I haven't gotten more than six reviews on any one of my stories. *Sob sob* So I'm gonna keep trying new things until I hit the right 'note' so to speak, and find the topic that people actually like reading about. Resistance is futile
If you like Hurt/Comfort, then I have a couple of other stories, both also containing Thirteen and Cameron, so if you like this then I would love it if you could give them a try too.
And I hope all that whining about my lack of reviews on other stories will lead you to hit that review button and give me some constructive crit, because I will lose all hope in humanity and check myself into an asylum if you don't. (No offence to mentally ill people.)
I don't own any of the characters. Yeah, sucks to be me.
On my walk home from the bus stop (my car was in the shop) it felt as if my toes were never going to recover from the cold, that they would simply drop off and that would be that.
I shivered and braced myself against the snow, drifting lazily down from the sky. It was only a five minute walk, but as far as I was concerned it felt like five hours. Little did I know that the cold was soon to be the least of my troubles.
I let myself into my apartment as usual, expecting nothing to be out of place: After all, why should it be? I went to drop my keys on the coffee table and froze upon seeing an unfamiliar cell phone on the counter. It wasn't mine, or anyone else's... Is someone in the apartment? I thought to myself, backing towards the counter. I looked around warily, and reached for the phone. But before I could grab it, a figure came from the shadows, grabbed my wrist and span me round. I got one look into his cold, dark eyes before he swung his closed fist into the side of my face, sending me flying. I hit my head on the counter and was knocked out cold.
Ugh, my head... I thought groggily as I started to come to. I was vaguely aware of a shadow in my field of vision, binding my hands tightly behind my back. I tried to lick my lips but found that I was unable to, something was wrapped around my mouth. Duct tape. That was when I came to the realisation of what was happening to me. I was sitting up, my head lolling forwards. I felt sick, and my head throbbed. I groaned and tried to loosen the tape. My captor pushed me roughly against the floor; I squealed in pain, tears slipping down my face. He undid the button on my pants, and I squirmed and sobbed, trying to get away from his grasp. I knew what he was doing. No... Not again... Please! I begged silently. In the end, my attacker straddled me.
"Shut up, bitch." he hit me once again, and I felt my nose crack. Blood spurted down my face, and I struggled to breathe through the blood. My body tensed as he forced himself further and further into me. I groaned in pain and embarrassment, my back arching as we both reached an unwilling climax. I moaned once again, and with one last thrust he pulled himself out of me. I curled up on my side, racked with heavy sobs. Every little part of me hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to sink into a hole in the ground and stay there for ever more. If only he had agreed. He grasped my shoulder and yanked me back to face him. I stared up at him, terror etched in my expression. He beat me, my face, my chest, my ribs, all of which felt as though they had been twisted and tortured for hours on end. I was screaming through my gag, trying to mumble pleads. I wanted him to stop. Why wouldn't he stop? After only minutes my body had given up the fight and I drifted into a welcome state of unconsciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, it was pitch black inside my apartment. As far as I could see my captor had vanished and I was, thankfully, alone. The rope tied roughly around my wrists had become loose, and I somehow managed to wriggle out of my bonds. I ripped the tape off my mouth and winced at the excruciating, fiery pain emancipating from almost every part of my body. I felt a bulge in my pocket when I reached down to pull my underwear back up- even when alone I longed for even a shred of privacy. It was my pager, thank God.
And that is why, at 2:13am on a cold January morning, Lisa Cuddy received a six letter page: HELP ME
I must have passed out again, because I opened my eyes to find two blurry figures kneeling down beside me, whom I later learned to be Dr. Cuddy and for some reason, Dr. Cameron. One of them was holding my hand the other carefully feeling my ribcage for obvious fractures.
I squinted in the bright light, and the person grasping my hand leant down to look in my eyes. She smiled, and I tried to return the favour.
"Hey" she said softly. "Can you hear me?" I nodded and winced at the pain it caused. She sighed, and brushed the hair from my blood-stained cheek.
"We'll get you cleaned up, and take you to Princeton, okay?" In my confused mind, I thought she meant to work.
"It's my day off" I mumbled, before the realisation dawned on me. It must have shown on my face, as she smiled gently and squeezed my hand comfortingly.
"I've found two fractures already. Whoever did this sure likes it rough- we need to call the police and an ambulance." another voice piped up. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, my stomach knotting. This all felt so familiar, as if God were punishing me twice for an awful sin committed. Even to this day I struggle to find many sins that could warrant something like this, and none of them have I committed. Maybe there is no God after all. It's becoming more and more comforting to think that.
How come when bad things happen, it's not God's fault but because of humans all having freewill,but when something good happens, it is the work of God? I don't think that's fair. After all, if you are choking and someone thankfully knows the heimlich manoeuvre and saves your life, then why should you thank God for the 'miracle' when surely that can be also accounted for as the exercising of freewill?
I can see why people believe in God, but sometimes when bad things repeatedly happen to you then it's easier to not believe in Him.
I don't like ambulances. I never have done. The thought of how many dozens of people could have died in those vehicles freaks me out. I know it sounds weird because I work in a hospital, but I can't help it.
I could feel myself shaking violently on the way to Princeton. My senses were slowly sharpening and I was more aware of what was going on around me, although I wasn't too pleased of that fact. I ached all over, my bones igniting with a pain as deep as a bolt of electricity every time I moved. My head pounded in the deep light and the hum of machines and the voices of the paramedics. I close my eyes, block out the all the noises.
"Remy?" Lisa. "We're going to put you to sleep for awhile. We'll wake you up once we're at the hospital, and let you know what's going on, I promise. Okay?"
I mumbled incoherently, nodding slightly.
A few hours later I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. It was Doctor Cuddy again. She spoke my name, once, twice, before I opened my eyes. I felt nauseous, hot, and sweaty, and I struggled to sit up.
"You should try to keep still" Lisa chided me, but I ignored her, opening my eyes fully to look into her face. I blinked and rubbed my fists against my tired eyes. It was that foggy darkness outside, the kind that comes just before dawn in Winter. I stare out the window, in a complete reverie. The weird thing was that I wasn't totally fixated on what had happened just a few hours beforehand like I had done the first time. I was thinking of totally irrelevant things that should really have been at the back of my mind at that time. Lisa's eyes were still fixed on me, obscured with concern. I tried to smile, but it didn't reach my eyes, so I stared at my intertwined hands locked on top of the sheets of my hospital bed instead. I could feel her sympathy penetrating my skin, but I didn't want it. I didn't need it. I just wanted to curl up, go to sleep, and never wake up.
"The police need to speak to you." Lisa said softly. "I tried to make them wait but it's urgent that they get a lead on this man." I lie back down on my side, facing away from her. She put a hand on my arm, and I winced as she put pressure on a newly-formed bruise, one of many.
"Sorry. But you know how important this is, don't you?" It was a rhetorical question really; she expected me to agree with her. I shook my head slowly.
"Come on Remy, it'll be okay. You're just in shock." I felt tears spring to my eyes and my lip began to quiver.
"No." I whispered so quietly that Cuddy had to lean forward to hear me. "I'm in hell."
She sat back in stunned silence, and a few minutes later I heard her leave the room.
And then I cried.
Meh. That's all I can say. If you like it and want me to continue, then please review. Because if I get no feedback then I'm not going to carry on the story.