Wells sat in his room, waiting for the doctor to discharge him. The last thing he wanted to do was make a scene here, but the bruises on Clarke's face were worth more than a couple thousand dollars of hush money. Why would they take such a small amount? He'd been waiting days to have that discussion with them, and now that he could talk without coughing till he lost control of his body, he wanted to look out for his family. Her face was half-covered with sick purple and green bruises, shallow cuts, and swelling. Wells could tell her ribs hurt her, and she had a limp.
He also needed to know what jobs they got. All they would say was overnight positions for under the table cash. The lack of job description and details worried him even more. While both of them were in the room with him they were curled up in his bed, sleeping.
The nurse came in with his discharge papers and talked loud enough that sleeping beauties should've woken up. Other than a small shift and flinch, they stayed knocked out.
"You need to get these prescriptions filled immediately. One's a Z pack, and these are the instructions. The rest are inhalers and allergy medications for your asthma." She handed him the papers. "Drink lots of water, get plenty of rest, and don't exert yourself until you absolutely have to. But you should stretch your legs every few hours to prevent blood clots." More papers. "You can leave any time. That is if you can wake your friends up."
"Thank you," Wells said then watched the nurse leave. He looked over the paperwork carefully. "How are we going to afford any of these?" There were six prescriptions and one was for a nebulizer machine.
Clarke tried to turn over and woke up in time to catch herself from hitting the floor.
"You're cat woman." Wells smiled at her for a breath, then cleared his throat. "We need to get John up and get out of here."
"How many scripts?" Clarke asked taking the papers from him.
"Six."
"That's not so bad. I got these covered. Get John up, so he can get you home. I'll get these filled and meet you there in a few hours." Clarke folded the papers and shoved them in her pocket as she limped out of the room.
With a sigh, Wells shoved himself out of the chair and over to Murphy. He took a moment to appreciate how innocent John looked while he slept. The sharp angles appeared to soften when he slept. Wells ran his fingers through Murphy's too long hair. "Hey there sleeping beauty, it's time to get up."
"Go away," Murphy mumbled as he turned over.
"Just get us home, and you can go back to sleep." Wells tugged the pillow out from under Murphy's head when he got no response.
John jolted to his feet. "What, huh, er." He blinked a few times between rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Oh, ah, where's Clarke?"
"She said she can fill my scripts and that she'd meet us at home." Wells handed Murphy a glass of water from the nightstand. "How far away from this new home are we?"
"Two buses, about forty-five minutes." Murphy yawned and then clapped his hand on Wells' back. "Got us some bus passes for the month."
Wells raised an eyebrow. "Where's all this money coming from?"
"Long arduous hours of work." The twitch in Murphy's eye wasn't missed by Wells, but he was letting the subject drop for now.
"Told you I wouldn't leave a mark, Blondie. Now take your money and get lost before the missus gets home."
"She works daylight every weekday, right?" Clarke asked as she gingerly got to her feet.
"I've got money to burn, so stop by anytime between ten and six. But if you see her beamer in the drive, scram."
"And why do you drive a beat up pick up again?"
"Sentimental reasons. Now get out, bitch."
Her clothes irritated her old scabbing wounds, and her new invisible injuries made moving tough, but she had enough money to get Wells' scripts. The wad of bills in her hand were an answered prayer of sorts. An answer for which she sacrificed a lot.
When she finally made it home, the lights were out and Murphy was curled around Wells as they slept. She set the bag with the nebulizer and other medications on the counter and removed her clothes as she walked toward the bathroom, sucking in her breath and suppressing pain filled moans. She turned the bathroom light on and turned the water on hot. With her forearm in her mouth, she sobbed and crumbled to the floor. When the door opened she tried to hurry and appear as though she'd been cleaning her feet, but she didn't have a washcloth or anything.
Murphy looked at her, stripping his boxers off. "I got ya." He wrapped his arms around her and let her sob into the crook of his neck. "I got ya." He lost his fingers in her hair when she flinched in pain when he touched her back.
Murphy made breakfast while Wells stared at Clarke. She hadn't slept and at the moment she lay in bed as her stare was out the window. Wells had tried talking to Clarke since he woke up, but she couldn't even look at him. Murphy knew that she would have some issues coming to terms with becoming a whore. He'd been doing it for so long, he almost forgot what it was like in the early days. But seeing Clarke this last week go through everything he had brought it all back.
With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the pancake. "Butter? Syrup?"
Wells turned his attention to John. "Both if we have it."
"I asked for the shits and giggles of seeing your disappointment when I told you we don't really have those things." Murphy pointed to the counter where a bottle of syrup sat next to a stick of butter in a plastic dish.
"Thanks." Wells sighed as he grabbed the butter. An hour ago he'd been starving, but now, he could barely think about food. After breakfast he would take Murphy outside and demand the answers he couldn't get from Clarke.