Life never really goes the way we plan. People we love wither and die, while people we hate grow and prosper. Rarely our minds become so twisted around that we can't think straight, and suddenly reality has taken on a brand new light with sworn enemies becoming the closest thing we have to friends and our real allies are forgotten.
Sam couldn't remember how she ended up in a base camp in the middle of the desert, and in all honestly she didn't care. It was her job to treat any injured solders, or her duty as her boss put it. She had streamlined her medical abilities to the point where she was almost like a machine, treating patients one after the other often without eating and sometimes without sleeping.
She wasn't allowed to feel, that would affect her work, or so she had been told by her superior. Do not make friends, do not make enemies. Just treat people. It wasn't her job to cosy up and be everyone's best friend. Treat them and then send them on their way, either out of the medical bay's automatic doors with some painkillers or down to the morgue to await burial.
Sam had never seen her boss's face. By what she understood no one had. He was a riddle wrapped up in mystery to her. One of the other soldiers had briefly mentioned that he never takes that mask her wears off, not even when alone in his office. Clearly this man's identity was purposefully being hidden.
As Sam finished stitching up yet another bullet hole after removing the bullet from a soldier's she heard the medical bay doors being opened behind her and after bandaging the man's arm up and sending him on his way with a few painkillers she turned around. To her surprise she was faced with her boss.
"Doctor. How is everything going down here?" He asked coolly.
"Fine, sir," Sam replied professionally, "I've had a couple of bullet wounds and a concussion this shift."
"Glad to hear everything is good. Any problems?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.
"None, sir." Sam replied.
He nodded and headed back out the way he came in, making Sam frown a little. She was used to his impromptu visits by now but that was the shortest visits she had had as of late by far. Normally he'd appear to have more of a purpose than simply checking up on her, like checking the amount or medical supplies they had or requesting an update on the status of a patient.
Upon deciding that it was best not to second guess her boss she decided that returning to her work was a far better way to spend her time, and so returned to her thoughts.
Eight months ago she had been living in a dingy cell chained to a wall. They had told her that she was a danger to herself and she needed to be locked away, and that her resolve had snapped and she had been tempted to give away the location of the base to the English. The strange thing was she didn't remember this at all, or anything else about her life besides that.
She had been told that she was in an explosion, and that a blow to her head had made her lose her memory, but something didn't add up. Ever since she could remember she has had these fleeting images of a hospital, far larger and far more expensive than the medical bay she currently resided in, exploding and then waking up in a different hospital surrounded by strangers.
A first she had thought this was a dream that had gotten stuck in her head, but as of late she had begun to wonder if all that she was being told was actually true. The problem was there was no one she trusted enough to ask, and in all honesty she was afraid that they would throw her back in that cell again.
…
When Tom awoke he found himself with his shirt off on the floor with a banging head.
There were beer bottles, some full, some half empty and others broken, strewn around his home. To any stranger it would have looked like there had been a fairly wild party here the night before, for the house was a mess and it appeared as though enough alcohol had been consumed to knock out several horses.
Unfortunately the reality was far more depressing. Every time Tom opened his eyes he saw Sam. He found that drinking himself into a state where he was barely conscious meant he no longer saw her, and so kept doing this over and over again.
About seven months ago work had begun on repairing Holby City Hospital, and around a week before that an old Doctor's surgery had been converted into a temporary emergency department, and everyone who worked at Holby ED was offered a job, including Tom. Five months ago he was suspended for turning up to work drunk and told to attend AA meetings. Upon his refusal he then lost his job altogether.
Since then barely a day had gone by where he wasn't drinking. Drinking to numb the pain of losing Sam, drinking to numb the stress of losing his job, drinking himself into dreamland so he could ignore reality. He had become an alcoholic.
Tom attempted to rub his eyes but only succeeding in slapping himself in the face, making his head pound harder. As soon as he opened his eyes he wished he hadn't, for the house literally looked like a bomb had hit it.
Everything had a good layer of dust and only the sofa and the TV remained undamaged, everything else had been used as target practice when Tom flew into a drunken rage and felt the need to throw the empty bottles of beer that line his house and were overflowing from his trash around.
Tom was lying on the floor only a few inches from the sofa, and so decided to haul himself up onto it and go from there. When he'd finally shifted himself into something that resembled an eighty year old man in a seated position he grabbed a half empty bottle of beer, took giant swig from it and looked up at the clock which had a cracked face and the second hand didn't work. It was nearly two in the afternoon, and what day it was Tom had no idea.
For a second he thought about getting up and trying to clean up even a small proportion of the house, but instead simply took another swig from his beer and grunted.
Before he could decide whether cleaning the house was a good idea, after all it would just end up looking like this again in a few days anyway, the sound of letters being dropped through the letterbox grabbed his attention.
He hauled himself onto his feet and took a few seconds to steady himself before ambling over to his front door, avoiding the broken bottles as he went with great difficulty. He stooped to pick up a handful of the fifty or so unopened letters that he had been neglecting to pick up over the last month and three in particular caught his eye, all of which had the words 'Final Notice' printed on them in a large bold font.
He turned them over and briefly acknowledged that one had his water company logo, the other his gas company and he third had his landlord's address. According to each he was about a week away from having no power, gas and then getting kicked out.
Tom chucked the open letters back onto the pile and returned to the sofa, placing his head in his hands.
What the hell was he doing?
…
Happy Birthday Lucyxx!
It's been so long that I forgot where I left this story at! I'll update it a few more times to see if anyone's still interested in reading it but if not I'll be starting something new. My exams are over now so I have a lot more time to write things now! :)