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The next morning, I take out the garbage, and the beautiful day convinces me to go for a walk. I end up walking quite a ways from my house, as the fresh air seems to help clear my head, and before I know it, I’ve walked miles further than I initially intended to.
I walk by my favorite clothing store and slip inside. I don’t end up buying anything, but I notice that they have a sign up indicating that they’re hiring, and I make note to drop a resume off sometime. As I come out of the store, two things happen simultaneously. First, I dodge a guy on a bicycle going way too fast. In doing so, I trip and fall onto the street. Second, an old, grey car comes barreling towards me, also going way too fast, and I can’t get up off of the road quickly enough. The car drives right over top of my legs, and somehow, my head manages to make harsh contact with the asphalt. A splitting pain radiates in my legs, but I feel nothing in my head, which I know is wrong, because I hit my head so hard that it should be in agonizing pain.
A passerby on the sidewalk reaches for me and pulls me off of the road. It’s a woman who can’t be any older than eighteen.
“Are you alright, miss?” she demands, but all I can hear is a loud thudding. I assume that it’s my pulse. I watch as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone. Another person who saw me get run over, rushes over to us and sticks her fingers to my neck. Is she checking for a pulse? I’m obviously alive; I’m just in too much pain to move.
“She’s breathing,” the older woman says. She looks old enough to be my mother.
“Ambulance is on its way,” the young girl reassures me a couple minutes later. This is so my fricken luck. What a week! First, I’m abducted, and now I’ve been run over. Great, just great. To top it all off, I’m going to miss my date tonight, the only thing that I possibly have going for me.
When the sounds of sirens fill my ears and flashing lights fill my vision, I am both relieved and unbelievably embarrassed. What kind of adult gets run over? I’m such a klutz.
I’m strapped to a stretcher and thrown into the back of the ambulance swiftly by paramedics. I notice that the young girl comes in the ambulance with me but not the older lady. The paramedics ask me a round of questions, and I find myself still unable to speak. The girl tells them what she saw.
When I look at my legs, I nearly faint. It looks like I’ve been trampled by a herd of elephants. It’s not just the disgusting colour, it’s the shape. Who knew such a little car could do such damage? I mean I’ve heard of people getting run over and not having a scratch of proof!
We pull into the hospital, and my brain begins to become foggy. I know I’m going to pass out at any moment. My body has had all it can handle. I’m rushed through rooms until I’m finally stopped and moved onto a different stretcher.
I see a white coat pass through my vision, but I don’t catch a face. There are nurses too. I cringe at the long needle that is seconds away from plunging into me. I hate needles, but I think that a needle is the least of my worries right now.
“Do you have your health care card?” a woman asks.
“In my wallet. In my pocket. I think,” I mutter through clenched teeth. I’m pretty sure my pants aren’t even on anymore, though my head hurts too much for me to lift it and look.
The lady rushes around me then disappears from sight.
“I’m going to check your vitals. I need to know if you have a concussion. Follow the light with your eyes,” a deep, rough voice instructs me. I do as he says, the light blocking my vision and burning my eyes.
“On the plus side, I don’t think you have a concussion. Your legs, on the other hand, they’re going to need x-rayed as soon as possible. I’m going to send you upstairs to have that done right away,” the man, the doctor I assume, tells me calmly.
As another needle enters my forearm, the pain starts to numb. I manage to sit up slightly and readjust myself on the stretcher.
“Careful, please,” a nurse warns while dancing around me taking tests.
I can’t believe I’m in the fricken hospital. You have to be joking.
After my x-ray, I learn that one leg is broken in two spots below the knee, and the other is just bruised up pretty good. A cast is thrown onto my leg, and I am given crutches to my dismay. Holy, flipping cupcake shit crap. Ugh. This is not happening.
I wait patiently for the news from my other tests. Can I go home, or am I doomed to spend a night here, maybe longer? I’m relieved when I see a white coat make its way down the hall towards me. That is, I’m relieved for a few seconds, and then I recognize the owner of the white coat. It’s Crispen, my neighbor. The one I am supposed to go on a date with tonight. As he approaches my room, I hope that he walks right by it and doesn’t notice me. If only. He walks specifically into my room, a smile lighting up his face.
“No wonder you’re so paranoid. You’re accident prone,” he mutters jokingly while looking over the clipboard hanging by the entrance to my room. I assume it’s my patient chart. “You were hit by a car. May I ask how?” Confusion fills his features.
“I went out for a walk, and I tripped trying to get out of the way of a bicycler and fell into oncoming traffic,” I explain embarrassedly.
“A broken leg and no concussion. I’d say you got off pretty lucky,” he assures me calmly. He places the clipboard back and approaches me.
“How did you know I was in here? You don’t even know my last name and this is a pretty big hospital.” He probably seen me in the halls being rushed around half naked and completely out of it.
“I was working in the ER this morning and an ambulance brought you in. Do you not remember me shining a bright light into your eyes?” he asks, concerned. Oh my god. I didn’t even look at the doctor’s face when I was first brought into the hospital, but thinking back now, hearing his voice should’ve been enough. “Is your head okay, Megan?”
I nod. “Whatever they gave me is helping.” I’m completely mortified.
“Good. Have you had any confusion or memory loss?” he asks me next. I know this question stems from me not remembering seeing him when I first came in.
“No, I just didn’t bother to look at your face while I was in extreme pain.”
“Okay. It’s always better to be safe than sorry, especially when it comes to a patient’s head,” he explains professionally. Then his routine expression slips, and a casual, sexy smirk crosses his face.
I swallow hard and pray to god he doesn’t decide to take my blood pressure. Calm down, Megan, he’s just a guy. A cocky guy that you don’t need to get involved with. You have other shit to worry about right now.
“I think I’m going to have to cancel our dinner tonight,” I tell him, trying not to sound too upset by it.
His smirk doesn’t falter. “How about we don’t cancel it, but we postpone it instead?” He still wants to take me out for dinner after he’s seen me the way he’s seen me today? “Actually, I have an idea. I’ll make you a deal. Instead of making you stay here tonight, I will send you home on one condition. I am allowed to come check up on you every two hours. I want your head watched for any signs of trauma over the next twenty-four hours. I know your paranoia thing is a little off the charts, but surely you can see that I’m no serial killer. I’m just a doctor.”
Just a doctor? Ha! The hottest doctor I’ve ever had.
I nod in agreement. I am not staying overnight in the hospital. Plus, he is a doctor. Should I really be freaking out about letting someone who saves lives into my house? Probably not. It’s unlikely that he’s going to kill me. I’m probably just being a paranoid freak again. Plus, it might be nice to have someone check up on me after what Landon said about people coming after me.
“Okay, cool. My shift ends in half an hour. I’ll drive you home then,” he promises and hands me my crutches. He helps me off of my bed, then he scribbles something down on a small notepad and shoves it into his white jacket pocket. I’ve never used crutches before, and it proves to be quite the challenge. I’m normally not a very graceful person, so I’m sure that on crutches I look like a clumsy idiot.
I follow him down the hall in silence. He stops at a room and motions for me to wait outside. He’s back in a few moments, then he moves on to the next room. When he emerges from that one, he smiles at me softly, probably trying not to laugh at how silly I look.
“So you work in the ER, then you come up here and check on these patients?” I ask him confused.
“I was just covering in the ER this morning. The doctor scheduled in the ER had other things to attend to for a couple hours. It was actually supposed to be my day off today. Then you came in, and I decided to stay at work. We’re short on doctors anyhow right now, so the hospital can use all the help it can get.”
“You stayed at work on your day off, because I broke my stupid leg?” I ask dumbfounded.
He shrugs and changes the subject. “What are we ordering for supper tonight, or would you like me to cook something?”
When I don’t answer, he rubs my back between my shoulder blades and steps in front of me, so I have to stop. “Megan, are you alright? You seem very...frightened? I know it’s more than paranoia. What is it that has you shaking in your boots?”
His words catch me off guard. Is it that obvious? “Are you asking me as my doctor or my friend?” I ask him without even meaning to.
“Either one. Whichever you prefer,” he decides quickly.
I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone about what happened the other day. I promised. I’m not one to break my promises.
“You can tell me anything,” he tries again when he realizes I’m not about to say anything.
Do I know this guy well enough to tell him what happened to me the other day? No.
“When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here to listen,” he says sternly, then he leads me through some double doors. He discharges me at one of the nursing desks, then I follow him out of the hospital to his car. A sense of déjà vu hits me when I realize that he has a car sort of like my kidnappers did. It’s a different colour and even brand than theirs, but it still makes me a little woozy. It’s blue and fancy. I hesitate before getting in. Am I going to let history repeat itself by getting into this car?
Okay, he’s a damn doctor there’s no way he’s a murderer, Megan, chill the hell out. I get in, shaking.
Crispen pulls the car from the parking lot and begins heading in the opposite direction of our houses. I clench my teeth, and my breathing quickens. Not again. No. You have to be joking me. This isn’t happening. Jesus, Moses, banana, shit on a cracker. I begin to panic.
“Megan? Are you alright?” he asks, sounding worried. I can’t look at him. I hold back the tears in my eyes.
“Where are you taking me, Crispen?” I ask in a choked voice. He must sense the worry in it, because he looks at me strangely and then pulls over.
He digs into his pocket and pulls out the notepad he was writing on earlier. “I wrote you a prescription for some painkillers. I was going to take you to the pharmacy to have it filled.”
Pure relief flushes over me, and my heart calms its rapid racing. Tears of overwhelm escape my eyes without my permission. My view of him is blurred, but I can imagine he’s looking at me as if I’m psychotic. I am psychotic.
“Megan, you’re going to be alright,” he soothes me gently. I’m so utterly embarrassed that I nearly can’t take it. I finally have a chance to make a friend, and I blow it. I wipe my tears away with my sleeve.
“I hope so,” I say quietly, not meaning for him to hear.
“You will. Do you suffer from anxiety? Have you ever seen anyone professionally about this?” he wonders, and to my surprise, in his voice is worry and concern, not rejection or whatever I was expecting.
“No, I don’t have anxiety issues,” I promise him. “Something happened a couple days ago that’s causing me worry and paranoia, and I guess anxiety. I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry. I know you probably think I’m nuts.”
“Megan, I’m a doctor. I see all sorts of things, all sorts of people. I know you’re not nuts.” He turns the music coming from the stereo down so it’s silent. “In school, I took a lot of psychology. At first, I wanted to become a psychiatrist, not a medical doctor. Your actions are showing signs of trauma that I’m having trouble understanding. I’m not talking about you getting run over. I’m talking about something that has strongly affected you mentally. Something that is haunting you.”
So I really am that easy to read. I’m an open book. Lovely.
“You’re not totally wrong,” I admit, not expanding.
“From the way that you have trouble trusting people, I would say you’ve suffered from some sort of betrayal. At first I thought it might be your father leaving you when you were young, then I thought maybe it was your mother’s alcoholism, and then something occurred to me. It’s not that you are afraid to make friends or speak to others. It’s that you worry about letting them alone near you. For instance, getting into a car with someone you barely know. Most people also have this anxiety and rationally so, but not to this extent, this goes beyond simple anxiety. Megan, just now, when I started going in a different direction than our houses, you nearly had a mental breakdown which leads me to think that this has happened to you before with bad results. Have you been in a car with a stranger before? One that maybe took you somewhere that you didn’t want to go?”
I blink away my tears. He got all that from only spending mere minutes with me?
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Have you been hurt by a stranger? Maybe even kidnapped?” he asks me softly, like I’m cracked glass about to fall apart at any moment.
It takes me a moment to respond because I don’t know how to answer. I mean the obvious answer is to say yes, but I made a promise not to tell a soul about what happened.
Apparently my silence counts as a yes anyways, because he sighs and grunts, “Who and when?”
I remain silent.
“Megan, tell me what happened. If you don’t want me to tell anyone, that’s fine. I won’t, but you can’t just keep something this big to yourself. That’s ridiculous, and it’s unhealthy.”
“Are you demanding I tell you as my doctor or my friend?” I ask him. It does make a difference, because the event that I suffered through the other day has affected my mentality, and he, being a doctor, might have to report this if I tell him everything. If he’s asking as a friend though, the secret is safe. The promise has already been broken if Crispen already knows the majority of what happened, even if he doesn’t know every detail. Since it’s already been broken, I may as well just let the rest out.
“A friend,” he answers to my relief.
I swallow hard and gather my thoughts before explaining everything. “I was volunteering with my company to pick garbage and I got into a car with the man I was partnered with. Instead of him taking me to the street we were assigned to, he took me to his home, and he and his brother asked me all these weird questions that I didn’t really understand. I think they were going to kill me, but one of the brothers wanted to let me go if I kept my mouth shut. He wanted me to leave the city and stay with someone else. He said that if I didn’t, people would come after me and kill me. I quit my job because I told one of them where I worked and I didn’t want them showing up at my workplace.”
“You think he might have been telling you the truth? Like there might actually be people after you, wanting to kill you?” Crispen investigates, brows furrowed.
I nod. “It was a promise. He promised that there would be people after me. I know it sounds dumb, because they have no way of knowing where I live, but I’m still freaked out.”
Crispen contemplates this new information for a minute. “You quit your job, how else would they find you? Did you give them any other information?”
“The one guy might have saw my license plate, but my car is parked in the garage now,” I explain.
“Well, I don’t think you have much to worry about. It sounds like he was just trying to scare you.”
“They took me, because I was wearing a ring. It’s green, and my dad left it when he left us years ago. My mom told me that it was a fraternity ring or whatever. These guys seemed to know something more about the ring, and I’m pretty sure they have nothing to do with a fraternity. They knew that there would be a name on the inside. I don’t know how. I always thought the name was the maker of the ring or something. I searched the name on the internet and a guy with the same name was murdered brutally in Calgary, near where I lived with my mother and father before he left, and at around the same time I was born.”
Crispen swallows hard and his eyebrows merge together. I can’t tell if it’s in worry or confusion.
“Do you still have the ring?” he inquires, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw.
“No, I left it with him. It didn’t mean enough for me to keep. I thought he may as well take it and do what he pleases with it and just leave me alone. Even if he sells it, I don’t care. Do you think that maybe they’re part of a gang or something?”
“No—well, I don’t know. I have no idea. Maybe,” he stammers strangely. I brush away the last of my tears and look up to him.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you the strangest part. I tried to get away when the one brother was going to take me back to my car, and I ran to the neighbor’s house. Guess who opened the door? First brother. Second brother, Landon, said that all the houses in the neighborhood were interconnected with tunnels. They own the whole neighborhood. It’s all theirs!” Okay, if he didn’t think I was crazy before, he does now. I’m talking about interconnecting tunnels between houses. I’m aware that I sound insane.
“Do you remember where this neighborhood was?” He cocks an eyebrow and starts the car. “I have tinted windows, they won’t recognize my car, why don’t we just drive through it?”
Is he insane? I shake my head rapidly. “I think I remember where it is, but I’m not going over there again. What would be the point anyway?”
“I want to get a look at the assholes so I can kick their asses,” Crispen says with a straight face. He’s entirely serious.
“You’re a doctor. You went to school for how many years? Maybe try to not get a criminal record. I can’t imagine that would be good for your career. Plus, there’s two of them and only one of you.”
He rolls his eyes and smiles. “Okay, yeah, you’re right, but it makes me beyond angry to hear that someone has done this to you.”
“So do you think I should go to the cops?”
He shakes his head to my surprise. “I think it’s better to be safe than sorry. If they said not to, then don’t. I mean, what are the cops going to do? All you have is your word, and it sounds like they have a lot of money to pay off a lawyer.”
I’m glad we’re on the same page. I feel better already having someone else’s opinion.
“Shall we go pick up your prescription?” Crispen asks, changing the subject and starting the car. “I will stay with you as much as you want if that’s what you want. I can call into work or whatever you need. You shouldn’t be alone. What happened to you is enough to knock someone off their feet for a while.”
“I’ll be fine,” I attempt to reassure him to no avail. He sees right through my lie and tilts his head at me.
“Thank you for confiding in me, but now we’re both in this together, and I’m not about to let anything happen to you. Let me stay with you for a while,” he nearly begs. “If you don’t, I will sit on your lawn and patrol your yard all day and all night to reassure you that you’re safe.”
Unexpectedly, I laugh a short laugh.
Telling him everything has made me feel far better than I assumed it would. It’s like a breath of fresh air, and I find myself trusting him much more.
“We’ll see,” I answer vaguely. It’s not a no, but it’s also not a yes. This seems to satisfy him though, as he grins and nods.
We pull into the pharmacy and I grab my medication before we turn and begin heading back to my place.
“You should take one of those now,” he instructs in his doctor voice and points to the smaller bottle of pain medication. “I guess you can take one of those too.” He gestures to bottle of anti-inflammatory.
“I can’t without water. I will when we get home,” I promise. I’m one of those people who needs water to swallow pills.
“You know what?” he asks me suddenly, interrupting my favorite song on the radio.
I look at him and shake my head. “What?”
“You’re accident prone,” he teases.
“No, I think I’m just having a streak of bad luck,” I say hopefully. “If this bad luck lasts any longer though, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve been kidnapped and hit by a car all in a matter of three days.”
He laughs lightly. “Yeah, that’s pretty shitty.” His blue eyes glisten in the setting sun, and I can’t help but be in awe. For the rest of the ride home, I stare out the window at the passing streets.
When we get back to my place, Crispen decides to cook me dinner while I lie down and rest. I’m fine with this, because my medication begins to kick in soon after I take it, and I can’t help but start to doze off.
He makes me lasagna which is simple enough and also one of my favorites. I haven’t eaten today, so I’m borderline starving and scarf down nearly a quarter of the pan.
Later that night, he runs over to his house to fetch his doctor bag so he can give me a small checkup. I’m so grateful that I ended up not having to stay overnight in the hospital. I hate hospitals. I used to have to stay in them all the time when my mom overdosed after mixing pills with alcohol. At least she kicked the drug habit a few years ago.
“Your head is fine. That bump is pretty big though. I can imagine it hurts.” He has that right. It feels like it has its own pulse.
I hear a can open and glance to the side. He’s opening a can of beer, which he must have brought from his house when he went to get the doctor bag.
“You can sleep you know...” I say confused.
“I know, but I’m not going to. I’m going to wake you up every couple of hours to check your head and watch to make sure no crazy murderers come barging into the house,” he explains, as if this is completely normal.
“Uh, and you’re going to do both of those things while intoxicated? That doesn’t sound smart,” I point out.
“There’s no alcohol in this beer. I just like the taste. I buy it for nights I’m on call at the hospital. I like to have a beer with my supper.”
“It’s like that stuff pregnant ladies can drink?” I ask. I don’t get what the point of non-alcoholic beer is.
He looks at me as if I’m making a joke and laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“What’s the point? If you’re going to drink, don’t you want to feel the effects?” I roll over onto my side so I can face him better.
“Some people, believe it or not, drink because they like the taste and not just to get drunk. I take it you’re not one of those people.” His expression is amused.
“I drink when I’ve had a bad day,” I admit sheepishly. “My mom’s an alcoholic, so I guess some of that must’ve rubbed off on me.”
“As long as you don’t let it run your life or ruin your health, I see nothing wrong with a few beers on the odd ‘bad day’,” he agrees lightly. “As for me, I like one with my supper. I’d think that being around your mom’s alcoholism would turn you away from alcohol, though. Aren’t you scared to end up like her?”
“A beer a day probably doesn’t keep the doctor away,” I tease him with a small giggle. “And no, because I would never let myself become like her. She’s in jail right now. She was drunk driving and killed some kids.”
He winces at my words.
“Yeah, anyways, isn’t drinking a beer a day pretty unhealthy?”
“Well, the way I see it, we only have so long to live anyway, right? Why not enjoy the time we have, instead of wasting it doing things we don’t really like? Like eating cabbage and broccoli.”
“How can you say that? You’re a doctor.”
He bites his cheek for a moment in thought. “Well, I’d rather live a short, happy life than a long, unhappy one, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so,” I decide after a moment of contemplation.
“Exactly.”
