A/N-I wasn't planning on writing another chapter for this fic, but I got
bored so here I am. This chapter is from the POV of a nurse called Nell,
who works on the recovery ward, where Abby is after being brought up from
the ER. The song is killing me softly, originally sung by Roberta Flack, a
song I've become a little obsessed with lately. It's a beautiful song! The
bits in brackets are flashbacks. As always, please R&R, here goes
nothing.........
Today a woman was brought up from the ER, she's a nurse.....like me and she's in her mid-thirties........like me. Her boyfriend left her pregnant and alone, so she turned to the bottle for cold comfort and that was exactly what she got, her problems went away for a while, but she killed her baby. Foetal alcohol syndrome, I see it all the time, but this case was especially bad. It feels stupid that seeing something like that can feel as heartbreaking as having to tell a young boy that his mum is dead.
The similarities between us are frightening, we're both nurses in our thirties and we're both reformed alcoholics. She's one of those people I've seen in the meetings, but never bothered to talk to. If I was left alone like her, I would probably turn back to the bottle.
She's just been lying in her bed for ages, not moving, just staring at the walls. I can imagine how she feels and as much as I would love to go in and talk to her, I'm afraid to. I go to the lounge, where I go to sit down on the couch and turn on the radio. A song floats out of it, bouncing off the whitewashed walls and hanging eerily in the air. I lean my head back and listen to the words of the song, letting the words merge together and invade my thoughts. I don't want to think about anything, I just listen to the music.
*** I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him
To listen for a while
And there he was this young boy
A stranger to my eyes
***
I don't really know the song, but I find myself singing along. My voice is actually surprisingly good, I wanted to be a singer, I wanted to make music, but my parents pushed me through med-school and here I am. At times I think that I could have been much more, at times I wonder what could have been, no doubt I'm happy right now, I like making people better. I don't think that often about what I could have been, but sometimes I wonder if I would have started drinking like I did if my life wasn't like this. I'm interrupted from my thoughts when another nurse, Anna, walks in.
'Hi Nell,' she says to me, 'on your break?'
'Yeah, thank god.' Anna is a good person, I guess I would even call her friend of mine. She starts to sing along with the radio, mutilating a perfectly good song.
***
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
***
I try to think of something to say, to make her stop singing.
'You like the song?' I ask her and thankfully she stops singing and responds,
'Story of my life Nell, story of my life,'
'Really?' I curse her silently, how can a song like that be the story of someone's life. I think I'm just in a bad mood, I get up to go and she asks me,
'Nell? Where are you going?'
'Oh, better get back to work,' I say, lying through my teeth,
'Have fun,' she says as a goodbye.
I'm sick of it, I'm sick of having to make do. I couldn't be a doctor, so I had to make do with being a nurse, I don't have brilliant friends, so I have to make do with people like Anna. Drake isn't wonderful, he keeps me company, he makes me laugh, but he doesn't sweep me off my feet. I'm a romantic, I want to be swept off my feet, I want to be loved properly.
An image imprinted in my mind is the day I drank too much and ended up in hospital. My parents came to see me and the way they talk to me, looked at me, as good as killed me. As a young teenager I dreamt of being a singer, I dreamt of singing for people, I dreamt of being romanced by my rock star boyfriend, none of that happened and here I am, having to make do.
I go into the room of that poor nurse, her name's Abby and she won't talk to me. I say all the usual things, I ask how she is, I ask if she needs anything. She isn't even crying, she's just lying there. I leave her there and after a while when I come back she's asleep. I watch her, thinking about that day when it was me in her place,
('I can't believe you Nell,'
'After everything your father and I have been through'
'How careless of you,'
'I was in an important people,'
'Imagine what the people in the church will say,'
The knife in my hands, but I'm scared to use it. I drop it and it falls to the ground with a clatter. What have I got to live for? Why do I feel like this?)
Her chest rises and falls steadily, she begins to wake and when she does, she looks at me and my teary eyes and says,
'You've been here before, haven't you?'
I know what she means and I'm ashamed to admit it. She can see into my soul and in a few words she's torn away everything I've tried to build up. My walls have fallen down and now everyone can see me for what I am. Nothing.
***
I felt all flushed with fever
Embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters
And read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish
But he just kept right on
***
I leave the room in a hurry, trying to hide the tears. I wipe vigorously at my eyes, I don't want anyone to see me. I'm afraid.
Later a man shows up, looking for her. I tell him that I'll just go check on her and when I do I find something horrific. She's lying collapsed on the ground, a packet of pills in her hand. I freeze. I don't know what to do, I know she's as good as dead. The man comes up behind me and sees her, he runs to her and checks for a pulse, he must be a doctor. I run over to join him and try to clear her airway, her pulse is barely there.
Some more doctors run in and lift her onto the bed. The man seems to be crying, he sits by her side, holding her hand, talking to her.
'Abby, Abby please be alright.'
(I can't believe you Nell, after everything you've worked for!)
'Abby, it's gonna be okay, please, please Abby,'
('Why didn't you tell me? I care about you Nell.')
'Abby, no Abby, no please no,'
( 'You don't have to do this to yourself Nell, please don't')
'Abby no, I love you, Abby no......!' He's crying, we've lost her, she's dead.
('Nell what are you doing with that knife?'
'Please Mom, it's not what you think.'
'It's exactly what I think, you're not my daughter Nell, not anymore.'
' Please mom, please help me, I need help.'
' You don't need help Nell, you need a psychiatrist. So caught up in those dreams of yours, well guess what Nell, you're not going to be a singer, that's a dream, dreams don't come true. Just give the dream up Nell, give it up.'
'I will mom, I'll give it up. I'll be a doctor, just please help me mom, I need you.'
'Goodbye Nell.' )
***
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
He sang as if he knew me
In all my dark despair
And then he looked right through me
As if I wasn't there
But he was there this stranger
Singing clear and strong
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
***
Today a woman was brought up from the ER, she's a nurse.....like me and she's in her mid-thirties........like me. Her boyfriend left her pregnant and alone, so she turned to the bottle for cold comfort and that was exactly what she got, her problems went away for a while, but she killed her baby. Foetal alcohol syndrome, I see it all the time, but this case was especially bad. It feels stupid that seeing something like that can feel as heartbreaking as having to tell a young boy that his mum is dead.
The similarities between us are frightening, we're both nurses in our thirties and we're both reformed alcoholics. She's one of those people I've seen in the meetings, but never bothered to talk to. If I was left alone like her, I would probably turn back to the bottle.
She's just been lying in her bed for ages, not moving, just staring at the walls. I can imagine how she feels and as much as I would love to go in and talk to her, I'm afraid to. I go to the lounge, where I go to sit down on the couch and turn on the radio. A song floats out of it, bouncing off the whitewashed walls and hanging eerily in the air. I lean my head back and listen to the words of the song, letting the words merge together and invade my thoughts. I don't want to think about anything, I just listen to the music.
*** I heard he sang a good song
I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him
To listen for a while
And there he was this young boy
A stranger to my eyes
***
I don't really know the song, but I find myself singing along. My voice is actually surprisingly good, I wanted to be a singer, I wanted to make music, but my parents pushed me through med-school and here I am. At times I think that I could have been much more, at times I wonder what could have been, no doubt I'm happy right now, I like making people better. I don't think that often about what I could have been, but sometimes I wonder if I would have started drinking like I did if my life wasn't like this. I'm interrupted from my thoughts when another nurse, Anna, walks in.
'Hi Nell,' she says to me, 'on your break?'
'Yeah, thank god.' Anna is a good person, I guess I would even call her friend of mine. She starts to sing along with the radio, mutilating a perfectly good song.
***
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
***
I try to think of something to say, to make her stop singing.
'You like the song?' I ask her and thankfully she stops singing and responds,
'Story of my life Nell, story of my life,'
'Really?' I curse her silently, how can a song like that be the story of someone's life. I think I'm just in a bad mood, I get up to go and she asks me,
'Nell? Where are you going?'
'Oh, better get back to work,' I say, lying through my teeth,
'Have fun,' she says as a goodbye.
I'm sick of it, I'm sick of having to make do. I couldn't be a doctor, so I had to make do with being a nurse, I don't have brilliant friends, so I have to make do with people like Anna. Drake isn't wonderful, he keeps me company, he makes me laugh, but he doesn't sweep me off my feet. I'm a romantic, I want to be swept off my feet, I want to be loved properly.
An image imprinted in my mind is the day I drank too much and ended up in hospital. My parents came to see me and the way they talk to me, looked at me, as good as killed me. As a young teenager I dreamt of being a singer, I dreamt of singing for people, I dreamt of being romanced by my rock star boyfriend, none of that happened and here I am, having to make do.
I go into the room of that poor nurse, her name's Abby and she won't talk to me. I say all the usual things, I ask how she is, I ask if she needs anything. She isn't even crying, she's just lying there. I leave her there and after a while when I come back she's asleep. I watch her, thinking about that day when it was me in her place,
('I can't believe you Nell,'
'After everything your father and I have been through'
'How careless of you,'
'I was in an important people,'
'Imagine what the people in the church will say,'
The knife in my hands, but I'm scared to use it. I drop it and it falls to the ground with a clatter. What have I got to live for? Why do I feel like this?)
Her chest rises and falls steadily, she begins to wake and when she does, she looks at me and my teary eyes and says,
'You've been here before, haven't you?'
I know what she means and I'm ashamed to admit it. She can see into my soul and in a few words she's torn away everything I've tried to build up. My walls have fallen down and now everyone can see me for what I am. Nothing.
***
I felt all flushed with fever
Embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters
And read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish
But he just kept right on
***
I leave the room in a hurry, trying to hide the tears. I wipe vigorously at my eyes, I don't want anyone to see me. I'm afraid.
Later a man shows up, looking for her. I tell him that I'll just go check on her and when I do I find something horrific. She's lying collapsed on the ground, a packet of pills in her hand. I freeze. I don't know what to do, I know she's as good as dead. The man comes up behind me and sees her, he runs to her and checks for a pulse, he must be a doctor. I run over to join him and try to clear her airway, her pulse is barely there.
Some more doctors run in and lift her onto the bed. The man seems to be crying, he sits by her side, holding her hand, talking to her.
'Abby, Abby please be alright.'
(I can't believe you Nell, after everything you've worked for!)
'Abby, it's gonna be okay, please, please Abby,'
('Why didn't you tell me? I care about you Nell.')
'Abby, no Abby, no please no,'
( 'You don't have to do this to yourself Nell, please don't')
'Abby no, I love you, Abby no......!' He's crying, we've lost her, she's dead.
('Nell what are you doing with that knife?'
'Please Mom, it's not what you think.'
'It's exactly what I think, you're not my daughter Nell, not anymore.'
' Please mom, please help me, I need help.'
' You don't need help Nell, you need a psychiatrist. So caught up in those dreams of yours, well guess what Nell, you're not going to be a singer, that's a dream, dreams don't come true. Just give the dream up Nell, give it up.'
'I will mom, I'll give it up. I'll be a doctor, just please help me mom, I need you.'
'Goodbye Nell.' )
***
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
He sang as if he knew me
In all my dark despair
And then he looked right through me
As if I wasn't there
But he was there this stranger
Singing clear and strong
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
***