by Criss Copp
“A what?” She asks, a confused expression crossing her face. Sometimes I laugh at the differences between American and Australian words and meanings, this is just another example.
“A sweater.” I explain.
“It’s still warm out; it will look a little suspicious.”
“I don’t care, as long as it keeps me from going back to hospital.” I argue.
She lets go of my hands. I instantly feel the loss of our infantile beginnings of a connection; however, she then moves around me to use the sink to wash her hands. I can’t help but notice her proximity and her smell. She smells delicious, I really shouldn’t notice it, but I do.
“Okay, I’ll be back shortly.” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans.
“What’s your name?” I ask her before she leaves.
“Isi.”
“Izzy? That’s your name? It must be short for something else.” I try to lighten the mood; get her to laugh or smile, which she does. She has an amazing smile. It makes her face look like an angel’s.
“Isi, not Izzy. The sound is an ‘s’, not a ‘zz’ sound. It’s short for Isobelle.”
“Isobelle.” I repeat, looking deeply into her eyes and quietly begging her to be my friend and keep this secret. I want this curious connection to grow – I have a strong feeling it’s important; that she is somehow going to be very important to me.
“Isobelle Mulligan.”
“Help me, please Isobelle.”
“Okay Mr. Tayte; I’ll be right back. Just place your knuckles under cold water till I return.”
“Silas; my name is Silas.” I inform her, “Please call me Silas.”
“Well, Silas; call me Isi, and I’ll go and get you some first aid.”
She leaves and I’m left standing there wondering how on earth I managed to come across a sweet, helpful woman who could bend the rules and fix me up too. Not only that, but she’s pretty to look at as well.
She returns fairly quickly and this time I hear her shut the door. I’ve been standing in this towel and in this position for only a short time, but the burden of adrenalin and fear have made me feel tired and in need to sit down.
“Come on out Silas.” she says.
I turn the taps off and go to the bedroom, where she has set up some sort of field hospital on my bed. An absorbent yet waterproof sheet is set down at the edge of the bed beside the chair. A packet of nondescript items and some bandages are lying to the side of that.
“Sit and put your hands on that.” she says, pointing at the absorbent sheet.
“Thanks for doing this for me Isi.”
“Why did you do it?” she asks, kneeling on the other side of the bed and leaning across. She tears open the package and pulls out a plastic sheet. She pulls at the edges to flatten it out on the unmade bed. A small tray is folded within it, and she ruffles the edges of the plastic till it falls the right way up. She grabs a pair of tongs and brings them to the edges, laying the tips inward. And then she pulls some small bottles of saline from her jeans pocket, breaking the top and pouring it into the tray. She dips the gauze into the water using the tongs, and then she wrings them out using the two sets of tongs cooperatively, before beginning to wash my knuckles.
“Silas?”
“Oh, I was thinking about something, someone actually; my ex-someone and it made me angry.”
“So you punched the shower wall repeatedly I’m guessing.”
“Yes.”
“That’s pretty silly.” she says, but she smiles. “I probably don’t need to go to this much trouble.” She begins to explain her ministrations, “but I just want to be careful of infection.” She smiles.
She continues to clean, and then she gets some gloves from her pocket and puts them on. She grabs some antiseptic ointment, also from her pocket and begins to rub my knuckles gently with it, using a cotton bud.
“Why did you only ‘used’ to be a medic?” I ask.
“I was an Army medic.”
“You went to war?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look old enough to have become a medic and then go to war.” I reason. She doesn’t look much older than me. Maybe 21?
“I’m 25.” she states.
“Oh, I’m 19.” I say, and I feel all at once how I didn’t want there to be such a gap between our ages.
She smiles.
“Did something happen that meant you couldn’t be a medic anymore?” I ask.
She instantly breathes in through her clenched teeth.
“Sorry.” I say softly.
“I got injured; IED. Unfortunately pretty common over there.” she says quietly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You look pretty good for someone that was blown up.” I smile.
“I don’t look so good under the clothes.” she says disparagingly. It’s obviously a sore point.
“Me neither.” I say.
She looks at me and begins laughing.
“What?” I ask smiling.
She manages to compose herself. “You look pretty damn fine from over here.” she argues.
I look down and realize I’m completely on display- except for the one area I’m trying to explain.
“My hips have lots of scarring; the entire front of my pelvis area and a little around the side resembles a patchwork quilt. I was in a pretty horrific car accident when I was a kid and had multiple surgeries.” I explain.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” she says, a mortified look crossing her face.
I smile at her.
She briefly stops and stares at me, before shaking her head and continuing with the cream on my other knuckles. She continues our conversation and with it, she makes me feel special, because I have a feeling she is telling me things no-one else gets to hear.
“I did two tours; I was on my second tour when I was ‘blown up’. I just do jobs that are mundane and easy now.” she explains.
“You don’t get a pension?”
“It’s boring to sit at home; besides, the demons come out and play when you do that. Best if you keep busy.” She says absentmindedly.
Oh my fucking God. She’s kind of getting me. That pull, that hypnotic effect she had on me before is dragging me back in.
“Me too.”
“From your accident?” she asks.
“No. I’m bipolar.” I risk saying. Watch her run away now.
“Sucks hey.” she says, shaking her head and pulling one of the bandages from its package by popping it open.
“You’re bipolar?” I ask, suddenly very animated.
“No, but I get having shit going on in your head. I’m PTSD.” she says, as she begins to wrap my knuckles. She suddenly displays a look on her face that lets me know she thinks she’s said too much, but I don’t mind at all – so I just keep talking and asking her questions.
“PTSD?”
“Post Traumatic Stress; but if you tell anyone here, I’ll just tell them you’re delusional.”
She’s trusting me with information. It says something about her. She’ll keep my secret… I’ll keep hers too.
Again I smile, and again she stares, shakes her head and then continues with her work on my damaged knuckles.
“Your ex,” She begins, popping the other bandage and beginning her final assault on my hands. “Male or female?”
“Do I look gay?”
“You can’t tell these days.”
“Female.” I answer. I don’t need a long discussion regarding gender dynamics.
“She must be silly. You seem really nice and you’re very handsome.” she says matter-of-factly.
“I can be a bit of a handful, and you’re pretty cute yourself.” I say in response, surprised at my forwardness.
She raises her eyebrows at that.
“No really, you’re a very attractive woman.” I argue.
She gives me an ‘oh please’ look. It makes me chuckle. What is it about beautiful women who can’t be told that they’re beautiful?
“I’m 6 years
older than you. I should look like an old woman to you.”
“Well you don’t.” I tell her.
She just finishes up, stands and then begins to pack up the rubbish, pushing it down into the dark plastic bag on the side of her cart.
“Thanks for the help Isi.”
She suddenly stops and looks intent at me.
“You’re Australian aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing over here?”
“Working when I can. I’m kind of stuck in a mental health facility at the moment.” I explain, slightly chuckling at my own joke and looking around at my surrounds.
She smiles… its breathtaking.
“What do you do?” she asks, standing next to her cart and keeping a distance between us.
“I’m a mixed martial arts fighter.” I tell her.
“UFC?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wow, that’s probably why you seem so grown up.” she says.
“I’m big for my age.” I grin lopsidedly and chuckle.
Oh my God, I’m flirting with her. I’m flirting with this woman.
“Big how?” she says, dropping her head to the side. But then she realizes she’s flirting back and back peddles quickly, her face falling and whitening at the same time. “I’m sorry, I mean, don’t answer that hey.”
“I meant it innocently.” I laugh. I really laugh. I’m so lying about that innocent bit, but she’s funny and this comment makes her look even more ashamed.
“Right, well, I’m mortified and I’m going to go now. Um, could you please do me a favor?” she asks, closing her eyes as I stand before her with my towel beginning to drag down..
“Definitely.” I reply, fixing the towel.
“Can you pop your head out the door and see if any other staff out there? Actually, anyone at all.” she asks me.
“Sure.” I get it. It would look really bad with her leaving my room and people realizing I was also in here. Especially given my level of undress.
I walk around toward the door and up beside her. I have a sudden thought.
“Isi, what days do you work?”
“Monday to Friday, why?”
“I plan on annoying you frequently. You are seriously the most fun I’ve had in months, and considering I have months left in shithole facilities that suck you dry of humanity, I could use a friend. Maybe we could trade battle stories and show each other our scars?” I cheekily offer.
“Oh my God Silas. I could get into a lot of trouble even talking to you in a familiar way.” she gasps and explains.
I laugh until I see the seriousness in her expression.
“You’re serious.” I huff.
“Yes.”
“Look, I’ll keep you a secret and if you can do the same, we can hang occasionally and just be friends.” I reason.
She sighs and nods and when I still don’t move, she looks at the door and motions for me to check for her. I smile and I go and look out.
“The coast is clear.”
“Okay, I’ll see you around.” she says, pushing her trolley out the door.
“I plan on it.” I smile at her and wave stupidly before closing the door and going back over to my clothes; putting them on.
Excellent… Twenty minutes with that gorgeous woman and although it’s only friendship, I didn’t think about Shae even once. Even now that I am, it’s not painful. It feels more like a victory that I can think about her and not think about her. No way in hell am I getting rid of a friend that can make me feel better about myself for the sake of some stupid protocol with this facility.
I plan on breaking the rules and tagging along whenever I can. I’d like to find out more about this interesting woman. She’s able to make me forget all my past bullshit, and that’s a good sign if you ask me.
Isi.
I can’t believe it. I told him heaps. What is wrong with me?
I’ve been numb for so long, and in one brief moment, one short span of time; this young guy has made me wake up and want to run again.
So many doctors and counselors and it takes one kid five minutes to turn everything around.
I’ve lived a lie for so long now. I’ve been empty and frozen inside. I didn’t think I was repairable; and then kapow… here is this man-child, the same age as Scott was when he sacrificed himself for my protection, and I can’t seem to shake his effect off of me. I feel alive – at least a little bit alive.
I’m fucked.
This is dangerous territory, letting someone inside my bubble. But there he was, already surreptitiously transcending the bubble without bursting it. This can only end badly.
I continue travelling along, cleaning each room and being enveloped back inside my protective bubble, ignoring people and just getting the job done. I didn’t get to clean Silas’ room; and I hope he cleans the blood from the walls of the shower. In fact there is probably blood in the sink too.
Shit. I really should’ve said something.
I walk out of the last room along this corridor, the last for today since I’m now due over at the residential units that allow clients to come and go as they please; the final step before they go home. I’m intent on quickly ducking back into Silas’ room and double checking that he’s cleaned off the shower; when I turn and quite literally bump into Ethan.
“Shit, Ethan.” I say, jumping back out of arms reach. I don’t like him very much. He kind of gives me the creeps. He’s asked me out on no less than a dozen occasions, and despite my less than warm reaction, he continues to occasionally drop the date question into conversation.
“Running into my arms again?” he smirks.
“Hah.” I reply, looking at my shoes.
Ethan isn’t a bad looking guy or anything. He’s hitting 32 and he’s got a nice build, a genuinely cute smile and pretty hazel eyes. I just don’t like the way he ogles me… and then there’s that creepy, under the radar feeling about him. The prickles on my neck and the alarm he causes intuitively inside me. And of course there’s the fucked up bullshit Ethan tells the kids here, because he likes to scare them into compliance. I don’t know how he gets away with it. That religious crap? He comes across as a psychotic nut, almost like he wants to outdo the mentally ill kids here. I’ve heard him and he goes way over the top in a completely unbelievable fashion; I’ve complained to Dr Jensen and I believe she’s also complained to the directors.
However, he goes to church with some of those directors. I don’t believe for one moment that he’s even remotely religious, it’s all a front. I just can’t understand how he gets away with it all, or what kick he gets out of it. I think he covers up his prejudice with fake religious fervor.
I just know that I should stay away from him. The vibe he delivers to me is seriously scary. I like to listen to those feelings these days. The last time I tried to ignore such feelings resulted in me being injured and two soldiers being killed.
“You finished?” Ethan asks.
“Yes.”
“Do you need a lift over to the other facility?”
“No, I brought my car today as usual.”
“Sure, sure.” he says off-handedly. “You doing something this weekend?”
“No.”
“You want to go out? Catch a movie or something?”
“No.”
I look up then because I can see a shadow behind him and as I said before, I tend to be on major alert these days.
And there’s Silas with a curious look on his face, standing about two meters behind Ethan.
Ethan notices me looking at someone over his shoulder and he swings around.
“Oh, Silas. Isobelle, this is Silas Tayte, the new guy for room 24. Silas, this is Isobelle. She cleans the rooms down this wing and the north wing also.” Ethan chirps.
Silas steps forward.
He’s wearing a green, light weight sweater and I can tell he hasn’t anything else under it; probably
because it’s still warm outside. He’s wearing it like it’s a top; in addition to a pair of denim loose fit jeans and sneakers. He looks good; too good. I really need to stop noticing this.
He reaches his hand forward to shake mine, and I return the gesture. I notice he’s pulled the sleeves all the way down, and I can only barely see the white edge of the bandage. I shake his hand and he gives me a gentle squeeze.
“Nice to meet you Isobelle.”
“You too.” I reply softly and release his hand.
Ethan turns to him.
“Is there anything I can do for you Silas? Lunch will be served in the dining room in about 10 minutes.” Ethan says.
“No, it’s all good; just thought I’d say hello to another member of your staff.”
“Isobelle’s just a cleaner.”
“Oh, well that makes her a member of the staff then.” He replies smartly, giving me a smile.
“Yes.” Ethan grumbles. He doesn’t like to be corrected. I should warn Silas about that; he needs to realize he’ll end up being targeted.
“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask. “I went to your room before, but you were there and I’m not really allowed to go into the rooms by myself when clients are busy inside.” I explain, pleading with him not to reveal me to this guy; the worst guy in this facility for breaking rules that suit him, but enforcing them on everyone else.
“No, I tidied up myself.” he says.
“It’s no worry Silas. It’s Isobelle’s job.” Ethan offers.
“No, seriously. I cleaned up after myself. There’s absolutely nothing to clean in there.” He explains.
I nod and huff out the breath I had held inside at his admission that he cleaned the blood away.
“Okay.”
“Well, I’m off to see to some medication charting errors and I’ll see you tomorrow Isobelle.” Ethan says, nodding at Silas and walking off in the direction of the office. I watch him till he turns the corner down the west wing before relaxing.
“Shit.” I whisper.
“So, he’s a bit of an asshole isn’t he?” Silas growls as he steps forward.
I look at him. Did he just growl? Those words were seriously accompanied by a growling noise.
“Yes.” I reply, rubbing my temples. I’m seriously going to get a migraine by the end of today.
