collide right into a large, muscular person.
“Excuse me,” I say, looking up at the person I ran into, locking eyes yet again with the hazel pair I was staring at just minutes ago. “I’m sorry.” I try to skirt around him, trying to make a break for it. Get me the hell away from him.
“You ran into me and can’t even tell me your name,” he says as he reaches around to grab my arm. He’s touching me. Get off me, get off me, get off me! I pull my arm back as fast as possible and flinch. He notices my freak out and lets go instantly, but not before giving me a quizzical stare down though. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
We are standing so close that if you were to walk past us in this hallway you may not be sure if we were going to hug … or kiss. I’m not a short girl by any means, around 5’7”, but I feel so small in his presence. This man … Luke … must be over 6 feet tall and extremely well built. I feel boxed in by his muscular chest and arms.
“It’s okay,” I say, looking down at our feet—me in an ugly pair of Crocs (I can’t believe I even own them) and him in a pair of designer dress shoes. He’s wearing a finely tailored suit, just like at the bar. It fits his body like a glove … or well a suit I guess.
“What’s your name?”
“Ariana,” I say at the same time I remember the poor girlfriend sitting in the room on the worst night of her life. “I should go back to properly check on your girlfriend. I got sidetracked last time, sorry.” I step out of the area he’s got me enclosed in and speed walk towards room three.
Opening the door I notice the girlfriend changing out of her hospital robe. Even more bruises and scrapes cover her back. It’s not serious enough to need stitches though.
“Are you sure you don’t want to call the police?” I ask, startling her as she spins around to cover herself and knocks down a tray next to her.
“You haven’t called the police?” Luke shouts following right behind me into the room. We both bend towards the floor to pick up the contents spilled. We grab the same utensil and I do my best to avoid brushing my fingers near his. He safely keeps his distance this time.
“I wasn’t sure if that was the best idea,” the girlfriend squeaks out, like she’s scared. Sadly, I know how she feels.
“Are you afraid of being judged if you tell someone?” She looks down at her hands in defeat; she knows exactly what I’m asking. We live in a culture where if women speak out to abuse, they are judged.
“Being judged or not … there’s a man on the loose right now who could do this again to someone else. Lisa, you can’t keep this information to yourself,” Luke says, shocking both Lisa and me with his strong stance.
“I think you should listen to your boyfriend,” I add.
“Boyfriend?” Lisa asks, and for the first time all night, she smiles. Not only does she smile but also she busts out in a deep laugh that makes tears stream down her face. “Oh my god, I shouldn’t be laughing. It hurts my entire body to laugh right now. I don’t know if these tears are good or bad.”
I look from Lisa to Luke, neither lets on about what’s so freakin’ funny. Finally Lisa settles down from her fit of laughter.
“Luke isn’t my boyfriend … he’s my baby brother.”
Brother? Baby brother? Why didn’t he correct me earlier?
“Maybe because you never gave me the chance. You ran away when I was trying to talk to you,” Luke says, intoxicating me with that deep voice.
I said that out loud?
To make matters worse, Ben sticks his big head in the door and says, “Bellisano, you know there are other patients in this hospital. This one was discharged. We need your help for a gunshot to the leg. Hustle your ass.”
Ben is the wicked witch of this hospital, worse than the chief even.
“I’m sorry, I need to go. I agree with your brother, you should call the police immediately. Don’t be ashamed of what you went through.” I lock eyes with her as I step towards the door to leave. “You will do more harm than good if you keep this to yourself. What happened, it’s not your fault.”
And with that I fly out of the room and head towards where I hear Ben shouting at other residents. Can’t a house from Kansas fall out of the sky and land on this guy? I could rock some ruby red slippers.
Chapter four
Luke
11 Years Old
Mom is sobbing while she holds a pack of frozen broccoli to her right eye. Dad threw her down the stairs before taking off for the bar around the corner to get trashed out of his mind. This has become a pattern for the last few months. Day after day, dad beats the shit out of mom and mom pretends like us kids aren’t there to witness it. But we see everything. We hear everything.
“Luke, can you bring me your homework? I want to check it before your big test tomorrow,” mom says like nothing crazy took place in our house just five minutes earlier.
I slide the homework across the kitchen table and say, “Mom, dad needs to go.” She looks up at me with pleading eyes, like she’s the one sorry for me.
“Sweetheart, not again with this. I’m fine,” she says, picking up my math homework. “Let’s get through the homework and then we’ll start dinner with Lisa. We’re having macaroni and cheese.” She reaches over to caress my cheek with a tender touch. I truly want to kill my dad for what he’s doing to her. She’s by far the kindest woman alive and does not deserve this life. None of us do.
I’ve asked her over and over if I can call the police, but each and every time she pleads with me not to do anything. She says he won’t do it again, that ‘this is the last time’ and he’ll change his ways. But those are just empty promises of bullshit. And what upsets me even more is that no one outside of the five of us in this tiny little house knows what the fuck is happening behind these closed doors. I wish someone else knew so that they’d feel the pressure to call the cops like I should. My mom has a brother, where the fuck is that guy? Why doesn’t he feel the need to check in on his sister and stand up for her? I could never live with myself if I knew someone was doing this to Lisa.
A loud crash pulls me from my thoughts, as dad stumbles through the front door, knocking over the entryway table. He takes a giant gulp from whatever liquor he’s carrying in a brown paper bag. Lisa and Eric rush into the front room to see what’s going on.
“Caroline, aren’t these kids supposed to be in bed? What the fuck are they still doing awake?” Dad barely even looks at us as he slumps into his lumpy green recliner and throws his feet up, chugging more from his paper bag.
“It’s only six o’clock, bedtime isn’t ’til nine,” Lisa chimes in before mom can shoot her a look to be quiet.
Dad slowly turns his head to look at my sister and his eyes glaze over, like he’s not even seeing her clearly. “You want to sass me back one more time you little fucker? I’ll get out of this chair and get my belt.”
The belt—that’s his easiest and most common threat. But he’d never hit Lisa—for some reason she’s safe. And at least that makes me feel at ease.
“You don’t have to talk to her like that. She didn’t do anything wrong,” I spit out at him. He doesn’t say a word but he’s out of his recliner in two seconds flat. Me on the other hand, he will hit.
“Stop! Stop!” Mom rushes into the living room screaming.
Grabbing me by the arm, digging his fingers into my forearm, dad spins me around to hit me across my ass. Once, twice, three times total before he throws me down into the coffee table. I crash down on it and it breaks, glass everywhere.
Chapter five
The line at the Starbucks near the hospital is always so damn long, no matter what time of the day. Caffeine is a priority to college students and hospital staff—it’s a basic food group for the majority of us—and we must keep this location in business.
“Next,” a peppy girl with a nametag that reads Tricia calls out to me in an extra cheery tone. I want whatever she’s drinking. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll take a Starbucks double shot on ice with non-fat milk, please.” I can’t believe I just begged for coffee. I tip Tricia and move over to stand with the rest of the Starbucks groupies waiting for their beverages.
“Did you hear about the lady near campus who got mugged last night?” I hear two girls in front of me chatting loud enough for everyone to hear. They’re turning a woman’s beating into a topic of gossip.
“I heard she knew the guy. I also heard she’s a known slut and was basically asking for it,” one of them says in a matter-of-fact tone.
My eyes bug out of my head and my jaw drops. I can’t believe I’m hearing this right now. This is why Lisa didn’t want to come forward—for the stigma that ‘you’re asking for it’ if something bad happens to you as a woman.
I hope she’s okay—I wish there was a way to check on her. But she didn’t leave behind much information.
I should hold my tongue, but get the fuck out of here with these bitches.
“Before you spread rumors, you should get your facts straight. If anyone is asking for it it’s you two ignorant bitches. You should be ashamed of yourself. Congrats on setting women’s rights back 50 years. That woman had nothing to do with that man—it was completely random.”
Both of them look at me with a deer in a headlight stare. And to save the day, my drink shows up on the counter, and I take it and walk out without them saying a single word to me.
On my walk to the hospital Drake shows up next to me. “What’s with the sour face?” he asks. I’m sure my pissed off attitude is radiating off me for everyone on this block to feel.
“It’s nothing—just two stupid girls talking crap in the coffee shop. I can’t believe the human race sometimes.”
“It’s because under that ‘I’m a badass’ exterior you display for everyone, you’re a big softy and you care about what’s right,” he teases me.
“Can you keep the ‘softy’ remarks between you and I? I have a reputation to uphold,” I laugh. We part ways upon entering the hospital. I stay here on the main floor of the E.R. and Drake heads upstairs to the land of bringing cute babies into the world.
Another day of living the dream in the hospital. Luckily for me, Ben and the chief are both off today. It’s like a Christmas miracle. Everyone is in an upbeat mood and nothing too serious has walked through the doors—yet.
I make my rounds checking on my patients and head towards the front station when out of the corner of my eye I see him, Luke, standing at the desk talking to Sheila, the head nurse tonight. She’s looking up at him with dreamy ‘fuck me’ eyes, and I instantly want to punch her in the face for flirting with him. What’s wrong with me? Sheila is the nicest girl ever.
Why is he here? Please tell me Lisa is okay!
“Hey,” I say, walking up behind him and putting my hand on his strong back. “Is everything okay?”
I must have a concerned look on my face because he goes to reach out to me but when I flinch he pulls back.
“Yes, everything’s okay. Do you have a minute?”
“Umm ... sure,” I stumble out my words; my confidence from a minute ago when I thought there was an emergency has clearly diminished. We walk to a corner out of the way, and I notice Sheila has a huge smirk on her face. She actually winks at me. Great, let the office gossip begin.
Again we are standing a little too close for my comfort. I notice just above his mesmerizing hazel eyes a small
faint scar running from his hairline to his temple. I don’t know what comes over me—something protective—but I reach out to touch it. This time he’s the one who moves back, and I instantly feel like an idiot. I know what it’s like to not want to be touched—why the hell did I just do that?
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at the floor. Why is this a pattern with me when I’m around him? He catches me off guard and then I need to look away. Normally I back down for no one. What happened to that tough-as-nails person Drake was just talking about?
“It’s okay,” he says, touching the scar on his face with his tan hand, “sometimes I forget it’s there. You just startled me, that’s all.”
“How did you get it?”
“I fell down the stairs when I was a boy.” He says the sentence as if he’s said it a million times. Even though it came out as repetitive, for some reason I get the feeling he’s lying. I tilt my head to question him, but he cuts me off quickly.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
His question catches me off guard. Of course, my awkwardness saves the day by repeating his question, “Seeing someone?”
“Yes, seeing someone. Do you belong to someone?”
I’ve never heard that question worded in that way—belong to someone. Who says that? I’m not a dog.
“No, I don’t belong to anyone.” I fight the urge to say that I never will belong to anyone but I keep quiet for once.
“What about the guy at the bar?”
Now I’m confused again. What guy is he talking about? Then I remember the night I first set eyes on him at The Grove.
“Oh, Drake? Hell no, he’s just my friend.”
He looks relaxed at my answer. “Ariana, do you want to get a drink with me?”
“I’m kind of in the middle of a shift,” I say, sarcastically waving my hand around to remind him we’re standing in a very busy hospital.
Do I want to get a drink with him? I don’t know anything about this man, well except for he must have an important job because he’s always wearing suits tailored perfectly for him.