Blondie2000: Thank you for your comment. You are correct, Lexa did come from an abusive background, and yes, she was trying to escape.
The lights hummed overhead as I surveyed my prison – a sterile hospital room that had been my whole world for weeks now. The same mint-green walls, the same rhythmic beeping of monitors, the same antiseptic smell that seemed to seep into everything. Even the wall clock seemed to mock me, its hands crawling so slowly that I sometimes wondered if time had stopped altogether. If boredom could kill, I'd have flatlined weeks ago.
The only thing keeping my mind from completely unraveling was eavesdropping on the staff's conversations about their patients. I'd become a self-appointed amateur diagnostician, piecing together symptoms and treatments like a medical detective. Will's latest case had my brain working overtime – patients treated with chemo who never had cancer. The puzzle pieces didn't fit unless some overworked doctor had mixed up their files. The thought made my stomach clench; one simple mistake could change someone's entire life.
My eyes drifted to my arm, imprisoned in a plaster cast that itched like a thousand mosquito bites I couldn't scratch. The surgery site underneath still ached with a dull throb, a constant reminder of whatever trauma had landed me here. I'm going crazy being trapped in here like a lab rat, I thought, fidgeting with the loose threads of my hospital blanket. Connor and Natalie had tried to help, bringing books to occupy my restless mind, but even the most engaging stories only provided a few hours of escape.
Every time I tried to remember how I'd broken my arm, my mind hit a wall of fog. The memories came only in nightmare fragments – angry voices echoing off walls, the terror of children huddled in darkness, the glint of eyes in a cave... was it a dog? A wolf? The images slipped through my fingers like smoke whenever I tried to grasp them.
"I can do this," I whispered to the empty room, my voice sounding smaller than intended. The blankets rustled as I pushed them back, the cool air raising goosebumps on my arms. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed felt like preparing for a moon landing – one small step that seemed monumentally dangerous. My head throbbed with the movement, the concussion making its presence known despite the medication coursing through my system.
The linoleum floor felt ice-cold against my bare feet as I tested my balance. Once the room stopped its lazy spin, I crept toward the door like a prisoner planning an escape. My heart drummed against my ribs as I eased the door open, wincing at every slight creak. The hallway stretched before me, surprisingly empty – no nurses, no doctors, no one to stop me from my illicit adventure.
"Just for a few minutes," I promised the empty corridor, trying to ignore Dr. Manning's warnings about unsupervised wandering. Something about healing injuries and potential complications, but I'd tuned out halfway through her lecture. "She's just being overprotective because of the baby," I chuckled nervously, the sound echoing slightly in the deserted hallway. "I'll be fine," I whispered, more to convince myself than anything else. "It's not like I'm planning to run a marathon."
My hospital gown swished softly against my legs as I took my first tentative steps into freedom, adrenaline singing through my veins like electricity. Each step felt like a small victory against the confines of my recovery, even as a voice in the back of my mind whispered that this might not be my smartest decision.
My eyes flitted over the names scrawled on the paperwork clipped to each patient's door. "Trinity, Alisa, Crowley, Shadow," I murmured to myself, savoring the comfort of their silent company. "At least I'm not really alone," I thought, clinging to the idea like a lifeline. The corridor stretched ahead of me, its sterile white walls bathed in the pale glow of overhead lights. I took a left at the junction, not caring where it led. The simple act of moving felt like liberation – a small rebellion against the confines of my room.
In Sharon's office.
Connor sat tensely beside Natalie and Daniel, all three wearing expressions carved from stone. They'd been summoned to Sharon's office. They assumed it was about the baffling cancer case they were grappling with, but their hearts sank when they saw the social worker waiting for them.
"You can't just put her in a home," Natalie burst out, her voice wavering with barely suppressed emotion. Her eyes, usually so full of warmth, were now clouded with frustration.
"No one's come forward about a missing child," the social worker replied, her tone clipped and business-like. "We suspect she might have been part of a human trafficking operation. She's not in the system, and no one has reported a child matching her description. With her memory loss, the only path forward is placing her in a group home."
"We have no idea what she's endured," Daniel interjected, his voice a calm contrast to the storm brewing in the room. "What we do know is she's been abused. Sending her to a group home could set back her healing. She needs the stability and attention of being the only child in a home where she can receive the care she truly needs."
"A group home is the only viable option," the social worker insisted, her gaze unwavering. "Without memories of her past, she won't struggle to adapt. A steady routine in a group home will provide her the stability she needs."
"And what about when she wakes up screaming from nightmares?" Connor's voice trembled with barely contained anger, his hands clenched into fists. "She relives her trauma every night. Who will comfort her at a group home?"
"The nightmares will fade," the social worker said, her voice softening slightly. "Once she's settled, she'll be fine."
Natalie leaned forward, her eyes pleading as they met Connor's. "What if someone fostered to adopt her?" she suggested, her voice a whisper of hope.
The social worker sighed, running a hand through her thick black hair. "If we could find someone willing, that would be ideal. But most families want younger children, babies even. Older children, especially ones with trauma... they're not easy to place," she admitted, her voice tinged with reluctant sadness.
""I know of someone who would be perfect to care for the child," Natalie said, her eyes twinkling with barely concealed mischief. She rested her hands on her pregnant belly, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "He's a great guy with a decent job. I've never been to his place, but I hear it's nice." She caught Daniel's eye, who returned her conspiratorial glance.
"Ah yes," Daniel nodded with understanding. That guy would be perfect. His emotional intelligence and his dedication to his patients—all speak volumes about his character. We wouldn't have to worry about the child not being cared for. I know he has good friends who'd be willing to help, too." His gentle eyes flickered meaningfully toward Connor.
Connor's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the surface. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening with tension. "You can't be serious," he growled. "You're talking about sending her away as if she's just another case file to be processed. As if she hasn't been through enough already."
The social worker shifted in her chair, the leather squeaking softly beneath her. "Any potential guardian would need to complete extensive paperwork for approval. We'd conduct a thorough home check and a comprehensive background check. The process is rigorous—as it should be."
"I don't think he'd have much of a problem passing a background check." Daniel's eyes danced with barely suppressed amusement.
Connor's face darkened like a gathering storm. "And just who is this mystery person you're so eager to pawn her off to?" The words came out sharper than he'd intended.
Sharon leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at her lips despite her attempt at professionalism. "I thought it would be obvious by now, Dr. Rhodes."
"Obviously, it's not," he snapped.
"It's you!" Natalie laughed.
"Me? But..I..I." Connor's usual eloquence deserted him, leaving him stammering like a first-year resident. The color drained from his face as the implications began to sink in, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock.
The social worker's pen tapped thoughtfully against her notepad. "Won't his schedule be too demanding?"
"Not if you consider the logistics," Daniel interjected, his psychiatrist's mind already mapping out solutions. "Lexa would attend school starting at seven in the morning, which aligns perfectly with Connor's schedule. He could drop her off on his way to work. After school, she could come here until his shift ends."
"A hospital isn't exactly an ideal environment for a child," the social worker challenged.
"She could use the doctors' lounge for homework," Daniel countered smoothly. "I know the staff would be more than willing to help her between patients. We're already invested in her wellbeing – we could be an extended support system."