Broken Angel

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Nothing hurts as much as being hurt by someone who you thought would never hurt you – well I thought wrong, didn’t I? He did hurt me; in more ways than one.

The hospital was a frozen hell. The past echoed in the walls as I walked down the cramped corridor. Why was everything so... white? Then it hit me: white. White-soul angels. White-soul angels do good deeds. Saving people is a good deed. Treating the ill, sick or injured is a good deed. So they must paint the hospital and make the staff wear white because... they are all white-soul angels...

Excited by my manifestation of hospitals, I prepared what I was going to say in my head- except... who was I going to tell? I couldn’t tell Seth or Scotia, because they’ll know I’m in the hospital. I couldn’t tell any of my real family because I didn’t want to speak to them anymore. I couldn’t tell any of Ace’s family because they’ll persuade me to go back to Ace, who I was definitely never talking to again. Realising that I had no one to tell, I sunk on back in the chair in the waiting area, sulking until the lady at reception called my name.

‘How did you get the burn?’ Asked the nurse as I held out my arm for inspection.

‘Oh, I just burnt it on the kettle.’ I said, trying to imply that I am clumsy. I actually have burnt my wrist on the kettle before but it was only a small burn that cold water and a bag of frozen peas could fix. My burn didn’t look anything like a kettle burn - it looked like I had put a lighter to my arm.

‘Do you smoke?’ Asked the nurse, not convinced of my answer.

‘No, I would never touch one in my life.’ I protested in disgust. When you see a girl at school die from lung cancer because she smoked like one and a half packets a day, you never – ever – want to touch one.

‘This doesn’t look like a kettle burn.’ The nurse told me as she placed some funny-named cream on it. ‘It doesn’t look like a cigarette burn, either.’ That’s because it’s not. ‘Can you please tell me the real reason why you have this burn? I’m not your mother so I can’t tell you off.’

Why does everyone always assume it’s the victim’s fault that they are, I don’t know, being bullied, sick, ill, injured or even dead? ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ I mumbled. It’s not their fault. They didn’t ask to end up that way and it takes more than one person to cause it.

The nurse frowned at my remark and applied a bandage over my arm. ‘Like I said, I’m not your mother, however, I can assure you, playing with lighters, or matches, or candles – or any fire, for that matter – is dangerous and you’ll have to face up to the consequences.’

The nurse’s lecture was making me consider telling her the truth. “My – now ex – boyfriend is an angel and his power is to do with fire, and we had an argument and he burnt my arm because he got angry. Now where do I sign?” Yeah, right. The nurse will test me for mental illnesses. But, on the other hand, learning the possible reason why hospitals are so white, she might believe me. But I wasn’t about to take that chance. ‘You’re right. My parents are working right now, but when they get home I will tell them straight away what happened.’

‘Are you okay getting home?’ The nurse asked, smiling slightly because she was proud of my answer.

‘Yes, I can get the bus home. It won’t take long.’ I told her as I tugged on my jacket. ‘Will my arm hurt for a while? Can I take any painkillers?’ I glanced at the clock on the wall, hoping that I’ll get home before Seth and Scotia.

‘You can take paracetamol and your arm will be sore today. For the next few days you could feel a dull ache.’ Just like my heart. ‘Keep it covered up for a couple days and then let the air get to it. But you should be fine.’