Flightless Bird

Bruises

The blue bird rested on the knee of the girl, as she sat numb, head hanging, eyes cast to the ground. No movement could shake her from her trance.

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Something heavy rested beside me, for I could feel the weight pushing down on whatever I lay on. The first thing I heard was a steady beeping sound, slow, almost too slow. I felt my eyelashes flutter against my eye brows as my lids slowly opened, and I was awake. Looking around me, afraid to move, all I saw was a white, tiled ceiling, a clock on the wall reading 4:24, and several poles with tubes and wires hanging down toward my body.

The hospital.

The beeping grew faster as I panicked.

Heart monitor.

I freaked out as I tried to move, my fingers lifting slowly as I moved through a hazy, molasses-like state. I had to get out of here—Samuel's going to kill me!

I forced myself up, propping my body up with my elbow before moving to rip off the monitor. It was a steady flat line, and I rushed to turn it off as I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. Out of nowhere, a pair of hands yanked me back, gently, to the bed before my feet could hit the floor. I squirmed to get out of the grasp, panic consuming me as I called out.

"Scarlett, Scarlett, it's me! It's Alex Knightly!" The person said. I froze, catching my breath and noticing for the first time the breathing tube that was taped under my nose. I slowly turned my head to see him, wincing as my neck protested. With wide eyes, I saw pain and concern in his, and I flinched.

He knows. He's seen too much.

I tried not to tremble as a shiver of fear ran down my spine.

"W-hat...h-how did I-?" I started, confused and dazed, unsure of how much he knew. He helped me to lay down again, using the buttons to prop up the bed. There was no way to fight him now, he could take me in a second.

He even took Mr. Shreve down.

"How much do you remember?" He asked, apprehension in his features as he measured my state. He didn't let go of my arm, letting it rest in his large hand lightly as he sat up in his chair, all coldness driven from his demeanor.

"Everything until I had another coughing fit."

His eyes widened as he realized that I'd been coughing like this before.

"How long, how many times has this happened?"

"Which part, Mr. Shreve or the coughing?" I replied, unsure and attempting to evade his questions. He sighed and hung his head, shaking it as he closed his eyes.

"You mean to tell me that both have happened before?" He asked, before realization hit him. "Has he touched you before this?" He was on fire, engulfed suddenly by fury for once not directed at me. I was scared to answer, and felt my lower lip tremble.

"Scarlett, has he hurt you before?" He asked again, his tone dark.

"Y-yes. H-he harassed me before...on Monday he...
n-never this way, though..." I admitted, shyly, afraid of his response.

"So that's why you're wasting away! My God, why didn't I notice? I thought I was doing a good enough job keeping him away! That bastard...that's why you took so long making the coffee...?" He trailed off as directed his anger internally. I felt so bad that he had to know. It wasn't his fault.

"I-it's not your f-fault, sir-"

"Alex."

"Alexander. It's not your fault that he is a c-crude and terrible man. I should've said something, but I just didn't know how." I tried to explain, hating the way my voice shook.

"Scarlett, it's not your fault either, so don't you dare go blaming yourself. You should have told me, though. You clearly cannot protect yourself alone," he paused. "But the coughing...how often? How long...?"

"Every day, for a while. It's gotten more frequent as time goes on. I don't know why."

"Have you even been to a doctor?" He asked, aghast. Seeing me bite my lip to avoid a response and avoid his gaze, he understood. "Why on Earth didn't you get this checked out? You almost died!"

"I didn't have the time! And I'm sort of between doctors..." I tried. He sighed, his look seeming like he wanted to debate it further, but just then, the doctor walked in.

"Sorry to interrupt, but may I speak to Ms. Rosalia in private?" He asked.

A male doctor.

I told myself not to be afraid of him. I was only afraid of Samuel finding out I was here, or someone finding the reason behind my injuries. Mr. Knightly left the room grudgingly, and the doctor pulled a stool up the the edge of the bed, checking my vitals.

"I see you've taken the liberty of removing your heart monitor. May I ask why?" He asked as the door shut behind him.

"It was annoying. And I shouldn't be here..." I trailed off. He frowned and looked up from his clipboard.

"You can't be serious? I'm not sure you understand the severity of your condition, Ms. Rosalia, but your body is severely malnourished, and if we hadn't operated on that ulcer, you might not have made it to see next week." He said, affronted.

"Ulcer?"

"Yes, you had an ulcer in your stomach lining which caused your body to react and create your, er, 'coughing fits'. We had to stitch the lining of your esophagus so that it can heal better. It seems like it was caused by great amounts of stress and  frequent use of ibuprofen pain killers on a empty stomach," he informed. I listened, thankful of his healing me, but worried about the bill and Samuel....

"All that aside, I think you and I both know there's more going on here than just that. There's no way all the injuries to your body, both new and old, came from yesterday's attack alone," he paused. A solemn expression on his features as he asked the very question I could not answer.

"Where did you get the bruises, Ms. Rosalia?"