23 January 2013
"You've got a fractured eye socket and you're going to need a few stitches to help that head wound heal," the doctor said, pointing to one of Marshall's X-rays, "and you probably have one hell of a concussion." He pulled another X-ray up on the computer screen, the blurry black and white picture clearly showing Marshall's ribs. "Two of your ribs are fractured," he tapped the screen, "which explains the pain in your chest." I gripped Marshall's hand gently; his knuckles were bruised and bloody with defensive wounds.
"But he's going to be ok?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Yes, of course," the doctor smiled warmly, "he's a bit bruised and battered, but we'll patch him up. He'll need someone to stay with him for at least twenty-four hours, due to the concussion."
"Of course," I said, squeezing Marshall's hand a little, but he wouldn't look at me. "I'll take care of him."
"That's great then," the doctor said, quickly signing some paperwork, "I'll get a prescription for the pain and a nurse will be long shortly to clean up Marshall and administer the stitches." He made to leave, then stopped at the cubical curtain. "The police are waiting to see you, I'll send them in after the nurse is finished." He looked at us sadly and closed the curtain behind him.
I turned to Marshall, his face was a bloodied mess; his left eye was black and swollen, the bridge of his nose was split and he had a nasty gash to his forehead. He looked distraught and winced as he tried to shift his position. I perched on the bed next to him, cautiously placing an arm around his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" I asked, at a loss as what to say. Of course he wasn't alright, it was a stupid question, but I just wanted him to talk. He'd barely said a word since he regained consciousness. Sitting in the gutter with a half-conscious and bleeding Marshall in my arms waiting for the ambulance to arrive had been the scariest ten minutes of my life. I was overcome with relief that he was going to be fine, at least physically anyway.
"Yeah," he said quietly, finally meeting my gaze "are you ok?"
"I'm fine, just shaken up," I replied. My arms hurt where I had been restrained by one of the thugs and I had a couple of grazes on my knees and hands, but I was ok. Thanks to Marshall.
"I'm so sorry," he sighed, looking away, "this is why I don't get close to anyone. I just bring trouble and people get hurt." He tried to disguise it but a tear rolled down his bruised cheek. "You don't have to stay you know, and you don't have to keep seeing me. I understand. I do. You've only known me a day and look at the shit you've had to deal with already. Just go, it's ok."
"Don't you dare say sorry," I reached out and cupped his face in my hands, wiping a bloodstained tear away with my thumb, "this was not your fault."
"Of course it was," Marshall sobbed, unable to contain his tears any longer, "it's because of how I look. I'm a freak and people just can't accept me. I wasn't born like this, you know? As if losing both my parents and being scarred like this wasn't enough, people have to treat me like I'm diseased too."
"Oh Marshall," I kissed his forehead and pulled him close. A great sob shook his body, his tears wetting my neck. "I'm not going anywhere, ok? I'm going to take care of you, always. I mean it." Marshall held on to me desperately, his fingers twisting the fabric of my top.
"Thank you," he said, "thank you."
By the time the nurse had cleaned, stitched and dressed Marshall's wounds and we had both given our statements to the police, it was almost three-thirty in the morning. The doctor wanted us to wait until dawn to discharge us, but Marshall was adamant that he wanted to go back to his flat, so we got a taxi back to the halls. I helped him inside - the flat was dark and empty; his flatmates were either out or sound asleep. Marshall's small room was tidy, but the walls were covered in pencil sketches and photographs. Marshall flopped onto his bed, exhausted - it was a good thing it was the weekend and we didn't have classes in the morning. I sat next to him, kicking off my boots.
"Will you stay with me?" Marshall asked quietly, his hand sneaking into mine.
"Of course I will," I smiled, lying beside him on the bed. I pulled the crumpled duvet over us and cuddled Marshall beneath the covers. He rested his head against mine and quickly fell asleep in my arms, his breath gently tickling my neck.
I thought about everything that had happened since I had approached Marshall at lunch yesterday; it had been a crazy, amazing and terrifying few hours and I couldn't quite believe what we had been through. For all the awkward, scary and weird moments, there had been some wonderful ones too. Our first kiss. The way we connected. Our first date. And falling asleep wrapped in the arms of a wonderful and brave young man who had already changed my life. As I drifted towards sleep I wondered what the new day would bring. Sure as hell couldn't be any more insane than yesterday had been.
I hoped.
Scars - Part 7 • Opuss № I