Bad Blood (h.s.)

Part Twenty-Seven

Part Twenty-Seven

My mother's hand tightly wraps around mine when they give her another dose of medicine. She's not doing very well; I can tell by the way she looks. Her alcohol addiction was eating her alive and her restraint is getting to her. The way her mouth waters but doesn't eat or drink; the constant attempt to drug herself to feel free.

It pains me to see her this way, which is why I wanted to help. I got a job here at the hospital and I help take care of patients, making sure they are okay and helping them with whatever they need. Two weeks into the job and I already love it.

"I want to leave," my mom speaks to the doctor, but he shakes his head.

"You need to rest. You will feel drowsy in a few minutes. Plus you need to be supervised and Beth has to go to the psychiatric ward today."

She glares at him and I squeeze her hand. "Mother, he is trying to help. It's okay."

She nods and closes her eyes. I let go of her hand and walk out of her room, down the hall towards unit 7B, or the psychiatric ward. I grab a clipboard and glance at the names, only two.

Edwin Howard and Anne Cox.

I walk into Edwin's room and he's yelling and mumbling things to himself.

"They are coming; we aren't safe!"

"Shh, Mr. Howard, they are far away and we won't get hurt. You are safe, it's alright."

"No, I need to see her. Where's Felicity?" he asks, voice calmer than before.

I grab his hands in mine and sit him on the bed. He lays and holds my hands tightly.

"Who's Felicity?"

"My daughter. Where is she?"

I brush my thumb against the back of his knuckles. "I don't know sir, but she will be here soon."

He smiles and immediately falls asleep. His medicine must've kicked in, knocking him into an extreme state if drowsiness.

I grab my clipboard and walk down the hall, reaching room 233, the silent unit. It's a depression section and the patients don't usually talk, just hurt people or are scared.

I unlock the room, smiling at the security officer as I enter the room. I see a woman, maybe late thirties, early forties, sitting with her eyes closed in an armchair. I walk in and she opens her eyes, her vision darting to me. I smile and she slightly smiles, the lips curving evidently displaying fake emotion.

"Hi Anne," I say, looking at her.

"Hello." A British accent is on her voice and her eyes look into mine, the green-brown color intoxicating.

"How are you feeling today?"

She shrugs and looks down at her lap. "Same as every day, no family, unsure if they are safe."

I nod and she looks back up at me. "Why did they leave me? I thought they would call after I told they to leave but I got nothing."

The tears pour from her eyes and I want to hug her. "Ms. Cox, it's going to be okay."

"My son almost killed a kid in front of me. A sixteen year old, killing our neighbor. I have no one!"

She grabs my wrists and pulls me closer to her. "My daughter left with him because they hate me. They don't like me and neither did my husband. He divorced me and I have no one! Why does the world hate me?!"