I am witty.
I have a good heart and fierce determination inside of me.
Pressing the tip of my finger to one of the plastic tubes connected to my arms, I know what thinking about everything from my past means. It means technically I am not a patient of Oakhill. I'm not even a patient at this hospital because they don't even know my name. I'm Jane Doe. Unless the police told the staff my real name. But if they haven't I'm still free.
And I can still get the hell out of here.
Picking up my pillow, I bite into it and rip the IV tubes from each arm. I let out a muffled scream and bite down on the pillow harder as a stinging pain sprints down my forearms, stopping at my wrists. Little droplets of blood pool in the crooks of my elbows and I wipe them away quickly before yanking off the cords that are connected to my chest.
There's a rectangular window on the opposite side of the room. Stumbling out of bed, I make my way toward it, limping and gritting my teeth. My legs ache. My entire body is stiff. I can barely breathe on account of my broken ribs, but I'm not going to let that stop me. I'm not going to let anything stop me now.
I make it to the window and press my good shoulder into it, sliding it open the slightest bit. Then I hook my right hand underneath it and push it open as much as I can for me to climb out.
Then I look down.
I'm on the second floor.
Sticking my head out the window, I estimate the drop is about twelve feet. My attention averts to the side of the cement building. There's a ledge that spans from one end to the other. Below me is another ledge. Above me are more. In fact, it seems that there's a ledge about ten inches wide on every floor. I study the distance between the ledge on the first floor and the ledge on the floor I'm on. With my injuries, swinging from one to the other is going to be a challenge, but I tell myself that I'd rather die trying to escape rather than not try at all.
It's not until half of my body is out of the window that I hear the door to my room slam, followed by someone mumbling, “Shit.”
I start shimmying and I'm almost completely out the window when I feel a pair of strong hands on my waist. I start kicking. No! Damn it! No! I wiggle my body and start swatting at the person with my good hand. “Let me go!” My hand connects with the person's face. There's a grunt. “Just let me go!” Now they're using more force. Both of their arms are wrapped around my waist and they pull. They yank. I'm trying to grip onto something, but I can't and I fall back through the window and on top of someone.
My eyes are closed and I open them abruptly. I suck in a deep breath and stare into a set of amber eyes. Amber eyes that are blazing with rage. I try to pick myself up off Dr. Watson, but my arm buckles and I fall back on top of him. A pain so intense surges through me ribs and I gasp for air. Dr. Watson is up in a flash and he pushes me into the wall hands flat against my chest. The pain subsides and I enjoy the glorious air as I suck in a deep breath and take it into my lungs.
The beautiful monster with his hands on my chest is scowling at me. “What in God's name is wrong with you?” he forces out, his jaw clenched. “You could have killed yourself!”
“No,” I gasp and push against him trying to get back to the window. The image of him earlier, leaving my room to go chat with the police officers resurfaces. I see the stern emotionless expression on his face. I hear the strained grunt leave his lips when I squeeze his fingers. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here now.
Maneuvering to my left, I try to slide around him, but he grips my arm. It doesn't hurt, but he's using enough force to keep me next to him. “Don't make me have to move your room. I'll put you in the basement, I swear it. Right next to the morgue.” His voice isn't cruel, but hearing basement and morgue in the same sentence sends all of my composure to a dark part of my mind and I hit my knees.
Then I scream.
The tears fall from my eyes.
I'm shaking, shaking, shaking.
I can't stop.
Finally, I beg, “Please don't send me down there!” My face is on fire and not even my tears can put out the blaze. “You can't send me back there!” I bury my face in my hands and cry harder. “You can't! You can't do this!” I look up at him, my lashes soaked, my cheeks red and stained with wetness. “What kind of a doctor are you?” I thought they'd actually help me here. A sliver of me hoped that maybe I was wrong about him and the he would help me.
Dr. Watson gives me an odd look and takes a knee in front of me. His look is a mix of an awestruck yet confused look. It's like he's never seen someone hysterical before. He reaches out to me, but I cower away. I'm afraid of him. Afraid of he might be capable of. And the fact that he might have had a hand in adding to my misery. He might have had a hand in st
rapping me to the gurney at Oakhill and had a hand in sending thousands of volts of electricity pumping through my body.
He reaches out to me again and I slap his hand away. Then he lets out a frustrated sigh and runs his hand through his strands of gold. “Will you please be reasonable?” he asks curtly. “I'm not going to hurt you, Adelaide.”
My eyes widen, and my mouth gapes. “You know my name,” I whisper.
His stare is adamant. “Yes.”
“They told you.”
“Yes.” He reaches out to me again, but I'm too numb to react. He surprises me when his fingers brush against my cheek, and he tucks my hair behind my ear. My cheek tingles and I can't do anything but stare. It's the first tender gesture I've ever seen from Dr. Watson. Then again I've only seen him twice.
This creature of a man confuses me.
He's complex.