And as the panic attack subsides the misery and pain never do.
Blinking through bleary eyes I see the man in scrubs kneeling before me. He wears an empathetic smile with kind brown eyes. “What’s your name, man?”
“Oak.” I respond, my voice hoarse
He nods his head. “And you know where you are?”
“Hollows Point Memorial Hospital.”
“And do you know why you’re here?”
Pain flares inside my chest. My palm lays flat over my heart as if it can ease ease the ache. “My woman. My woman was hurt and I. . .” Fuck, I can’t get out the words.
“It’s alright, Oak. I just have to make sure you are coherent. Is there anyone you need me to call for you? Anyone you need me to call for your woman? What’s her name?”
There’s too many phone calls I have to make.
“Her name is Gracie Mae.” And as her name leaves my lips the pain in my heart intensifies.
“Your woman is Gracie Mae?” He asks incredulously, as if he can’t believe it.
And although I may be drowning in my own pain and misery, if this fucker has a problem with my woman I’ll have no problem of adding him to the list of men I have killed. Eyes dark, voice to match, I ask, “Is that a fucking problem?”
His eyes go wide as he puts up his hands in surrender. “No! It’s just, I know her. Well, I know of her. You know?” He begins to stumble over his words. “Hollows Point, it’s a small town, we all know of each other, but Grace and I were in the same grade. Had classes with one another. Always remembered her being kind, even when the world gave her every reason not to be.”
“She’s still that way.”
“Still a fighter I bet, too. This won’t be any different,” he promises me. I nod my head because my tongue feels like lead. And all I really want to do is scream. It’s either scream or cry. To tear myself apart or to break everything and anyone apart. “You should clean yourself up. We have spare scrubs.” He then scrunches his face as he looks up at me. “Not sure if any will fit.”
I feel numb, hollow, but I will myself to respond. “I’ll take whatever you have.”
He nods his head and offers me an encouraging smile that’s lost on me. “Give me five and I’ll be back with clean clothes for you. I’ll meet you in the bathroom down the hall.”
I take another breath that burns as he walks away. My fucking fingers start twitching again but I can’t make them stop. Because it’s Grace. Grace is the one who silences the noise in my head. Grace is the one who brings me peace.
And I don’t know how to fight without her.
But I have to try.
So, I force myself to move, because I have to. Because I know, even with this sorrow, even with this pain, Grace will still want me to keep fighting.
And I’m going to keep fucking fighting.
I don’t bother to look at myself long in the mirror. I don’t even try to think. If I do I’ll end up smashing my fist through the glass and that won’t do me any good. With the water on warm, small amount of hand soap, and the cheap paper towels, I try to rid the blood the best that I can.
I watch swirls of crimson pool down the sink until the water starts to run more on the pinkish clear side. Catching a glance at myself in the mirror I’ve done a decent job of getting rid of the blood on my skin. The only blood that remains is on my clothes and my cut. Sighing, I drop my head and wearily I run my hands through my hair.
There’s a knock at the door before the male nurse who helped me with my panic attack comes in. He’s holding out a pair of blue scrubs. “We only have 2extra-large.” He shrugs apologetically. I wear a 3extra-large so the top will be a snug fit but it will have to do.
I nod my head in thanks.
Respectfully, I take off my cut and hang it on the hook on the back of the bathroom stall. Setting the water again I begin the process of cleaning my cut.
“You belong to a motorcycle club?” The nurse questions. He doesn’t sound judgmental, just curious.
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
