My little black phone was in pieces, much like how my mind felt. I blamed the hallucinations and voices on the fracture in my skull. It had to be the fracture, right?
I was discharged the following day, bright and early.
"I've prescribed you strong pain killers, Harleen, and you've to come back here every Thursday for checkups, just to be safe. Also, I've signed you off work for a month," Aimee said, not looking up from her clipboard. My mouth dropped open.
"A month?! But I can't...you don't understand-"
"Harleen, you've been through a difficult trauma. It's best that you stay away from that place," Aimee said with an assuring smile. But it wasn't an option.
"No, I'm going back. I am."
Aimee looked at me with concern but lowered her head in defeat. She handed me some papers.
"This is your prescription and your doctor's note for leave. Use it if you need to, I strongly urge that you do, but I can't force you. Harleen..."
She placed a small hand upon my shoulder.
"Please be careful."
Then she dragged herself away, leaving the door open. I grinned, feeling successful.
My plan was to visit Arkham before I left. After grabbing a cola from the vending machines, I asked at reception for his room number.
"I'm sorry, we can only give out information to family and close friends, security policy," the woman sneered. Slutty Sandra came to mind. I glanced at the woman's badge: Beatrice Harrison.
"I'm his work colleague," I insisted. Beatrice stared at me blankly.
"I stopped the bleeding for God's sake! Let me see him!"
Beatrice looked taken aback, but typed some details into her system.
"Floor 8, room 102."
I didn't thank her. I simply walked away, sipping my cola.
The elevator was empty. At least, empty of physical bodies.
"Your Harley is showing, dear. A little, uh, riled up this morning, are we?"
"Go to Hell."
"Ahahaha! I'm already there!"
I left him in the lift and stormed onto floor 8. It was quieter there, not peaceful though. Hospitals are never peaceful.
Each room had a different story to tell. Room 98 with the old man in the red jumper, his grandchildren crowded round him. Room 99 with the little girl, asleep, with her parents crying at her bedside. Room 100 with the teenage boy, alone, looking solemn as he read a book. Room 101...empty. And room 102. Doctor Arkham was propped up with pillows, talking to Doctor Crane. Both looked up as I entered.
"Doctor Quinzel," Crane sputtered in surprise. He wasn't handsome, like Arkham, instead he had thick glasses which made his eyes look too big, and a long nose. His jaw was very square and stubble coated. He had dark hair which, in the light, looked greasy. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.
"Good morning, Doctor Crane, Doctor Arkham."
"Harleen, I'm so glad you're alright. I didn't...I mean, I couldn't-"
"There was nothing you could do. Besides, I'm fine," I lied. I settled down on the chair on the other side of the bed. Arkham nodded his head at Crane, who quickly scurried out the room.
Arkham was handsome. He had an angular jaw and thin lips. His hair was slightly lighter than Crane's, but much shorter. Though it looked long, sticking up in all directions from worried hands having ran through it. I met his pea green eyes.
