Bruised Faces and Broken Hearts Chapter One- The Secret
TWs for Domestic violence and r*pe
His punch hit her face with such force she thought it would break her jaw. It sent her flying backwards into the wall, her already sore wrist scraping down the edge of the table as she fell. Slumping down on the floor she lent her head against the wall, trying to hold back her tears.
Crying would just make it worse, make him worse.
The ringing in her head grew louder along with his screams. She closed her eyes, wishing that this would all stop. All she wanted was for this hell to stop.
Her Face. It was the first thing he noticed when she slipped into the ED. Even with the buzz of the department surrounding him, she stood out like a sore thumb. The bruise stretched across the left side of her face; from her eye to her cheek. Her eye was slightly swollen and the skin was coloured a blackish purple.
Dylan felt his heart fall. That was the third time this month she'd come into work with her face all beaten and bruised. When he had last asked her about it she had brushed it off, simply blaming it on a MMA training exercise gone wrong.
He had believed her then, he knew from back when they were married just how badly hurt Sam could get from MMA training, but slowly he was starting to think differently. Even with Sam being as reckless as she was he doubted that she could get injured three times in one month from training.
There was something different about her, something missing.
As she moved through the department she didn't have the normal enthusiasm for her job that she did. She wasn't leaping at the chance to play the hero nor throwing herself into the dangerous call outs she so desperately loved.
In a way her face matched the rest of her. She looked broken.
Quickly gathering up the paperwork that he was filling in, he rushed after her. Even if it turned out to be nothing more than another sporting injury Dylan felt that he should at least check if she was okay. Though there was a small part of him that had a feeling it wouldn't be so simple.
He approached her in the staff room from behind. She was reading through the latest copy of the lancet, she had most likely found it thrown carelessly on a table somewhere. Though her eyes were looking at the pages he could tell that she wasn't taking any information in, her mind otherwise occupied.
"Samantha?"
At the sound of her name she jumped violently. Her eyes shot wide with fear in a way that Dylan had never seen before. Something was definitely wrong.
"Are you okay?"
Sam didn't budge, instead she remained frozen still and staring right at him.
"Sam," he repeated in a softer voice, "What happened to your face?"
Her hand shot up to her face in what he could only assume to be a futile attempt to hide it.
"Oh umm, I got kicked in the face during training."
"That's three times in a row now, and that's three times in a row in the span of one month."
Sam moved her gaze towards the ground.
"Well my reflexes just aren't what they used to be," she laughed feebly, "I guess that's something that just comes with age."
Dylan scoffed, "You're not that old Sam, you're only 32."
She didn't reply to him, only diverting her gaze even further from him. He stood for a while waiting but when it was clear she wasn't going to reply he reached to turn her back to face him. His fingers had barely brushed the skin of her wrist when she jolted backwards and out of his grasp.
"Why do you care so much?" she asked as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
"Because I-"
He was interrupted by Connie appearing at the staff room door.
"Dr Keogh we have a motorway RTC coming in; three casualties with two in a critical condition. I need you in RESUS straight away."
He turned back to Sam. "Sorry, I need to go. Can we talk later?"
Sam nodded slightly. He hesitated before leaving Sam standing awkwardly in the staff room.
As Dylan walked towards RESUS he wished that he had got to the bottom of things properly. He had a nagging feeling that the longer he left it, the more he suspected that something bad would happen to Sam.
She watched him leave in a hurry, wishing she had found the courage to tell him. He was definitely suspicious. She could read his emotions better than anyone. The buzz of her phone pulled her out of her own thoughts. Absentmindedly, she reached into her pocket. The screen flashed bright with a notification. Her mood fell even further when she read the sender's name.
As she read through the message tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. It was a harsh reminder of the hell her life had become and the man who was making it so.
Sam pulled her blanket snug around her. Even though the flat was warm she was still shivering, or was it shaking. She sat curled up on the sofa trying to brace herself for the onslaught of shouting she was certain would follow once he came home.
They'd been back together for four months now. He'd tracked her down to Holby somehow, even after all the effort she had gone to make sure that he wouldn't be able to. No one had been told where she was going, with most not being told she was even moving in the first place. He had appeared at her doorstep late one night, all disheveled and messed up looking, begging for her to give him another chance. She knew she shouldn't have let him back into her life. It was common knowledge that people like him never change but she was so desperate to be loved that in the end she couldn't help herself.
Why was she so willing to put herself through hell, face the devil himself, in exchange for pitiful examples of love. She didn't know.
The clatter of keys in the door sent fear slicing through her body. He was back. The door crashed open loudly. Moments later heavy footsteps and the strong smell of booze flooded the small flat.
"Samantha?"
She didn't answer. There had been a time when she'd loved hearing her full name, when someone who had meant so much to her, still meant so much to her, had used it as a way of showing his affection. But things had changed. Now she hated it. It reminded her too much of the terror and pain that would always follow it.
"SAMANTHA!"
He bellowed angrily, the effects of his nightly drinking session having worsened his already fiery temper.
"Yes," she answered her voice barely louder than a whisper, "I'm in here." The longer she ignored him, the worse he would get. She wished she could avoid him for eternity but that was impossible. Sighing, she mentally prepared herself for the night ahead.
He stumbled into the room bringing the stifling smell of his evening's drinking session with him. His once neat hair now lay messy and ruffled. His clothes were no longer perfectly kept with the same shirt and trousers having been worn for a couple of days. Stubble was messily growing around his mouth. No one at Holby would ever have guessed that this was what had become of the once brilliant doctor Tom Kent.
His eyes were as sharp as knives, completely void of any sense of compassion. These cold eyes stared daggers into her, cutting straight through to her core with fear. He stumbled over to her seat on the sofa and stopped right in front of her. Tom just stood there, saying nothing and making no movements. After a few minutes of this, Sam took this opportunity to try to leave. She was tired from the busy day at work and didn't have the energy to deal with him.
"It's getting late now," she mumbled whilst stretching upwards and faking her best yawn, "I better get to bed. I've got to be up bright and early for my shift tomorrow."
When Tom made no effort to reply Sam took this as her chance. She swiftly moved off the sofa and was nearly out of the door when a hand tightly grabbed her wrist. His nails dug deep into her skin as he pulled her back to face him. The smell of his breath choked her as he lent in close to her face.
"Just where do you think you're going," he spoke with his voice filled with venom.
Sam didn't look up at him and instead squirmed in his grip, hoping to break free. When Tom picked up on this he only held on to her tighter. She gasped out in pain as his nails broke through the skin on her wrists. His foot flew into her calf making her eyes water as she collapsed forward.
"I SAID JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING!" He screamed in her face.
"To bed," she mumbled through the tears, "I start work early."
She moved her gaze up from the floor but still couldn't find the courage to look him in the eye. Even so, she could sense his temper rising.
"To bed?" he spoke mockingly, "You want to go to bed? Fine, let's go."
He turned and marched towards the bedroom, dragging Sam behind him. The nature of Tom's intentions dawned on her. Waves of anxiety and fear drowned Sam. She desperately needed to get away now. She pulled at his grip, screaming and kicking, trying to fight him off but her attempts fell short.
He threw her backwards onto the bed, the force of her hitting the mattress trapping her breath in her throat. She desperately gasped for breath but the crippling fear that was taking over her made it almost impossible. Tom pushed on her shoulders, holding her down on the bed as he clambered on top of her.
He looked her up and down, taking in every inch of her, like a predator would to its next meal. Silent tears began to run down Sam's face as his hands snaked their way under her clothes. There was no way to escape.
