The Unspoken Truth

Chapter Eight [Edited]

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cassie's POV

        Hospital lights buzz as I open my blurry eyes. The room is dark, it smells sterile, like it always does in doctor's offices. I try to sit up but tangles of cords attached to my body shackle me to the bed. Collapsing in defeat, I hear a yell from down the hall. "I think she's awake!" Nurses rush in and greet me, explaining what they are doing here. I look around, a nervous jolt shaking me as I realize I am in a hospital room.

        "Why am I here? How long have I been here?" I ask.

        "Oh, yes. Sweetie, you seem to have fallen asleep next to your fireplace and sort of... rolled into it. You've been here for two days."

        "What?" I exclaim, "Two days?!"

        "Is there a problem Miss... uh... Stephenson?" the doctor says, coming into the room.

        "Is there a problem? Yes, there's a problem. I am supposed to be at work yesterday and I was going to teach a class with this guy and well..." I trail off.

        The doctor stands back and studies me. He takes off his glasses, smiling the kind of smile only doctors get away with smiling. Almost sarcastic, but not quite. He looks rather amused, for the situation. "If you're so worried about the life you have to live, Miss Stephenson, perhaps you shouldn't make a habit of rolling into fireplaces."

        "I guess that would be a good idea, sir," I say, defeated.

        "Why are there so many nurses in here?" the doctor demands. He looks around, eyeing the five nurses who rushed in when I woke up.

        "Moral support?" came a tiny voice from my bedside.

        "Out!" the doctor yelled and all but one, the nurses scurried out. Much like chipmunks running from a predator.

        "I see you treat your staff nicely, sir," I say.

        "Are you being sarcastic with me, Miss?"

        "No, sir. Well, yes. I was trying to create a friendship relationship here," I say, gesturing between us.

        "I appreciate the attempt, but you have second degree burns and I am doing my job," he huffs.

        "Okay, no friendship relationship," I decide.

        He smiles his doctor smile again, "It looks like you will be sticking around here for a couple more weeks. You have superficial partial thickness second degree burns. Hopefully, there won't be any scars but the blisters will take at least three weeks to heal."

        "Three weeks?" I ask, horrified.

        "At least," he says.

        "Can I call my work to let them know?" I ask.

        "Yes. I will get you a telephone," he says, leaving the room. He is gone for so long I began to wonder why he said telephone instead of just phone. Do we not live in the twenty first century? When the doctor arrives back at the room, he hands me the phone. I dial the school and wait for the office lady to pick it up.

        "Bonjour?" her French accent vibrates through the phone.

        "Hi Elisabeth. It's Cassie."

        "Cassie! Où étiez-vous?" she asks. I rack my brain, trying to pull myself back to the French class I took in college.

        "Elisabeth, I don't know what you're saying," I tell her, annoyed.

        "Is there a problem, Miss Stephenson?" the doctor asks.

        "No sir, I am alright," I tell him.

        "Je ai pensé que vous avez pris un cours de français!" Elisabeth says on the other end of the phone.

        "I know I took a French class, Elisabeth, but I don't have time to decode everything you say," I tell her. "Anyway, that's beside the point because I am in the hospital right now with second degree burns."

        "Vous êtes?!" she exclaims.

        "Yes, I am."

        "Quand allez-vous revenir travailler?" she asks.

        "Three weeks," I tell her. "Please speak English!"

        "My anglais is not bon, Cassie," she says hopelessly. "I penser I need a new job."

        "I appreciate you trying, Elisabeth. Will you tell Mrs. Hendon where I am, please?" I ask her.

        "Yes," she says.

        "Thank you, goodbye now," I say.

        "Au revoir," she says, and the phone clicks down.

        "I have to call my friend, Mason," I tell the doctor. He raises an eyebrow at me. "Don't worry, this one is fluent in English." I type in his phone number and listen as the ring of the phone echoes through his house.

        "Hello?" his voice says.

        "Hey, it's Cassie," I say.

        "Cassie! I have been worried sick! Where are you? I called you, like, nine times!" he says.

        "I'm in the hospital with second degree burns. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it for the writing class."

        "Never mind the writing class! Second degree burns! How did that happen?" he asks.

        "I kind of... rolled into my fireplace in my sleep," I said sheepishly.

        "You did not."

        "I did," I say.

        "Are you okay?"

        "Yes, I am fine. Well as fine as you can be, I guess," I tell him. "Did the writing class go okay?"

        "I rescued it."

        "That's good. I have to go now. Talk later?"

        "For sure. I'm glad your okay," he says. We say our goodbyes and hang up. I hand the phone back to the doctor who tells me he will be back in a while. Sighing, I snuggle deep into the bed, letting the hospital machines lull me to sleep.

                                                       *        *        *

        I awake to unbearable pain cloaking my entire right side. A nurse is sitting in the chair, reading a fashion magazine. "Oh, you're up. Let me go get the doctor," she rushes out of the room. I try not to scream in agony while she's gone.         

        When the doctor returns, he takes one look at me and says, "Looks like your pain killers wore off." He hands me two pills and a glass of water. "Drink this. I will change out your bandages." The doctor throws the blanket off of my body, a burst of cold air hitting me. The drugs are already kicking in and I feel more myself again after a few minutes. He changes the bandages at an alarming rate, his careful fingers pulling at the sterile bandages. "You've been doing this a long time?" I ask him.

        "Over twenty years," he says, smiling the doctor smile. "Never gets old."

        "Was it your dream?" He looks at me oddly and raises an eyebrow. "If you don't mind my asking."

        "I guess I never had a dream," he says, finishing up the last bandage. I feel bad for him. I don't think I could survive if I didn't have something to work toward. And nothing is as rewarding as finally reaching your life goal. Not that I would know.