The Make-Up Artist

Chapter Twenty Seven: All That Matters

Once you're outside the costume tent and back into the bright sunshine, Bruce ushers you over to the nearest golf cart and practically shoves you in. He's completely silent on the five minute ride to the medic, and you don't know if that's a good or bad thing. The pain is starting to dissipate a bit, but you're not sure if that's because it's starting to go numb or not. When you finally arrive at the medic trailer, Bruce leads you up the stairs as if it's your legs that are disabled instead of your hand. The man inside, Bob, you learn, looks over at you from a computer he's typing on and asks what happened. Bruce explains quickly that "something happened to her hand". No shit something happened to your hand, Olivia fucking tried to crush it under her ridiculous boot that no one has any business wearing on a movie set. Bob stands and walks over to you; then turns your hand over slowly, examining it from all angles through a pair of thick black rimmed spectacles.

He clears his throat a couple of times, then finally declares, "She needs to go to the ER", as simply as if he'd said, "she needs to comb her hair." You stare blankly at him for a few seconds and he stares right back. "But I'll get you some ice to put on it", he says as an afterthought. "And you'll need your medical form, I'll get that too." You had forgotten that you filled one out when you were hired, but you're thankful since your purse and insurance card are all the way back at the make-up trailer and you have no desire to prolong your agony any longer.

"Thanks", you reply just as simply. He then ambles away to retrieve the ice, and Bruce turns to look at you.

"How is it?" He asks hesitantly.

"Well, it fucking hurts to be honest", you snap back, then immediately regret it when you see the shocked look on his face. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Thank you for helping me", you say as sincerely as you can.

"No worries", he replies. Bruce is a man of few words, but that's just fine with you at the moment. Bob returns with a small bag of ice, and placing his hand under your bruised one, sets the bag gently over it.

"Keep this on until you get to hospital", he instructs, and you nod in agreement. After he hands you the form, Bruce leads you back outside, back to the golf cart, and presumably on to the parking lot. You really wish Taron were the one taking you, but you know that's impossible. Bruce continues his vow of silence on the way to the hospital, and your mind drifts to Olivia and all the ways she might be taking advantage of your absence. You press your good hand over your forehead, trying to ease the headache that is forming there, and ignoring the rising nausea that is threatening to overtake you.

After what seems like hours, you finally arrive at the small local hospital emergency room, where Bruce continues to lead you around like a small child. You check in and give them the form Bob gave you, then wait about fifteen minutes to be called into a room. Bruce finally leaves you alone at that point, and you are grateful to no longer have to pretend that you don't feel horrible.

The nurse leads you into a small cubicle complete with a ringed curtain, and proceeds to take your vitals and asks you how the injury occurred. You tell the story and insinuate that it was an accident, although the jury is definitely still out on that one. She nods and jots something down on a clipboard, then takes the bag of now water from your hand. You see that the bruises have formed an angry looking reddish blue color, and have spread from your outer hand inward. You also notice that your pinky is curled in at a slightly odd angle, but it might just be your imagination, or that you're favoring it from the pain. She leaves you alone to wait for the doctor, and you suddenly have an overwhelming desire to have Taron with you, or at the very least, your mother. You've actually never had a broken bone or injury in your entire life and have never had to spend any time in a hospital, other than when you were born of course. You don't care for the sterile antiseptic smell invading your nostrils either, or the overly bright white lights overhead. You've felt plenty alone in the last few months being in a strange country, but never so much as you do at this moment. The panic is starting to rise up within you, when suddenly, someone pokes their head around the side of the curtain and you break out into a wide grin, despite the overwhelming pain you're in.