Bruised Faces and Broken Hearts Chapter Two- Pieces of the Puzzle

TWs for domestic violence and r*pe


She huddled her knees close to her chest. Closing her eyes didn't help. She could still feel his hands on her body, smell the stench of alcohol on his breath and hear him muttering lies about love in her ear. She scrunched her eyes shut tighter as tears threatened to spill, her whole body convulsing with a mixture of fear and disgust. Fear of him; fear of what he had done to her and fear of what he could still do. And disgust, disgust at herself for letting it happen. Eventually, she slowed her breathing and worked up the courage to reopen her eyes, praying that it had all been some horrific nightmare. It hadn't.

His sleeping form still occupied the other side of the bed. The silence in the room contrasted heavily with the screams that had filled it only hours before.

Silently, she slipped out of bed. With every step, she prayed that the floor wouldn't creak or something wouldn't knock onto the floor and wake Tom.

The bathroom floor was icy cold as she entered it. She quickly locked the door before placing her mobile on the windowsill. Taking a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see.

Seeing her reflection in the mirror instantly made the tears fall again.


Dylan yawned as he read over his patient notes. He'd had very little sleep, having spent most of the night worrying about Sam. He was torn about what to do. Should he ask her again and risk her losing it at him for being an interfering git? Or should he leave it in the hopes that she was telling the truth? But what if he was right and by leaving it he was putting her in more danger? He sighed. This was messy.

The clatter of trolley wheels alerted him that a new patient had been brought in. Reassuring the man in front of him that he'd be back shortly, he placed the notes back on the end of the bed.

"Right then, what have we got?"

He turned to the paramedics and made direct eye contact with Sam. Whilst Iain introduced the patient and began to explain their situation Dylan quickly tried to get a look at Sam. Her face looked okay, maybe even a bit better than it had been yesterday. There was still something off about her but maybe he should have believed her. Just as he was about to push his worries to the back of his mind he noticed that her skin was shimmering in the light.

Sam was wearing makeup. Her face wasn't better, in fact, he would most definitely bet that underneath it was worse. Dylan knew something was definitely wrong now. She had always made it clear that she hated makeup, stating that it was too much of a girly thing for her tomboyish nature.

"...And Sam's got her stuff"

Iain motioned towards Sam who silently presented Dylan with a clear plastic bag filled with personal belongings. He took it from her with a slight smile as acknowledgement. As her hand let go of the bag her sleeve brushed the trolley, pushing it up her wrist. Dylan's eyes fixed onto the clear marks on her pale skin that looked like they were made by someone grabbing her wrist with too much force. Once he had the bag Iain and Sam left having finished their handover. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. He needed to talk to Sam now.

"Dr Masum," Dylan beckoned the new F1 doctor over, "I want you to start assessing Miss Grayson and when I get back I want to hear your thoughts and ideas for a diagnosis."

With Rash ready to get to work and the patient looking content he took this as his chance and sped over to Sam sorting out the trolley before she left CDU. As he approached her she looked up and gave him a slight exhausted-looking smile.

"Shouldn't you be treating Sophie Grayson?" Sam queried and she was technically right. This, however, was more important in his eyes.

"Oh right, the new doctor is treating her meaning I have a chance to have a fifteen minute break for once," Dylan started, "So I thought I could check up on you, you know, carry on from yesterday." This seemed to catch Sam slightly by surprise as she immediately stared right at him. "How are you?"

"Oh I'm fine," she answers, suddenly putting on a fake cheery voice. "For one thing my face is feeling better, the bruise is almost gone and it barely hurts." She smiled over at him, seemingly hoping to fool him, but Dylan could see right through her.

He looked at her with a disapproving look as if to say 'really Sam?'

She threw her hands up in a mock defence and laughed lightly. "Really Dylan, I'm fine."

"Then what happened to your wrist?"

Her expression changed instantly to one filled with anxiety. Sensing her fear, Dylan uncharacteristically softened his voice.

"Hey Sam, it's okay."

It didn't work. She stepped back, shaking her head with her hands up to stop him coming near her.

"I… uh… I need to go find Iain," she said, stumbling over her words, "We'll need to… need to sort the ambulance out before… uh… we get another shout."

She quickly gathered everything together and sped off leaving Dylan with even more worries than before.


"I'll go start restocking the ambulance whilst you get the coffee," Iain called out as he left the staff base in the ambulance station. Sam watched him closely. Only once he was engrossed in his task did she slip her tube of foundation out of her pocket.

The bruises and scratches reached all up her arm as she rolled up her jacket sleeves. Taking it off would have been more practical but she wasn't going to risk anyone walking in on her without having a fast way to cover her arms. She hurriedly squirted the foundation onto her damaged skin, wincing slightly as it stung her open cuts. She rubbed at it until it covered her skin in an even layer and hid the evidence of Tom's abuse from the night before. She examined her arms making sure no spot was left uncovered, she couldn't have anyone noticing.


The winter air nipped at his hands as he left the ED. Grumbling to himself about the cold he stuffed his hands further into his pockets. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could warm up beside his heater with a cup of coffee and puzzle over what to do about Sam.

Loud shouts of festive glee made Dylan look towards a group of young students most likely off to enjoy their night. He watched them for a moment before being drawn to a figure standing a few metres behind them.

They had crumpled clothes and greasy hair which was paired with a sour expression plastered on their face. The sight of such a person made Dylan grimace. They reminded him too much of the horrible sorts of people that lived in the Belfast estate where he grew up; people whose lives revolved around alcohol, drugs, violence and crime.

Wanting to get away from them as quickly as possible, he hurried around the corner and tried to focus on anything other than them.

It didn't work.

The sight of that figure played on Dylan's mind, something telling him that he should recognise them. Did he know them? He swiftly turned back, hoping to get a better look at them. Surely he'd never properly met that person, especially not in Holby?

Dylan stopped when he again turned the corner. He was out of luck. They were gone.


Back at his boat, Dylan paced the living area restlessly. That hair, those clothes, that stance. He was now sure that he'd met that person before. They had most likely been not as rugged but nonetheless, he was sure. He knew them.

He wracked through memories from both the times he'd lived in Holby, sure that the man had worked with him at some point.

A man with tousled brown hair? A casual style of clothes that always looked somehow professional and relaxed at once? A stance that always seemed to make them more confident than others?

Tom? It couldn't be Tom Kent?

Dylan sighed wearily as memories of his interactions with the younger registrar resurfaced. He grimaced as he remembered the jealousy that had overtaken him as he'd watched Sam fall for another man. Not that it had lasted. If he remembered rightly he'd heard an offhand comment from Robyn about how Tom and Sam were divorced. That would mean that they had gone their separate ways and so would eliminate Tom from being the person he'd seen. Wouldn't it?

He made a cup of coffee whilst memories of the past still played in his head. Was there anyone else from Holby who matched the appearance of the figure?

He had just finished his coffee when the events of a shift back in December 2012 came back to him.

He'd been walking out of CDU when a scene in the staff room had caught his eye. Tom was arguing loudly with the Locum doctor Dominic. Dylan expected that they wouldn't get along. After all, by the sounds of their past, there were many reasons for both men to hate each other. Though what he hadn't expected was for Tom to suddenly erupt with rage and punch Dominic full-on in the face. He'd been stunned, he hadn't thought that Tom would be that violent.

The mug in his hand fell to the floor with a clang as Dylan jumped up instantly. The figure's sour expression matched the one from his memory perfectly. The puzzle in his mind all suddenly came together.

Tom had a temper he couldn't always control. Tom was prone to violence. Tom was back in Holby.

Sam.

It made him feel physically sick at the thought of it.

Tom had been waiting for Sam.

He could have been wrong but it all added up.

The bruises, the fear, the reluctance to engage, the partner refusing to let them be alone. They were the key pointers of domestic abuse. How had he missed it? In his time in emergency medicine, he had probably dealt with hundreds of cases of abuse, had to spot it in the hardest of circumstances, and yet when it had really mattered he hadn't. He had missed it when it had been someone he cared about most.

His mind raced at 100 miles per hour as he tried to decide what to do next. Whatever he decided, he needed to be able to do it fast. Sam was most likely in grave danger.

The Phone. He should phone the police.

He practically sprinted to his mobile, almost tripping over Dervla in the process. He had barely grasped it when he was already frantically tapping in the numbers.

"Hello, what service do you require?"

With his mind racing, Dylan found it hard to get his words out.

"Right... um… I need to talk to the.. uh.. the police"

"Okay," replied the woman and a click sounded through the phone as his call was connected to the police.

"We'll send out someone to look into it further as soon as we can."

"Thank you," Dylan sighed before the call disconnected. He slumped back down into his chair and rested his head in his hands.

All there was to do was wait.


They were sitting silently on the sofa, the atmosphere so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Sam was nursing what she suspected was a sprained wrist whilst Tom watched her like a hawk.

The silence was disrupted when the doorbell rang. She looked up to see Tom groan before dragging himself out of his seat to answer it. Moments later she could hear a conversation start between the person at the door and Tom. Tom's voice was lighthearted and charming, one of his many tactics of fooling other people, Sam knew too well that it was all a facade.

"Is your girlfriend in, Samantha?"

Sam froze as this caught her off guard. And by the lack of any reply, it had done the same to Tom. There were a couple more mumbles of conversation before Tom called for her to come to the door.

Realising that all her bruises and scratches were on full show, she quickly pulled on her loose hoodie and checked that the makeup on her face was still there.

She approached the door to find Tom standing next to a police officer, the glare in his eyes telling her to not give anything away. The woman turned to her with a smile.

"You must be Samantha then? I'm officer Avril Huntley, I just need to ask you a few questions."

Sam tried to put on her best smile, "Yeah I am but Sam is just fine."

Officer Huntley nodded before something seemed to catch her eye. Sam could feel herself squirming under her gaze.

"How did you get that bruise on your neck Sam?"

She'd forgotten to cover her neck. Sam began to panic, knowing that the police officer would begin to suspect the worse if she couldn't find a plausible explanation and quickly.

"She got it during her MMA."

Tom butted in and Sam internally gave out a sigh of relief. MMA, his perfect excuse. It wasn't exactly lying, she did train and compete in the sport but it had been a good year and a half since then. He continued to talk and Sam could see Officer Huntley's mood change.

"I was asking Sam," she spoke sternly, "so would you please let her talk."

This statement rubbed Tom up the wrong way and he glared back at her. Officer Huntley ignored this and turned her attention back to Sam.

"Well, can you tell me what happened to your neck?"

"I got it during a fight at my MMA competition last weekend."

Sam knew what Tom would do if she didn't follow him. Even with a police officer there, he would find a way to talk them into believing him, he always did. There was no point even trying to tell the truth. All she could do was play along.

"Yeah, it was a vicious fight. I was up against this girl from Newcastle. Brilliant fighter and she had a mean punch which sent me flying, as you can see. Won the competition though."

"Oh," this seemed to take officer Huntley by surprise, "You did? Well, congratulations on your victory."

"Thanks." Sam gave another fake smile. "You can come in and see the trophy if you like?"

"No it's fine, I'm sorry for disturbing you, there must have been some confusion."

"Why's that?" questioned Tom, his expression still subtly sour.

"Oh," began officer Huntley, "Someone had reported a possible case of domestic violence, most likely they saw Sam's bruise and assumed the worst, so we just had to check. Obviously, there's been a mix-up."

Tom slipped his hand around Sam's, an attempt to give off the appearance that they were a happy couple.

"Well at least we know we have caring neighbours."

They all laughed slightly before Officer Huntley left.

Tom locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket. He'd taken Sam's own key weeks ago so she couldn't leave without him knowing. She followed him silently back into the living room. He sensed her presence and turned to face her, his expression ice cold.

It suddenly dawned on her- what if Tom thought she had called the police or asked someone to do it for her? Her anxiety began to rise and she braced herself for another onslaught of shouting and violence.

He moved closer causing Sam to tense up. The violence never came. Instead, he dug his hand into her pocket and yanked out her phone. He glared up at her before shoving it into his own pocket.

It was only once he had stormed off to the bedroom with a bottle of alcohol that Sam attempted to relax. It didn't work.

She curled up on the sofa with her mind and body hurting. Her bruises would hurt at the slightest of bumps and her muscles ached from being held down and grabbed at. These injuries acted as a constant reminder to herself of what had happened the night before and many times before that

It still disgusted her. Even worse, She disgusted herself.

The battle of thoughts in her head became louder once again. How had she let him do that? She should have fought back, been more tactical and escaped. Only weak people would have failed to get out. Only weak people would let people hurt them in that way. She felt horrible. She felt weak. She felt disgusting.

She curled herself up further into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself and cried.


The ring of his phone jerked him out of his thoughts. He'd been anxiously waiting to hear about Sam for over 2 hours. He hoped that she'd be safe now.

"Hello," he started as soon as he'd answered the call.

"Hi, I'm Avril Huntley, the police officer who went out to check on your suspicions about a case of domestic abuse."

"Is she okay, have you arrested him?" Dylan spoke quickly, eager to know that Sam was safe. "More importantly have you managed to get Sam somewhere safe?"

"Sir when I arrived I talked to both Mr Kent and Miss Nicholls. And from the information that they both provided the suspicions that you had were found to be false."

"I'm sorry what?"

"We found no evidence to prove that your suspicions were correct."

"But what about her bruises? Her face and arms are covered in them!" Dylan half-shouted down the phone, his anger taking over. How could the police have not spotted the signs that he had?

"She told me that she got those bruises from her MMA competition. The explanation she gave was very sufficient and I believe her."

"So that's all you're going to do then?" He couldn't believe this, "Even if you do believe her shouldn't you look into it further?"

The woman on the phone retained her collected manner. "I'm sorry but we can only look into this more if we have further evidence that points towards the claims you are making."

"Oh for god's sake!" Dylan shouted down the phone, "You idiots are meant to keep people safe!" He ended the call abruptly and in a fit of rage threw his phone across the room.

What was he to do now? The police had turned out to be useless and he sure as hell was not going to just brush it aside as they had.

He leant back against the wall, staring at photos from his past whilst he tried to regain his composure.

Sam. In these photos she was happy and full of life; the reckless woman he had fallen for and still cared deeply about. He needed to help her, but how.

It was then that someone in an older photo caught his eye and hope began to return.

Yes, she would know what to do.

A quick glance at his watch told him that she would just be finishing her shift. He rushed over to retrieve his phone.


Belfast, Northern Ireland (Dec 2017)

She unlocked her locker wearily, the events of the day having taken their toll on her. Only a couple more months and she'd be retiring. It wasn't that she didn't like her job, she loved it in fact, but 12 hour shifts on Belfast's biggest maternity ward when you were 63 was definitely getting just a little too tiring. Especially when you were the most senior midwife on said ward.

The metal door opened and out fell a couple of loose faded photographs that have been stuck up inside. She smiled, looking at the photo of her with three little ginger-haired children with fond memories. She quietly laughed as she realised just how young she looked in it. How she had managed to get to where she was after having three babies as a teenager she would never know. Truth be told, she hadn't been as young as some of the mothers she had cared for on the ward over the years but even then the majority of them managed perfectly.

She swapped the photos around and looked at the other one. This one was more recent, well, if you could count the mid 2000's as recent, and featured the same people as the one before.

She was sitting out in her garden on a summer's day with the three children who were now grown adults. Graham was sitting to her left, looking sulkily away from the camera like always. He really hated having his photo taken and she was almost certain that the only photos she had of him actually looking into a camera were from his wedding day. On her right sat a madly grinning girl called Layla. Her bright green Belfast Queen's University hoodie contrasted greatly with her hair and she had sunglasses perched precariously on her head. Her eyes moved to the youngest in the photo. He was sitting awkwardly next to his sister; sporting the same hoodie but in a much more subtle blue.

It was then that the magnet, previously used to pin up the photos, lying on the floor caught her eye. As she reached down to pick it up the sudden ring of her mobile to her by surprise.

Her head knocked against the hard metal door. She groaned in pain as she rummaged through her locker to find her phone. She glanced at the caller's name and was taken aback to see that name. He barely ever called. Confused but nonetheless grateful for the spontaneous call, she clicked the answer button whilst rubbing the sore spot on her head.

"Hello Dylan," she said with a smile, "To what do I owe the pleasure for this time."