Stepbrother (Sequel to Stockholm Syndrome)

56

"I... I don't know... John Doe." I kind of snapped at the nurse as she asked what relationship I had to the patient. I was not good in these types of situations and the stress was getting to me. I just wasn't sure if I was supposed to reveal that I was Luke's step-sister, sense, according to the records of another emergency room, he was supposed to be my father.

"Ok, honey, that's alright. Can you tell me what happened?" She asked, immediately becoming one of the kindest nurses I had ever met.

"He was in the woods. I talked to him for a little while before he passed out and he said that a group of guys beat him up because they wanted something of... his." I paused, trying not to think about the fact that I had just accidentally referred to myself as Luke's. It was not currently my biggest concern.

Later, after I was finally allowed into his hospital room, I curled into myself on the chair next to where Luke lay on a hospital bed that was nearly too small for him. I tried not to think of the trauma of the day, but it all came flooding back.

I hadn't known what to do once Luke passed out. I'd noticed his phone had been broken and I assumed it had been the doing of one of his supposed attackers. That made me think to call someone on my own phone. Of course, I found that there was no cell reception.

After being unable to wake him up, I dragged Luke through the trees – very slowly – for at least twenty minutes. I had stopped there, deciding that there had to be a better way to do this. By then, I hadn't realized it, but I had gotten much closer to a busy road. I'd opened my phone once more and was within cell reception this time. As I called the hospital, I'd noticed my location. After that, I'd explained it to the man on the other end of the phone and then continued trying to wake Luke up as I waited for the first responders.

Now, the only thing that dragged me out of the traumatic replay was Luke's hand softly squeezing my own. I hadn't realized I'd grabbed it and had been holding onto it until he woke up and pulled together as much strength as seemingly possible to let me know he was awake.

A small squeal of shock and relief gurgled in my throat and I quickly quieted myself. I scooted closer in the hard hospital chair and cupped my other hand around his.

"Hey," I cooed, "the nurse said your ribs were nearly broken, but whoever attacked you stopped before any irreversible damage was done. There was something wrong with your head; it wasn't a concussion, because they said you'd be fine when you woke up and concussions normally take seven to ten days to heal. Your left arm was broken, so they went ahead and did surgery. You'll have to that cast for a while, but you're going to be ok."

He nodded. It was obvious that, even though he was awake, there was very little strength in his body.

"What did you tell the nurse when she asked about my relationship to you?" he rasped out, clearly remembering, just as I had, that he'd posed as my father before.

"I said John Doe," I replied. Luke nodded in approval, wincing and sucking in air through his teeth as the movement seemingly triggered pain on an injured part of his neck.

He squeezed my hand once more.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, his glazed eyes meeting my own.