Love is a Finite Experience

by B Anders

  "No," Harper mumbled when two large, strong hands lifted her up.

  "No time, Pepi. She's cut up bad. Start the truck. We have to drive her ourselves."

  Another voice shouted, "Use your belt like a tourniquet. I'll drive up to you. We'll toss her in the back."

  Harper heard the words, she felt the leather around her thigh, but she was too far gone to fight anymore. Exhaustion took hold, and Harper's world faded to black.

  ***

  “Why did you leave me all alone with all these terrible people around me?” Her question went unanswered by the man laid out in the bright blue box.

  She was out of the wind. That was all she was sure of, everything else was a blur of lights, sound and movement. People were shouting at her, but their words were slurred.

  Harper was shivering. She was freezing from the inside out. Her skin was in contact with warm, dry terrycloth, but what flowed in her constricted veins was ice. She was acutely aware of every poke and prod as a flurry of unseen hands worked her over. Each needle was a scalpel slicing into her flesh. Each stroke a solid whack to her freezing skin. She moaned her objections and listlessly tried to swat her tormentors away like so many flies, but they were so focused on her resurrection, they didn't notice she was struggling to die. In the end, Harper gave up the fight and let them save her.

  ***

  “Come on, Tommy, it's me. Open your eyes. The doctors said you're gonna be a vegetable this time for sure. If you don't open your eyes soon, then they'll be right. Don't let them be right. Come on, don't make me get tape or something to hold your eyes open. Don't leave me again.”

  "Honey, talk to me. Tell me your name."

  Harper recognized the sound as the deep masculine voice that had been taunting her since they wrapped her in a dry, warm blanket. Her floating mind fought to form a coherent thought. When she locked on one, she blurted it out.

  "Fuck off."

  "Nope, wrong answer. That's not your name according to your driver’s license. You want to try one more time to get it right? Come on, before my shift ends. What's your name?"

  "Suck my dick!" Harper muttered once more and tried to roll over.

  "Oh no you don't." The voice went from amused to firm in a heartbeat. "You want to stay on your back. We got a lot of wires depending on you staying still. Besides you got no dick." He chuckled, "And, I know that for certain. I've been cleaning poop off your ass for a couple hours now."

  "Screw you." Harper snarled as her eyes snapped open. "I always sleep on my fuckin’ stomach."

  "That's my girl, you're doing great. Just stay with me." The man was beaming with pride.

  A female voice chuckled, "That's our Stan, always waking the dead."

  Harper blinked several times to focus her eyes. She was on a gurney between a woman and the man in blue scrubs. The man was older than his voice suggested and his smile was not as smug as Harper imagined. Directly across from him the woman was busy drawing vials of blood from her right arm.

  "Stop that," Harper said to the woman.

  "Leave her alone. She’s got work to do. You just keep looking over here at me and forget about her." The man directed.

  "No, I want her to stop. I want all of you to just leave me alone.” Harper demanded as she tried desperately to pull her arm free only to realize she was secured to the bed. "I'm tied up? What the fuck? Let me go!"

  "Honey, we restrained you for your own safety." The man was saying.

  "Safety? Fuck you! Untie me! You got no right to do this! Untie me NOW!"

  "Calm down!"

  The harsh tone of the man’s voice startled Harper into silence. She hadn't expected his mood to change so quickly. For the first time in her adult life, Harper was afraid of someone. She was tied down on a gurney in a strange place surrounded by unfamiliar faces. There was no limit to what they could do to her.

  The man's features softened once Harper stopped shouting. "Honey," he explained patiently. "You’re safe here. Everything is going to be okay."

  "Then why did you yell at me?" Harper started crying. "Why did you tie me up? I want to go home. Please just let me go home."

  "You've been swinging and swearing at us since they brought you in. We need to keep both you and us safe. Do you understand that, Honey? We didn’t tie you up to hurt you. Do you understand we're trying to help you?" He waited for her to nod in agreement. "And, for the record, I didn't yell at you."

  "Sounded like you yelled at me." Harper muttered and tugged on her wrists. "If I promise not to fight will you untie me?"

  "The doctor needs to talk to you first. My job was to wake you up. So, are you awake?" The man smiled, amused by his own question.

  Harper mustered a nod.

  "Okay then. Dr. Jones is going to come in and talk to you in a second. If you want to get untied, then you need to be good. No spitting and cursing, okay?"

  Harper nodded again, but didn't meet his gaze.

  "Hey," he waited until she looked up. "You want me to get you anything before she comes in? Maybe a drink of water?"

  "No, thank you. I’m fine." Harper said.

  "Okay, she won't be long.

  ***

  An hour later, a dowdy woman in a cheap white lab coat pulled the curtain back with a screech. Harper cringed at the sound. The doctor was too busy shuffling folders to notice.

  "Are you..." The doctor paused, “Are you Carol?"

  "No," Harper answered offering no further information.

  The doctor huffed in frustration. "Harper?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh good," the doctor pulled out a pen and stepped next to the gurney. "You were found at the cemetery with a self-inflicted thigh injury. Were you attempting suicide?"

  In the time it had taken for the doctor to arrive, Harper had come up with a somewhat plausible explanation for what had happened. Working hard to compose herself, Harper was sure she would only have this one opportunity to talk her way out of the mess she created when she botched her impromptu suicide. If she was going to get another chance to get the job done, then she needed to be smooth with her explanation. Otherwise, she'd be sitting in a locked unit waiting another seven days to kill herself.

  ‘Show time.’ Harper thought.

  "Wow, are you always so blunt?" Harper replied calmly. "And no, I wasn't trying to off myself. It was a stupid accident. See, I had just gotten fired. I was upset 'cause my boss is a tool. I needed a quiet place to think, so I went to the cemetery to try to figure out what to do next. When I got out of my car, I thought my tire looked soft, so I was going to change it there..."

  "In the rain?" The doctor asked with barely masked suspicion.

  "It wasn't raining when I got there. Must have been a lull. Anyway, while I was unloading the jack, it slipped out of my hand. Must have been an unlucky angle 'cuz the damn thing caught my thigh and cut it. It didn't seem too bad at first, but then I got really dizzy."

  "Dizzy?" The doctor stifled a yawn and kept making notes.

  "I don't do well with blood," Harper explained. "So, I decided to wait for a few minutes to catch my breath. But, I must have passed out because then next thing I know, I'm here."

  The doctor gave a sigh. "So, you are trying to tell me all this was some unfortunate accident?"

  Harper nodded. "You can say that again. Real unfortunate."

  "You have a four inch long gash on your thigh. The doctor who stitched you up said the injury narrowly missed the femoral artery..."

  "Really, an artery?" Harper feigned surprise. "That sounds serious. Would it have been serious? I mean if I had hit an artery, I wouldn't have died or anything, would I?"

  The doctor frowned, "You don't know what happens when you hit an artery?"

  "Well, I guess I'd bleed a lot." Harper replied innocently.

  "Harper, I'm having trouble believing you didn't try to hurt yourself," the doctor replied gruffly as she closed her file.

  Harper let her jaw drop in feign shock. "Hurt myself? Why would I do that? I
just got handed a paid vacation on a silver platter. Nothing to do, but sit on my ass and collect unemployment for twenty-six weeks. Do you know the last time I had a break? I don’t. You think I'm going to skip out on my payday when I finally have time for myself? Doc, you're nuts. You should talk to someone about that."

  "Your wound doesn't support your story," Dr. Jones shook her head. "I'm thinking we need to admit you for observation."

  "Is the cut that bad?" Harper forced herself to sound surprised. "Am I gonna limp or be disfigured? Hey, wait! Do you think I should sue the company that made that jack? Maybe I could call you as a witness. You know, one of them experts."

  "No, no," the doctor replied attempting to interrupt Harper’s rapid-fire questions to no avail. "I'm talking about admitting you to the psych service to discuss your problems."

  "About my leg? Or are you worried I'll be that traumatized over a cut?" Harper stopped suddenly and gave a big wink to the doctor. "Hey, I get it. I'd probably get a whole lot more money in the lawsuit that way. Good thinking, Doc." Harper babbled as the doctor tried helplessly to object. "Just a second there Doc, you're not going to be looking for a cut of the deal, are you? I'm sure there's a going rate for expert testimony, right? Do you have legal contacts that do this kind of thing with on a regular basis? You know what I mean, shaking down deep pocket organizations."

  "What? Wait, no," Dr. Jones finally interrupted with a frown. "There isn't a settlement, there is no lawyer. Harper, I think you were attempting suicide. And, I'm prepared to admit you for a seven day observation to assess your mental health."

  Harper chewed her lip. "I'm going to say no. I mean, you're gonna do whatever, but if I say no then I bet I can sue you for malpractice too. You know, with you not being able to tell the difference between a product injury and a suicide attempt."

  Dr. Jones stared hard at Harper waiting for her to stop ranting. When Harper finally fell silent, the doctor asked, "Why did you try to harm yourself?"

  Harper rolled her eyes dramatically, "I dropped the stupid jack, and it cut my leg. I'm clumsy, not suicidal."

  "Your story doesn't add up. It's too ridiculous."

  "Look Doc, fiction has to add up, but reality happens. I'm telling you it was an accident. I have no reason to off myself, but go ahead and do whatever it is you think you need to do." Harper shrugged as best she could. "I'm getting twenty-six weeks of unemployment and by the end of that my savvy lawyer should be squeezing your malpractice insurer's balls hard enough to cough up enough dough for the next twenty-six weeks."

  The doctor tucked the Manila folders under her arm with a soft sigh. She reached under the sheet and unfastened Harper's wrist.

  "As soon as ER completes your DC paperwork, you're free to go," Dr. Jones said dully. "If you start to feel despondent or suicidal, return to the emergency room or call 911."

  Once the doctor left the curtained area, Harper smiled and gave a sigh of relief. "Mission almost accomplished," Harper muttered. "Bet I can get to that artery with a kitchen knife once I pull the stitches out."

  Less than half an hour later, the male nurse who had woken Harper up brought her a set of scrubs to wear home. They had shredded her clothes when they worked on her in ER, and the scrubs were the best they could do in the interim. Still it was close to midnight when her paperwork was completed. Although Harper was shaking on the inside, she still managed to put up a big front apologizing to everyone for what she termed her uncharacteristic unruly behavior. She wasn't sure if they believed her or were just happy to be rid of her. But, everybody waved goodbye and wished her luck.

  Harper was walking towards the lobby carrying her sloshing Patient Belongings Bag when she heard her name called. She knew she was in no condition to make a run for it. The door was still twelve feet away, so close, but not quite there. She smiled and prepared to pour on the charm to deal with whatever forgotten piece of hospital business she missed.

  "Yes," Harper said as she turned. "You!" All the humor left Harper’s face once she saw Courtney.

  "The hospital called the office, when they couldn’t reach any of your emergency contacts. Here, I have your phone," Courtney said as she offered up the device.

  Harper snatched it from her and continued limping to the front door.

  "Wait, I'll give you a ride. You can’t drive in your condition. You must be hungry. I can swing by the drive-thru. You okay with burgers? You can have whatever you want, I’m buying."

  "Go away," Harper mumbled and kept walking.

  Courtney persisted, "You haven't eaten all day."

  “What's wrong with you? Donuts for breakfast. Midnight burgers. What are you some kind of fast food fetish freak? Stop trying to feed me.”

  "Not a burger fan, huh," Courtney was undeterred. "A pizza is always good. Something with anchovies would be nice at this late hour. Anyway, my car’s parked out front, let me get you home, and I can call out for pizza. It’s been a long day for both of us."

  "Go fuck yourself."

  Courtney gave a short laugh, "You suggested that earlier."

  "Then, lady, you are way behind schedule," Harper fumed as she staggered out the doors and into the night air.

  ***

  December 3

  I can’t handle it. Life is such a joke. I decided to off myself before I got so numb I didn't notice anymore that the joke was on me. Any piece of shit I leave behind that is worth anything should be sold off and the money used to deliver a single sunflower to my brother's grave once a week.

  Harper stood shivering out in the cold, rainy night listening to the sirens howling across the decaying city she called home. There were no cabs waiting curbside outside the hospital. Even if there were, she had no money to pay for the ride home. As it was, she would need to break a window to get in if she actually managed to get herself back to her house. She had no idea where her keys and car were, and going back into the hospital was not an option. She didn't want to risk a seven-day commitment into state care.

  ‘And, in a couple of hours, a broken window won't matter to me anymore. Nothing will matter anymore.’ Harper thought to herself, and a small smile spread across her lips.

  "Harper, come on don’t be like this. Please hear me out," Courtney said as she walked up from behind her.

  Harper rolled her eyes before blurting out, "Why are you still here and why are you bothering me?"

  "Glad you asked. It's obvious you’re cold, and there’s no taxi, and the bus will be another hour, if there’s a bus, and my car is right over there and I can take you wherever you want to go. I won't even talk to you if that’s what you want," Courtney was breathless as she raced to finish her explanation before Harper could cut her off.

  "Is this your community service or something? Committing random acts of mandatory annoyance on recently released patients?" Harper asked.

  "I'm just relieved you're alright," Courtney confessed.

  "Ha Ha Ha, that's rich!"

  "It's the truth," Courtney snapped back.

  Harper tossed her hands in the air utterly exasperated. "Why would you want to help me? Why do you care so much? So suddenly?"

  Courtney cleared her throat and whispered, "I've been worried sick about you. Before the hospital called, I was driving around looking for you for hours. I found your suicide note in the shared folder."

  "Thought it was password protected," Harper gasped.

  "You saved it wrong." Courtney shook her head, "Files in the shared folder aren't protected beyond the corporate password."

  Harper bit her lip, "Fuck's my luck lately." Harper swallowed hard before asking. "So did you tell them? Did you say anything?"

  "No. You wouldn't be standing out here if I did. And, I deleted the note from the shared file."

  The overwhelming relief that had previously filled Harper left her feeling physically sick as the adrenalin retreated. "Where's your car?"

  "Follow me," Courtney motioned as she started walking towards the parking lot.

  They pass
ed a couple of rows of neatly parked vehicles before a lock release beeped. The lights on a black BMW coupe flashed illuminating the way.

  "Figures," Harper muttered. “Of course, you’d drive a coupe. How could a sedan be good enough for you? Hell, how could an American car be good enough?"

  "It's a rental." Courtney explained without missing a beat. "You know the corporate office orders the cars for all executive trips. I would have preferred something less flashy, maybe a Lexus. This is like driving around with a ‘Rob me, I’m from out of town’ sign round your neck."

  "And, do they always order black Beemers?"

  Courtney opened the door and gave a bored shrug. "No, Bill gets a Mercedes." There was a pause before she clarified, "Silver GT. It’s a beautiful machine. He let me drive one a couple of times."

  “I heard you were in tight with him. His little blue-eyed girl. What’s it like to be on the inside track? All those expensive high power lunches and business class tickets. You picked out the carpet for your corner office yet, Courtney?” Harper asked with smug assurance, not at all fitting considering her recent suicide attempt.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear, Harper. And, yes the carpet’s going to be mud brown to hide the tear stains of all the lives I'll crush on my ruthless climb to the top of the corporate ladder." Courtney said without a hint of humor or remorse in her voice.

  Harper was disappointed Courtney didn't defend her reputation. It would have been a nice distraction. Instead, Harper silently slumped into the soft leather seat. She was too exhausted to raise a stink about how the CEO and his team of minions were burning through company money while the rank and file were barely making ends meet. Indignation could wait until she got some sleep. Of course, that would mean postponing her final exit, but it would be worth it to get in a couple pot shots before then. Maybe she'd make a list of people she'd call to tell them what she always wanted to say to their faces.

  "Ok, where are we going? I just need to know where you're going to stay tonight. Are we headed to your Mom's place or your Dad's?"