People stared. Pretended not to. Same as prison. Same as anywhere you’re boxed in with strangers, and no one wants trouble. Cautious eyes. Wanting to see me without me seeing them. A kid cried somewhere behind a curtain. Someone retched into a cardboard bowl. The lights buzzed overhead, too bright, washing everything out until faces looked grey and hollowed. Time stretched, thick and slow.
I kept my eyes forward. Didn’t sit. Didn’t lean too hard. If I started to slide, I wasn’t sure I’d stop.
“Reap?” a light voice called. “Reap?” Louder now. Closer.
My eyes shot open. I’d been asleep. I didn’t know how long for, but I straightened quickly. Too quickly. The wound opened again. I could almost hear the partially clotted blood break apartand a fresh wave of heat spread across my side. I took a breath. Slow and steady. I’d learnt not to show pain years ago.
“You Reap?” The nurse in light blue scrubs emerged from the corridor now completely filled with trolleys.
“Aye.”
“Follow me, please.”
I nodded and followed two paces behind as she led me down the corridor into the belly of the accident and emergency department. We passed a row of cubicles, the only privacy a mint green polyester curtain. The low murmur of voices behind them not quite discernible. Each step stung, my skin stretching and pulling the wound further apart, and we seemed to be walking for fucking miles. Some sort of sadist health care joke. That or they were keeping me as separate from the general public as possible. Neither were unusual.
Another row of cubicles later and the nurse directed me into the one on the end, pulling the curtain shut behind us.
The fabric rasped along its rail, thin and useless. Someone groaned nearby; somewhere else someone coughed, hacking like it had really taken hold of their lungs. A monitor beeped out of time, as if it couldn’t be bothered keeping the rhythm straight.
Next door, voices rose. Male. Too loud. Too sure of themselves.
“How, I’m tellin’ you, mate, I didn’t start it,” one of them slurred. “He threw the first punch. Ask anyone.”
A woman’s voice cut in, tired, clipped, already done with the night. “I don’t care who started it. Sit down before you fall over.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m a kid,” another bloke snapped. “We’ve been waitin’ three fucking hours. Three. You lot useless or what?”
The curtain twitched as someone shifted their weight hard against the bed next door. Metal clinked. A tray rattled.
“If you keep swearing, I will have security remove you,” the woman said, calm but thin, stretched to breaking. “Now let me see your hand.”
A sharp laugh followed. “You hear that, Kev? Big threat. Gonna call the bizzies on us.”
Something thumped. A fist on a trolley, maybe? And a nurse hissed, “Jesus Christ…”
Then a new voice, male, older. Doctor, by the sound of him. “Enough. You’re here because you broke your knuckle punching a wall. Either you let us treat you, or you leave.”
“Like hell I am,” the first bloke spat. “You touch me and I’ll…”
The rest was swallowed by the scrape of footsteps and the heavy presence of someone stepping in close. The volume dropped, but the tension didn’t. It pressed through the curtain, thick and sour, settling in my chest.
I sat on the edge of the bed, jaw locked, listening to them mouth off, all noise and bravado. Men who needed to be seen. To be heard.
I stayed quiet. Quiet had kept me alive longer than most. The nurse in the room with me glanced around nervously before her eyes settled on me again and her jaw growing tighter.
“Tough shift?” my voice rumbled ominously in the space, making her jump.
“Yeah. Football match. And a junior doctor strike. Couldn’t make it up. Can I see?” She beckoned to my side.
I nodded, shrugging out of my cut and peeling the leather motorcycle jacket off from under that. The movement made my skin scream silently.
“Oh,” the nurse breathed, and I glanced down at the blood-soaked t-shirt underneath.
I shouldn’t have worn white. That blood was never coming out, no matter what miracles Mamma Dot could perform. The t-shirt was now only destined for the bin. The gauze underneath was saturated, and already half hanging off where the blood had rendered the sticking plaster I’d attached it with almost useless.
Careful fingers teased it off, a rush of cold air hitting the site. She poked at the sides carefully and then leaned back, pulling off her gloves.
“When did this happen?”
