When Opposites Collide Boxset

by Kathy Coopmans

  “Mind if I join you?” I ask.

  Caitlin, lost in her own thoughts, takes a few seconds to peer up at me. “Not much company here, but knock yourself out.”

  She studies her bagel and begins teasing me about being the favorite among the nurses at the hospital. I have a damn good poker face, because if she knew what I was just doing to Marissa in the shower, she’d be all over my ass. The thing about being a manwhore is not to brag or boast about it, because then you’re just an ignorant douchebag. At least, I’m not a complete liar when I admit to her I’m exhausted and so is my dick, because in all reality, he is exhausted now.

  “A lot on your mind?” I ask her.

  “Yeah,” she replies.

  “You don’t know me well, but I can tell that you’re good people.” I rest my elbows on the table hopeful she doesn’t take my comment wrong. “I've heard bits and pieces of the shit that’s going down. It’s fucked up.”

  “Seems fucked up is my middle name these days.”

  “We all have our demons that keep us up at night.”

  Then smartass Caitlin retorts, leaving me speechless. We banter back and forth with no bullshit lining the conversation. It’s easy and relaxing while I inhale my food, which is a major mistake, because it settles in the bottom of my gut like a two-ton brick.

  “Dr. Hartley to the ER. Code Blue. Dr. Hartley to the ER. Code Blue,” starts blaring across the intercom, stopping my heart.

  I stand up quickly and excuse myself as I rush from the table. This time, I take the stairs two at a time up to the ER floor. When the door to the staircase flies open, it’s all out fucking chaos.

  “Hartley, we were transporting Jane Doe for an MRI, and she began seizing. Heart rate and blood pressure out of control again.”

  “She’s puking. Need to get her mouth open,” a nurse yells.

  “No,” the plastic surgeon hollers back. “Her jaw will not heal. It has to stay shut until I get her into surgery.”

  In three long and powerful strides, my mind's made up. This woman has endured so much already; she’s losing the fight over fucking surgeons arguing over their own fields of study. I grab cutters from a nurse’s scrub and begin to snip the sutures and tape keeping her moth closed, being careful not to get her skin. The plastic surgeon is by my side going off, but I don’t listen, only instructing a nurse to help me keep her still during her seizure.

  Clear liquid vomit immediately begins pouring out of her mouth, her heart rate sky high, and her body rocking with its final stand to live.

  “Heart rate needs to come down now.”

  Dr. Callahan, the other doctor on call, begins giving orders for those meds in the IV to get her heart under control. We work swiftly trying to get the woman stabilized once again right in the middle of the hall. There’s no time to get her into a room. Our opinions all might differ slightly, but our end goal is the same. We work attentively until she’s stable enough to roll into a room.

  “We need a plan. It’s clear she had way more drugs in her system than we thought,” I say, folding my arms.

  “She needs to remain in an induced coma until after all her surgeries,” Dr. Callahan suggests.

  It doesn’t take us long to agree that’s what must happen. Her jaw is taped back shut as she slips slowly into an induced coma. I’m the last one left in the room monitoring her. I fall back into a chair near her bed, dropping my head deep in thought. If she dies in the next twenty-four hours, no one will be by her side in support. No voice whispering her name and letting her go. She’s truly abandoned like a long-lost thought on the side of a deserted road.

  Makes me wonder what choices, life decisions have carved this path for her. Her hand trembles slightly on the bed. In a knee-jerk reaction, I reach up and grab it as gently as I cannot to interrupt the bandages holding her two broken fingers together. I place her palm in mine. She’s just a lonely bird on a lost flight with no help.

  “Keep fighting, Bluebird,” I whisper, “I’m not going to let you hide from me anymore. I know it’s you. The woman from the alley. Isn’t it?” I speak, knowing full well I’m asking the question for myself.

  I wonder if her family is looking for her. My gut turns sick thinking of all the times I turned a blind eye when I spotted her in the dirty, grimy alleyway. Her sapphire-blue eyes were inconspicuously pleading for help until it was nearly too late.

  “Bluebird,” I whisper again, liking the feel of that nickname on my tongue. “Fight hard, and you’ll fly into a new direction in life.”

  The door to her room flies open. I place her hand gently on the bed and turn to see Marissa in the doorway. “Ready for rounds?”

  “Yeah.” I rise to my feet, slowly getting one more long look at Bluebird before turning my back. “Marissa, make sure transport gets her up to ICU immediately, and could you find my cell phone? I need to call my brother.”

  31

  Amelia

  After the horrible nightmare that was my life, waking up the next morning after the storm of the two of them invading my room and torturing my body, all I’d wish for was the sun. The darkness always frightened me. It still does. Both of those reasons are a trigger for my need for drugs. The shadows disappear, the darkness fades, and the demons of my past escape my thoughts. Everything blurs and blends together. I struggle to wake up or make sense of it, but my eyes are sealed shut.

  I’m trapped in the dark now. Running endlessly with nowhere to go. My legs are racing, but my eyes won’t open. What in the hell is going on?

  The judge, jury, and executioner are chasing me through a foggy maze. I have nowhere left to hide. Every corner of my mind is a dead end bathed in pitch black hollows. I’m going to die if they find me. Killed by the wickedness of two horrendous men.

  “Help,” I try to scream, but there’s no sound.

  In desperation, I strain my body forward, only it fights right back. I can’t move.

  “What the hell?” I struggle again, swearing out of confusion. I can feel my stepdad’s hand creeping up between my legs. He’s so close. Oh, God.

  The sound never leaves my lips, but I continue fighting to scream for help even though I know it will never come. The sharp, pointed words are stuck in my throat. Scratching down my spine, bottoming out at the tips of my toes.

  “Mom,” I cry.

  I have no idea what is happening. Am I dead? Alive? I’m numb everywhere except my mind. It’s racing. Ringing in my ears, fighting to shout out all my fears at once.

  “Her eyelids are fluttering. Find Dr. Hartley. He wanted notified immediately when she woke up,” I hear someone say.

  “Who is Dr. Hartley?”

  My ears work. The sudden and steady beat of monitors fills the background. Footsteps are slamming around.

  My throat tightens more. My skull rattles and my tongue feels an acidic burn when I try to swallow. Everything rushes back in a flurry. My home in the alley, drugs, the man with the watch, food, Ricky.

  Oh, my God.

  He found me. Punched my face, his men crushed my fingers, and then the knife. I fight to move my arm, reminding me of all the pain. He sliced my fresh. Stuffed my nipple down my throat, and I was choking, gagging, fighting for my next gulp of air...

  I’m in a hospital. No, no, no. I can’t be here. They will find me and take me back to their house. Change will take place. The men will be entering my bedroom nightly with my mother not doing her job.

  “Shhh. Stop moving, Amelia,” a sweet, tender voice whispers in my ear.

  A solace of comfort. It’s odd and foreign but soothing all the same.

  “Sweetie, two weeks isn’t nearly enough time for what you’ve been through. You need to stay still. You have several broken ribs. A wired jaw, broken fingers, and stitches everywhere.” Her delicate hand pats my shoulder. I think my lips are moving.

  “You won’t be able to talk. Your jaw is wired, but just know that I hear every word you cannot say. You are safe.”

  “What? I’ve been here two
weeks?” I struggle to force each syllable out, but it’s then when I realize it’s just a slur of garbled up gargles.

  “You have to get me out of here.” This time, I hear myself, but the worried, odd look on the nurse’s face is telling me everything I hear is in my head.

  I try to speak, and the pain that ricochets from my mouth to my head lurches at my stomach; it tears through my mouth and sets my skin on fire.

  Oh, my God. It’s floating from side to side in my head. It’s killing me. My skin feels as if it’s being sliced wide open. Stinging over and over. Fire. Hell. Repeat. “I need drugs. Give them to me, please?”

  “She’s having a seizure. Get the doctor in here now.”

  Darkness is an intricate puzzle. It can coat your heart, fill your mind, and leave you uncomfortably aware of your surroundings. I don’t like it at all.

  I’m lying in it. The smell of the deep dark ink is pungent; I whisper silently for the strength to open my eyes.

  It stings when I try to blink. It hurts when I try to breathe. My eyelashes flutter across my skin as I slowly try to open my eyes. The dim light is blinding.

  I close them again, repeating the same cycle until tears form in the corners. My recollection is vague, to say the least, but I know I’m in a hospital. I know my body is shattered and without a shadow of a doubt, I’m about to lose my mind forever. Gone in the wind. Lost forever.

  “She’s not your patient anymore, Hartley,” I hear a man speak in a hushed voice.

  “I know she’s not. Doesn’t mean I’m going to leave her. She needs help.”

  Who the hell is this Hartley?

  I reach into the confines of my memory to recollect his name. Is he a friend of my stepdad’s wanting to indulge? Am I the sacrificial lamb? I tremble and fight even harder to get up.

  “You should go home. Get some sleep. I’ll call you if she wakes up.”

  “I’m good.” His voice is harsh, leaving no room for confusion. “I’m not stepping away. Work around me.”

  Then his face crosses my vision. The man with the expensive watch. The handsome, domineering man who enters the restaurant with a different woman on his arm. He looks different, though, but it’s without a doubt him. My lips try to move, but again no sound comes out. His defined, rugged, handsome shadow leans over me.

  A warm hand engulfs mine. He smiles. Oh, no. I must have said that out loud.

  “Water.”

  It’s the first word to make sense between my teeth clenched tight. My mouth is burning like liquid lava against my tongue, scorching each taste bud until it feels like ashes.

  “Damn it. Step back, Hartley.” A new voice joins the mix.

  One that I don’t like, forcing my body into complete panic mode.

  “No.” His voice soothes the panic deep in my depths.

  “Amelia, your mouth is wired. I’m going to slip this straw through your lips. I want you to slowly try and sip through it, okay?” His voice is as smooth as silk. “Tiny baby steps,” he whispers.

  The timbre voice sweeps across my aching flesh; it soothes me in a way I can’t explain.

  Show me your face, please, again. It reminds me of a hit of meth fueling my veins.

  The straw hits my dry, cracked lips. The plastic scratchy. I take a deep breath. Pull on the straw and suck until the cool liquid hits the dry gravelly sand lodged in the back of my mouth.

  “Good girl.”

  The cold liquid falls like a two-ton brick to the bottom of my gut. His words mingle in, causing me to panic. No. Don’t call me that. The trigger is sharp and painful right to the last piece of my beating heart. I can feel his touch and invasion on my skin when he uses the same exact words those sick bastards who raped me did.

  “Hartley, if you don’t move out of the way, I’m going to have you escorted out of here.”

  Fight or flight kicks in. My voice may not work, but my hands fly up latching onto the man with the lavish watch. He can’t leave me. I feel safe with him. His face was always there when I needed it to be offering a shred of solace. He can’t leave me.

  “No talking. I’ll move to the other side, okay? This is Doctor Lister. He’s on duty tonight. Let him look you over. Listen to him. Do not talk. Your jaw is wired shut. Don’t say a word.”

  It’s a gentle yet firm grip to my shoulder that has me understanding his message. But I need to talk.

  “Lights,” I say.

  Doctor or not, I will not take orders from him or anyone again. That’s the one thing I vowed I would never do again in my life. No man will hold any type of power over me. Not unless I want him to.

  “Stubborn,” he mumbles.

  His body shifts out of my line of vision. When my eyes finally begin to focus in on the entire situation, the full capacity of my condition comes crashing down around me.

  Machines, monitors consume this room. I swallow in wonder. I have questions. So many of them they hurt my head.

  “Amelia, I’m not sure how much you remember. I need you to blink once if you're in pain anywhere, twice if you understand what I’m saying?” He’s old. This Doctor Lister. Gentle eyes. Calming voice.

  My entire body hurts. Every damn thing. My limbs feel foreign. My side is burning whenever I take a shallow breath. I swear to the God above someone is taken every single one of my cells and wrapped them in an age-old rubber band, twisting it tightly. My lungs cease to capture my air, but I tamp it down and dig in a heel.

  I turn to the doctor and blink twice. I hate this. All of it. I’m used to being on my own, and here I am, helpless, void of control, surrounded by people. If I could feel my skin, it would be crawling off my skeletal bones.

  “Good.” He smiles, teeth pearly white. Oh, no. I blink back tears when I remember Ricky knocking some of my teeth out.

  I must be a mess of a woman to these men with my dirty hair and a body unfixable beyond repair. I shouldn’t let embarrassment rule me right now, but it does. It pricks my eyes. It’s been a long time since my thoughts have been clear enough to see my life for what it really is, and now all I really wish is that I had died.

  “Blink once for yes, two for no. Is your name Amelia Elaine Moore?”

  I blink once.

  “Twenty-one years old, date of birth, April 12th, 1996?”

  I blink again. Suddenly, this is all too much. These people knowing my name, my age. I’m scared, so frightened that I allow those prickly tears to seep from my eyes. There has to be a way for me to tell them that no matter what, they cannot bring my family here. I would rather get back out on the streets and die at the hands of Ricky and his people than to allow them to touch me again.

  “My family. I don’t want to see them,” I choke through the frustrating challenge, trying to get those words out of my mouth.

  “We haven’t tried to find them. I promise. We ran your fingerprints to find out who you are. We’ve done nothing to violate your rights. That’s as far as we went. You're safe here. I can promise you that. But I’m warning you right now. If you speak again, you will not heal.” There’s that deep voice again.

  The one that steals my breath and runs away with it.

  “She’s not my patient, but I’ve made her my responsibility. I’m asking for privacy, please. Amelia has confirmed who she is. I can take the rest from here.”

  Doctor Lister laughs low. His voice is going quieter. There’s mumbling as hushed words are exchanged. The longer the two of them discuss me as if I’m not here, the angrier I get over the indistinct pressure building inside of my head. Something is not right about this man who wants to be alone with me. He has an agenda, and everyone with an agenda is dangerous. They violate and use a person until there’s nothing left.

  Except, here I lie, unable to move, with a wandering mind wondering if it, too, is betraying me right now. I feel safe with this man for some unknown reason, and I have yet had time to study his face like I’ve dreamed to.

  “Amelia.” He says my name as if it pains him.

  I close
my eyes. I’m scared of the questions rolling around my head like a bowling ball, cracking those pins and striking out. What if this man isn’t who he said he was? What if I’m not really safe?

  “You?” I say.

  Everything falls into place at once. His strong masculine jawline a reminder of exactly who he is. I would recognize him anywhere. He’s been in my drug-filled dreams for months. It’s that one-of-a-kind face that I’ve lived to see even perched in a dirty alleyway.

  It’s him, only his dark locks that my dirty, grimy fingers wished to explore are gone. I desperately wanted to see if they felt as soft as they looked. This look, though, shows all of his features. From the deep set of his eyes to the concerned lines on his forehead, and it makes him look older, more distinguished. Ruggedly handsome. His eyes shine as bright as crystal. His mouth turns up with a smile. He’s beautiful.

  “You're the man from the restaurant. The one with the watch.” His dark brows draw up. He looks down at his watch and back up again.

  “I am. Please, for the last time, I need you not to talk, because your jaw is wired shut and the more you try, the longer it will take to heal. I want you to listen. I’m here to help you.” He lays a hand on my shoulder.

  My head turns slowly to see his large palm covering me. His watch is right there, that lustrous bastard. I have just enough energy to reach up and smooth my thumb over the cold metal. It feels good. It could get me so much. It would numb away all the pain. God, I need that watch.

  That is until he jerks his hand away from my touch. Just like them, he’s proving his authority.

  My tears turn to anger. Heat simmers, smoke arises, and the blood in my veins boils.

  “Amelia, I’m going to explain some important information right now. It’s clear you don’t want your family contacted, and I’m here to support your privacy. With that being said, there’s some extensive surgery you need and a private donor willing to cover all the costs.”