Big thanks for all the lovely reviews! I'm sorry I can only pick one age for the characters and I've decided to go with career age, only because I'm interested in writing Emily as an intern and because I've never read many stories from this kind of era so hopefully this will be a little different! :) But many thanks for the ideas-they've certainly put my mind to work!
One last thing, 14 of you lovely people favourited or put this story on alert! Now I don't know if that's a huge statistic but I'm thrilled none the less, THANK YOU!
Chapter 2
The next few days pass in a haze of drug induced sleeps and very little wakening time. It turns out I've had rather severe internal bleeding due to one of my ribs breaking and puncturing an artery. Apparently it was a tricky operation to fix, being carried out in several small, bite-sized ops, with doctors sending me to sleep every day for the next four days.
I'm still unaware of the total damage to my body by that speeding prick in the car, but I'm pretty sure that my right arm is fractured in two places from the car crashing into my right side, my left leg has been severely shattered as it broke my heavy fall from bike to tarmac, internal bleeding from a broken rib, 2 cracked ribs where the car collided with my chest, concussion when I smacked my head off the ground and 7 stitches to the my forehead, the cause of which is still unexplained. All I know for certain is when I get the hell out of this hell-hole I'm holding two mega rallies; one against reckless drivers and the other against cars as major contributors to global warming. Stupid fucking things.
Now I haven't been totally conscious these past few, but I'm certain that redheaded girl is on my case, if that's what you call these things, I've only been in hospital once and that was when I was born. I see her often, usually during my mid-waking, semi-conscious being. I love the way her red hair ignites the whole room. It's probably the only reason I remember her.
She's in my room now though; I'm guessing she works on this ward. She hands the nurse fussing over my bed another clipboard, possibly containing my 'chart', and I want to scream to the doctors to fucking promote her already because I'd much rather have her fuss all over me than this bitch-assed nurse.
I often wondered if she had a sore throat, or if her voice had that natural husky tone to it. I quite like it, and if I was in any state to hold a conversation, other than "Can you feel this?" as nurses and doctors poked and prodded me or "How are you feeling?" after which I'd like to tell them I've certainly been better, I'd would talk to her just to hear it.
"How are you feeling?"
Oh god, the timing of my inner monologue is absolute perfection.
I look up to see the redhead standing at the foot of my bed, concern wafting in and out of her eyes.
"I've certainly been better," I blabber. Ok, this has got to be an effect of the drugs.
She let out a short chuckle, a sound I haven't heard for weeks, possibly, and I allow it to lift my spirit slightly.
"I'm sure you have been," she mutters as she lowers her gaze to the clipboard in her hand and begins scribbling on it.
She walks over to the IV drip, checking the volume of its contents and scribbling on her clipboard once again.
"You know this is the longest I've seen you awake since you came in?"
I am shocked to hear this. 'You've been watching me?' I wanted to scream at her, unsure if I'm alarmed at her perving on me sleeping, or thrilled that she's taken the time to notice. She seems to have noticed the emotions flicking across my face, coupled with my hesitant reply. She holds up the clipboard in her hands.
"You're usually asleep when I do this."
Ah, right.
Oddly, I feel slightly deflated. But I make my reply the usual sarcastic witty comment I'm positively famous for.
"Yes, well I've been merrily slumbering in a drug-enhanced coma," I say casually, frowning for effect and adding, "I'm beginning to miss it."
She chuckles again, her deep brown eyes gazing at me intently as she flashes one of, if not the most beautiful grins I've ever seen as she floats out of the room, clearly finished with her writing.
My eyes flick to the clock as soon as she was out of my sight, 4.35pm.
I make a mental note to be awake at this time for the rest of my stay, desperate to have another conversation with her. She has completely stolen my attention; intrigued me…and I don't even know her sodding name.
I watch the clock tick onwards towards half four.
It's been my routine for the past week, a fragment of light illuminating my dark days, sunshine at the end of a long dark tunnel and the only fucking amusing thing to do around here; conversing with Emily.
Yes, I know her name.
Basically, everyday I've been wrenching my eyes open, waiting for her to walk into my room holding her clipboard and writing down my statistics. It's fairly entertaining, making small talk with her as she works because sometimes I manage to distract her completely and the bitchy-assed nurse who pokes and prods me will come in and give off to her, and then she will blush and mutter apologies, excusing herself from the conversation and finishing off her duties.
I do, I have an evil sense of humour.
I also find it quite hilariously adorable. Yes you heard me right.
4.31pm.
She's late.
But a mere few seconds later she shuffled elegantly into my room, clipboard tucked under one arm and fishing around in her pocket for a pen.
"You're late," I say sceptically, nodding towards the clock.
"Oh?" she frowns a little at me.
"Well, when you've nothing else to do all day but watch the clock one tends notice exactly when you walk into my room."
She smirks a little at me.
"And why do you only notice when I walk into your room?"
Ok, she's got me.
I ponder this for a brief moment.
"Well you're the only person around here who is my age, and you're the only one who doesn't come in poking and prodding me and asking silly questions."
She giggles again. I like the sound. Maybe because it sounds like wind chimes in a breeze, or maybe because life is so dull in this hospital that it's the only exciting thing to reach my ears other than the constant beeping of my heart monitor.
"Is it really that bad in here?" she questions and I nod my head solemnly.
"Well then I'll come and see you on my break," she smiles as she leaves the room. Ultimately, my day had gotten a lot brighter.
She sticks to her word, I commend her for that. Come half past five she's perched on the chair beside my bed, hands folded across her lap and legs crossed, looking at me expectantly.
"So, Miss Campbell, tell me about yourself," she questions out of the blue.
I blink, trying to gather the more exciting facts about my life so as not to bore her to sleep.
"Well, my name's Naomi and I'm 23. I was due to start my new job last week but, you know, I got hit by a car on my way to my first day and here I am," I gesture to my bedbound state.
I notice her eyes soften. "What happened?"
I flinch, because my head is still rather concussed and it hurts to try and remember. More so because I'm shocked she actually gives a damn. The other doctors just poke and prod and ask me if I feel ok. Never asking what actually happened. Telling me whether the knob that hit me is getting jailed, sewed, 'three-points-and-a-fine'-ed, nothing. And she cares, and I'm touched. So I rack my cloudy head and I tell her.
"Well, I'd got this job interview at a coffee shop, its fair-trade don't worry, and I got hired but my mum's a bit of a hippy, so we don't have a car. And she didn't wake me up either so I was late…late on my first day. But I cycle everywhere you know? Have been since college I was freewheeling down the hill and there's this junction that is normally empty, but there's a stop sign on it and a speed limit of 15 miles per hour so I thought nothing of it. There was a car coming down it though, I guess it was speeding and it didn't stop. Just hit me and that's all I remember."
She has a pitiful look on her face when I raise my gaze back to her instead of focusing on a thread on my blanket, and gently she lays a hand on top on my own.
"I'm sorry."
I gaze at her until she uncomfortably clears her throat and lowers her eyes. There is a moment of awkwardness between us before she looks at me again, a playful smirk on her face.
"Naomi Campbell, huh?" she sniggers and I scowl. "I'm surprised you haven't sewed yet."
"I was actually thinking of that," I state matter-of-factly.
Her laughter fills the room deliciously, like music to my tone-deaf ears. The only sweet sound within this entire hospital I assume.
"Shut up," I grumble and she does, much to my displeasure. I'm beginning to miss her laugh.
I twist my body away from her and count silently to ten, only because she'd pissed my off and I've decided not to talk to her for said period of time, childish as it is. No one laughs at my name.
Twisting back, I ask her, "So, Emily," I exaggerate the 'Emily' by squinting at her name badge before focusing on her face again. "Enlighten me. Who the fuck are you?"
My playful tone does not alarm her, I can see it in her eyes but she shoots her eyebrow's up and tut's at me.
"Language Miss Campbell. I don't think I want to tell you now."
"Please, call me Naomi," I say, batting my lashed.
She giggles at my face, which I'm assuming must look pretty ridiculous. I've never batted eyelashes before, ever. I'm guessing this first attempt was an epic disaster.
She clears her throat to calm her laughter, but when she speaks it still comes out in that low, hoarse voice. That husky sound which makes me want to lose myself in it. Her voice could send me to sleep…and eyelids drooping, wait. She's talking to me. And…awake. I focus on her words instead of her voice and try and take in what she's saying.
"My name is Emily, I have a twin…she's a bitch."
My eyebrows shoot up at that.
"I'm a med student here, obviously."
Eyebrows shoot, if possible, even further up.
"I'm planning to travel the world when I've completed my intern exam. A little freedom before the stress of residency make's my hairline recede prematurely."
Okay, possibility of losing my eyebrows in my hair somewhere here. God this girl aims high.
"I have a perverted little brother and my mum's a homophobic cow but I don't actually care," she finished with an apprehensive smile and I wonder briefly why she mentioned homophobia but thought makes my head ache so I set it aside to ponder next time I'm bored.
"Christ. Impressive," I manage to say, returning my eyebrows to their usual position above my eyes and hoping she hasn't noticed they decided to take a holiday halfway through her little speech.
She laughs awkwardly, blushing slightly.
We joke around for a bit before she leaves, having to get back to her shift. I know it's probably unprofessional of her, but I think she considers me friend. I hope she considers me a friend, I consider her one. I think. I consider her something anyway...
My mum visits me the next day. Don't think it's taken her a week to visit her practically crippled daughter; I've just been sleeping when she usually comes around. I think she feels a little guilty for the whole thing, after all if she had woke we when she was supposed to I wouldn't have had to cycle on a busy road. But I spend most of her visit assuring her it's not, I don't blame her and I never will.
"Did you settle the banana issue?" I question randomly as she sits by my bedside engrossed in a gossip magazine, tutting at various stories and generally hating it. The memory flashed into my mind as I observed her.
She raises her eyes to me, confusion evident on her face. I can practically hear the clogs turning in her head. I know her, know when she will figure something out…yep, here we go.
Her face relaxed as the memory returned to her.
"Oh yes, of course dear."
She drops the issue, and I'm glad because it would probably send me off to sleep again. I'm not that interested in bananas.
She returns to her glossy magazine, giving a loud tut and rolling her eyes at an article on Katie Price. Let's just say my mother is not a huge fan of the huge tits. I roll my eyes at her, she shouldn't read the bloody thing if she'd just going to scowl at it. She's nearly worse than me. Nearly.
Silence consumed us again, not uncomfortable silence, but silence none the less. I'm secretly happy because all the painkillers I'm on right now are making me terribly drowsy and I begin to feel my eyes droop as my mum stands and places a small kiss on my temple.
"I'm off for a cup of coffee darling," I hear her say distantly, and for a minute I'm confused because she hates coffee and only ever buys it if it's fair-trade. What a mystery Gina Campbell is to us all. But sleep envelopes me before I worry about it too much and I fall into a dream filled with bright red flashes and musical laughter.
Pain.
I'm in pain. I figure the pain relief is beginning to wear off and I let out a low groan and I adjust my position in my bed.
"Fuuuck."
"Language, Miss Campbell," I hear a husky voice from the doorway. Emily is stood there, eyes portraying a cross between concern and pity.
"Emily, you're a doctor, fetch me some pain killers, please? Christ I'm in agony," I plead with her as she continues to loiter in the doorway.
"I…can't," she hesitantly replies.
"Can't? But I'm in fucking pain here. You're a doctor and you can't fucking help me? That's your fucking job!"
I realise Naomi-in-full-rant-mode is not a good idea right now, as pain shoots throughout my entire body as I try to sit up to glare at her, and collapse back down into my pillow with a mighty groan.
"I'm sorry Naomi," she does sound sorry I have to admit, "But you're scheduled for an operation to reset your leg later and they took you off your meds so that they wouldn't interfere with your sedation."
I let out a large sigh for dramatic effect, wincing slightly as my chest heaved and my broken and cracked ribs throbbed.
"Fucks sakes," I mutter, hoping Emily doesn't hear my profanities and give me another earful for it. Apparently she doesn't, just shoots me a sympathetic smile and leaves the room, poking her head around the door again and adding, "By the way, I'm not a doctor. I'm an intern."
I flip her off playfully as she giggles her way out of the room.
Mentally, I try to prepare myself for the op. Calm my rising nerves and slow my heartbeat back down. But in truth it's just a mighty waste of time; there's no real way to be calm about the thought of a large doctor-guy slicing you open with a knife and fiddling with your inside bits and pieces. I gulp.
The day passes far too quickly though, and before I realise I'm being wheeled through corridor's and into elevators by the 'bitchy nurse' and soon find myself in what I'm assuming is the operating theatre. Emily is there and I offer her a weak smile because my nerves are far too twisted to contort my face into anything more genuine. She seems to notice my discomfort and begins to walk towards my bed.
"Now Naomi," say's a dark skinned doctor, with a thick French accent, standing to the left of my bed, "I'm going to inject you with this white fluid, it will send you off to sleep and we will begin the operation on your leg."
He holds up a syringe filled with a milky substance and I gulp, but am slightly relieved that there isn't a large needle sticking out of it even though the thought that that part is already embedded in my hand and attached to an IV drip crosses my mind.
I swallow and take a deep breath, trying desperately to calm myself before I have a full on panic attack. The drip is unattached and the dark skinned doctor lowers the syringe towards my shaking hand.
"Can you relax and keep still please," he says in a pleasant voice, as if knocking someone out and cutting their leg up is the most natural thing in the world. Christ, thoughts like this aren't helping.
I take another deep breath, trying with all my might to sooth my quivering body but I'm not sure anything can right now. I'm a hopeless case and will forever hobble about with a mangled leg.
That is until I feel small, soft hands running across my head, pushing stray hairs from my forehead and massaging my scalp. It's nice and I feel myself begin to relax into the touch. Oh my God, it's a miracle! I raise my eyes to see Emily standing at the head of my bed, her hands caressing my head. It's gentle and I love the feeling.
I feel a coldness begin to travel up my arm and realise the doctor is injecting the milky fluid into my bloodstream. I take a moment to become completely awestruck at how quickly it travels up my entire arm before focusing on the words coming out of his mouth.
"I need you to relax and take deep breaths."
So I comply to his words, relaxing under Emily's touch and breathing deeply, feeling the coolness envelop my lungs as the liquid is flushed through my system. My eyelids begin to droop and everything seems to slow down as I become sleepier and sleepier.
The last thing I see is bright red hair and a gorgeous, reassuring smile from above me.
Hope you enjoyed this one.
Ok, ok you got me I'm a bit of a Grey's Anatomy fan. Interns are awesome…perhaps I shall write a fic entitles 'Skins Anatomy' sometime in the future…hmm not there's an idea. PLEASE DON'T STEAL! Hehe, without permission anyway…
Emm, yeah so let me know what you think: LOVE? HATE? REVIEW! (It only takes a moment and puts a ridiculously large cheezer on my face :D)