Hello all. I am glad so many of you enjoyed Shiver. It was one of my favorite things to write, mostly because I never knew what would happen till it did. This story is dark, dealing with the issues of homelessness, rape, the abuse of drugs, and pregnancy. I hope you like it. I am trying to impress upon people the harsh life the homeless community has.
She could hear her pulse thrumming in her head, the blood coursing as she ran. She tried to stop, considering that blood was gushing from her left arm, coating her dirt-stained shirt and the tight pants she hated. Clothing was the last of her problems though, the crimson fluid dripping onto the dirty street that had become her home.
She couldn't believe it. She had betrayed her only friend. She left Meg there, even though everything in her screamed for her to go back. She hadn't been thinking clearly, her only reflex being to run while she had the chance. She stopped; the only sound in the streets the falling of rain on the pavement.
She would have pondered longer on her horrible abandonment, but the searing pain in her arm was distracting. She continued trying to find the clinic she knew was close. She may have been an evil, dirty person, but she wouldn't die here, in a filthy gutter. She was better then that. She owed it to her father not to die that way, not to disgrace him. Not to disgrace herself.
She finally found it, running through the doors quickly. She was lucky it was open twenty four hours. The nurse smacked her gum, trying in vain to keep awake. Christine took one look at the woman's yellow teeth, smiling. At least she was trying to quit smoking then. She forgot everything in that moment, feeling the familiar rush of normalcy.
Until the woman stared at her. Asking her what happened, the woman took her to an old room, filling the large sink with water and washing off her arm. The woman gave here a thin sanitary shirt, taping a large gauze tape onto the wound. It was jagged, running from the tip of her shoulder down to the meat of her elbow.
The woman chided her, not even asking her to explain the injury. She told her she would come back with the doctor, and that she should sit down and try not to overexert herself. Christine did as she was told, knowing that shock wasn't very fun. She occupied herself by counting the ceiling tiles.
She was getting a little woozy, after counting the tiles, reading the posters, and watching the clock. She couldn't get the antiseptic smell from her nose, and even though she applied pressure to her arm, it was slowly bloodying the bandage through. She was lucky she had gotten there was quickly as she had. Not that the doctor was making it any easier on her.
She hardly heard the door open, as she felt someone squeeze her hand. Jumping, she clenched her eyes shut, throwing her good arm out. She felt the doctors other hand clasp her good one, squeezing it in a vice like grip. Opening a large brown eye, she surveyed the man.
His large almost yellow eyes were looking at her arm, instead of her face. He had a thin plastic mask over one side of his face, just enough to obscure it from view. The thin set of his lips showed her he wasn't too pleased with her almost assault on him.
"I know the mask frightens you, but please refrain from striking my person. After all, if I offered to get you another doctor, you would probably wait here until you bled to death."
She paled, her face looking a tinge too waxy for his taste. She had been here at least a half hour, while the damn nurse sat there reading a magazine. She may have been poor street trash, but he wouldn't have a damn black mark on HIS record because she bled out in a waiting room while he handled a drug addict's detox.
She was a little pretty, but nothing special. The rather long brown hair accented her pale features, and her large mouth was full, even though their lips had no color. He pulled off the tape, trying to block out the sharp intake of breath she let out. He examined the injury, walking over to a cupboard, removing a numbing agent, encased in a syringe, a skein of surgical thread, and a needle.
Driving the needle into the main point of the wound, he squeezed it empty, and started into his work. To her credit, the girl was mostly calm. He was a quarter of the way through when she little voice fluttered up to his ears. It was soft, shy, and more then a little melodic. Se sounded almost like a child, though she didn't look like one.
"I… Sorry I almost hit you. It wasn't the mask though. I was just…jumpy."
His tension wore off a little, as he kept up his neat stitching. She noticed he was left handed, wielding the needle at an unnatural angle. Those eyes didn't leave her injury. They focused on it as though it were all that mattered in the world. She could feel the light tug of the needle going in and out, but tried to ignore it.
He finished, snipping the thread and rubbing a large alcohol swab over the area, before wrapping it in clean white gauze. Taping it down, he checked her for shock, examining her pupils and asking her if she was cold. She told him she wasn't, just a little dizzy. He asked her to wait for a moment, returning with some juice and stale cookies, left over from the last blood drive.
He watched her eat, the small bites, and the gentle sips she took. Her manners were impeccable, as she thanking him quietly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She was probably one of those women who were bad off, not really a bad person. He saw very few of them at the clinic. Not that he cared. He was stuck in this dirty little hellhole.
He told her he would give her a prescription for a small amount of painkillers, telling her to rest for a moment while he reviewed her file. She nodded, eyeing him as he started to read. Erik wasn't really overwhelmed. She had broken a bone only once, and she was turning nineteen in a couple months.
He read further, noticing that she was orphaned. She had been for months now. He found no address on her information form, and assumed she was homeless. Her last name, a quite nice one, was Daae. He remembered a violinist of that name, quite talented, but not very interested in aspiring to fame. He had listened to a cd of his in medical school.
"How are you feeling, Ms. Daae?"
"I am fine, except...my friend was attacked too. And... And I ran. I let them hurt her. I…"
She had tears in those large doe-like eyes. She was obviously very upset, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Erik, for once, had no idea what to do for her. Wounds, broken limbs, illness; those he could fix. But no woman had ever cried around him before. Trying to calm the rising panic in his chest, he put a long, thin hand on her shoulder.
She clutched it to her as she wept, hoping he didn't mind. A few minutes later, when she was sure she was composed, she spoke, her voice a little husky. To him, however, it was quite beautiful. She smiled at him while speaking, the gesture wobbly and full of forced happiness.
Nobody had ever smiled at him before.
"You have a musician's hands, you know."
He removed her tiny fingers from his own, which were indeed quite superb with musical pieces. He asked her if she felt better, and when she replied yes, he directed her to the door. He walked with her, since his shift was over a half hour ago. He glared at the nurse, not that she noticed, and flipped her the bird as he pulled off his plastic gloves.
The girl's smile vanished the instant the double doors opened. It was as if a single step could determine her personality. As if one moment, she was a young girl, shy and innocent. And the next she was a guarded street girl, who would yell rape and blow whistles to get you away. She turned to him then, and he noticed she gave him that little smile again.
"Thank you. May I ask for your name?"
He forgot he had covered his nametag. Flipping it out with a long, graceful digit, he let her examine it. The shiny plastic ID read 'Erik Devereux'. She smiled, thanking him again, before walking off, the small ripped shirt she wore much too small for the biting cold.
As he walked the three blocks to his new, dirty, ugly, downright unpleasant apartment, he wondered if the girl was alright. She certainly wasn't a great beauty, or a great conversationalist. But she hadn't been rude, and she hadn't been cold. And that was enough for him.