I stand in front of the mirror in the bed and breakfast, looking myself up
and down. I don't look like a prisoner, but I feel like one still. There's
something missing, I know, but I can't work out what. I just don't feel or
look right. Maybe that feeling is what I was just describing, of being a
prisoner. No one's ever going to be able to change that, to take that
feeling away from me, or make me forget everything that happened. There are
certain things that make you feel like that, like being in prison, or
losing someone you love.
That's it! I don't have the necklace on. I couldn't wear it in prison; they didn't seem to understand the importance. But now, I can. Where would it be? I throw open the suitcase that's lying on the floor, and begin to search through it. There are clothes, and more clothes, but no necklace. I begin to panic. I feel bare without it, I felt like that the whole time in prison. I start a frantic search around the room for it, hoping I put it down somewhere by mistake.
As I pass the window, I see a mass of reporters outside, all there because of me. Can't the damned press just leave a woman alone? Every little thing I say can be twisted, every little movement I make is interpreted in a certain way. Half the time I have a mind to either punch one of them, or tell them all about myself, how awful my life has actually been. Punching one wouldn't help, that would just land me in more trouble. And the life story would be more appealing, if it weren't for the fact that I can just picture the headlines about "Dr. Death - 'I lost my fiancée, and my whole life changed.'" I couldn't cope with that, them making me out to be some poor case who killed because she was jealous someone else could be happy or something. I just want to be able to get on with my life, and forget about this as much as is humanly possible.
The clock reads twenty past eight. I'm going to be late for my shift, and I still need to find the necklace. A great first day this is going to be. Late, no necklace, press, and the owner's sure to come and.
There's a sharp knock at the door. That'll be her then. I brace myself for the lecture that will inevitably follow about the press, and call for her to come in. She doesn't seem happy, but then I guess I should expect that. She complains about the press, telling me that I should have told her who I was. For goodness sake, I told her my name was Dr. Lara Stone: how obvious does she want to make it? Should I have told her that I'd just got out of prison, and the press were after me? Yeah, great idea: "Hi there, I was wondering if you had a room free. Dr. Lara Stone. That's right, I was charged with manslaughter, I just got out of prison." Yeah, we could've had a lovely conversation about the delights of prison food, and the wonderful company I had in there. Just peachy.
So I have to leave? Well, I can't say I blame her, but that doesn't make me feel any better. Now, not only am I late, without the necklace, and going to have to face a crowd of reporters, I'm also homeless. Not strictly true, I know, I do still have my flat, but I'm not going to make it easy for the reporters to find me.
I stuff the clothes back into the case, checking round the room once more for the necklace. I can only hope it's in the bottom of the bag somewhere, stuffed inside a shoe or something. If the prison didn't give it back, I'm not sure what I'll do. Probably sit down and cry: that seems to be what I do a lot at the moment. No more 'Lara Croft' for me, at least not for a long while anyway. I walk out the room, and down the stairs, ready to brave the press. I've had my fair share before - my first day at Holby was filled with press, all wanting to know about Sierra Leone. But then I was famous for being brave, and heroic. Now I'm famous for killing someone.
I shrug them off as I walk down the pathway, towards my car. I just have to get to work, I'll feel back at home there. I can do my job, and I can do it well, that's one of the few certainties in my life at the moment. I pull away, glad to see the back of the press - I'm away for now at least. I actually feel quite excited about seeing everyone again. It will be strange, being back, I just hope they'll accept me. I haven't spoken to Anna in so long, we used to have chats, she was the only person who knew Patrick had proposed originally, but we've grown distant. That's what prison does. And I will have to thank Duffy, once again, this all seems to be down to her. I've been so rude to her over the past six months, but she's still carried on fighting for me. Then there's Simon, who will take great delight in verbally abusing me in that charming manner of his, and this locum SHO. I've been wondering what she's like. Dillon was very high praising of her a while ago, but he seems to have stopped referring to her. I just hope she's at least a decent doctor, who I can get on with for one day, and then send on her way. Not that it's really going to matter right now, this day probably can't get any worse. Late, no necklace, reporters, homeless, I don't think I can make that list.
Oh my goodness, was that a dog I just hit?
That's it! I don't have the necklace on. I couldn't wear it in prison; they didn't seem to understand the importance. But now, I can. Where would it be? I throw open the suitcase that's lying on the floor, and begin to search through it. There are clothes, and more clothes, but no necklace. I begin to panic. I feel bare without it, I felt like that the whole time in prison. I start a frantic search around the room for it, hoping I put it down somewhere by mistake.
As I pass the window, I see a mass of reporters outside, all there because of me. Can't the damned press just leave a woman alone? Every little thing I say can be twisted, every little movement I make is interpreted in a certain way. Half the time I have a mind to either punch one of them, or tell them all about myself, how awful my life has actually been. Punching one wouldn't help, that would just land me in more trouble. And the life story would be more appealing, if it weren't for the fact that I can just picture the headlines about "Dr. Death - 'I lost my fiancée, and my whole life changed.'" I couldn't cope with that, them making me out to be some poor case who killed because she was jealous someone else could be happy or something. I just want to be able to get on with my life, and forget about this as much as is humanly possible.
The clock reads twenty past eight. I'm going to be late for my shift, and I still need to find the necklace. A great first day this is going to be. Late, no necklace, press, and the owner's sure to come and.
There's a sharp knock at the door. That'll be her then. I brace myself for the lecture that will inevitably follow about the press, and call for her to come in. She doesn't seem happy, but then I guess I should expect that. She complains about the press, telling me that I should have told her who I was. For goodness sake, I told her my name was Dr. Lara Stone: how obvious does she want to make it? Should I have told her that I'd just got out of prison, and the press were after me? Yeah, great idea: "Hi there, I was wondering if you had a room free. Dr. Lara Stone. That's right, I was charged with manslaughter, I just got out of prison." Yeah, we could've had a lovely conversation about the delights of prison food, and the wonderful company I had in there. Just peachy.
So I have to leave? Well, I can't say I blame her, but that doesn't make me feel any better. Now, not only am I late, without the necklace, and going to have to face a crowd of reporters, I'm also homeless. Not strictly true, I know, I do still have my flat, but I'm not going to make it easy for the reporters to find me.
I stuff the clothes back into the case, checking round the room once more for the necklace. I can only hope it's in the bottom of the bag somewhere, stuffed inside a shoe or something. If the prison didn't give it back, I'm not sure what I'll do. Probably sit down and cry: that seems to be what I do a lot at the moment. No more 'Lara Croft' for me, at least not for a long while anyway. I walk out the room, and down the stairs, ready to brave the press. I've had my fair share before - my first day at Holby was filled with press, all wanting to know about Sierra Leone. But then I was famous for being brave, and heroic. Now I'm famous for killing someone.
I shrug them off as I walk down the pathway, towards my car. I just have to get to work, I'll feel back at home there. I can do my job, and I can do it well, that's one of the few certainties in my life at the moment. I pull away, glad to see the back of the press - I'm away for now at least. I actually feel quite excited about seeing everyone again. It will be strange, being back, I just hope they'll accept me. I haven't spoken to Anna in so long, we used to have chats, she was the only person who knew Patrick had proposed originally, but we've grown distant. That's what prison does. And I will have to thank Duffy, once again, this all seems to be down to her. I've been so rude to her over the past six months, but she's still carried on fighting for me. Then there's Simon, who will take great delight in verbally abusing me in that charming manner of his, and this locum SHO. I've been wondering what she's like. Dillon was very high praising of her a while ago, but he seems to have stopped referring to her. I just hope she's at least a decent doctor, who I can get on with for one day, and then send on her way. Not that it's really going to matter right now, this day probably can't get any worse. Late, no necklace, reporters, homeless, I don't think I can make that list.
Oh my goodness, was that a dog I just hit?