The Six Month Contract

Memory Lane

I want to be released. Hospitals and I don't go along well. I get nightmares — of course I tell nobody that. They don't know that part of me. That's the hidden part, the part even Rocky has no clue about.

I take a deep breath and hold the edge of the bed again. After my argument with Daniella yesterday, I passed out. I woke up this morning, again to the news that I had lost a day.

Daniella holds my hand in hers as she sits by the side of the bed. She was released today — I was not.

"I need to get out of here," I say testing the waters. I don't want to tell her why but I imagine if she finds out she'll be the safest person to know.

Daniella sighs. "You can't," she says. "Sky you have been stabbed. That's not a light injury."

I nod admitting to what she has said. It's true, even I know but I still cannot stay here. "I'll feel better at home."

Daniella nods. "In due time, yes. But not now."

She's being tough on me. I know that but I cannot take it any longer. I take another deep breath. If I stay I will go insane.

When the doctor walks in, he picks the clipboard by the end of the bed and examines it. "Hmm," He says. "I can see what happened yesterday."

I frown. He's going to spill everything in front of Daniella. I snap my head in her direction. "Water, please."

Daniella nods grabbing the empty jug beside my bed and heads out.

The doctor watches the interaction, and from the look in his eyes, he knows. "You don't want her to know, do you?"

I frown again, not uttering a word.

He stands by my bed. "Does your husband know?" He asks.

I watch him in confusion. "Know what?" I ask suddenly intrigued.

I pray he's talking about the bleeding of my stab wound and nothing more but the look on his face tells me he knows a lot. This doctor knows more than he should.

He frowns staring down at the linoleum flooring. "What happened the last time you were here?"

I freeze in bed. No one was supposed to know that. That was kept a secret. "You need to leave."

He looks at me disappointed. "You won't heal being scared of the hospital and trying to rush out. Your husband has every right to know."

"You shouldn't even know that," I reply. "That's confidential information."

He smiles. "I know it's confidential," he says. "And that's exactly why I know. I'll give you some time to figure it out," and with that he leaves.

I feel sick. My stomach churns and all the memories rush back.

I'm screaming for help but no one can hear me.

"Help!" I say stumbling two steps back.

I wrap my hands around the scalpel resting on the metal tray.

I blink away the memories and tears replace them. I was eighteen. I was weak. I was scared.

My throat tightens. It was sorted. The court case ended, and I won. It was handled and father sealed all records.