The Rebel

Liam-1

Liam

Whenever I eat at my mum’s, she stuffs me like a goose. For some reason she insists that I don’t eat well, even though when Dylan is here, we always cook good stuff. He cooks, that is, and I help him eat it. Or, when I visit them on my own, like now, it’s even worse, because she puts even Dylan’s portion on my plate. She also misses Lily and worries whether things are going well in Cairo. She would never say it out loud, but I think she also dislikes my sister’s boyfriend. And then, she also worries about me, my future, my non-existing love life and all the crap mothers can only worry about. She told me to keep my eyes open, because love will find me where and when I’m not expecting it. Well, I will keep them open then, so we won’t miss each other...

I’m rummaging through my pocket for my key, wondering when the first patient is coming tomorrow when I see something strange on the steps in front of my house. A dark package on the bottom steps. I slow down my footsteps and spy around carefully in case I spot something suspicious. I’m not a chicken, but I believe we all have some bizarre thoughts when we stumble into an unidentified bundle on our doorstep. traffic is not heavy at Ormonde Terrace, there are hardly any passers-by, because in this street there are no shops, people only come home here. I don’t see anyone nearby even now, so I cautiously approach the steps, and pushing my neck forward I narrow my eyes, trying to make out what the hell it might be. When I’m hardly two steps from it, I realize it’s more like a person. A human being, and, judging from her long hair and posture, a woman.

“Hey!” I address her. “Hello, there!” I say louder, but no reaction is coming.

I squat down beside her and take a closer look. The yellowish streetlight is not helping much, her head is hanging over her chest, and her face is half covered by her hair. A long, wavy and very tangled brown head of hair. Damn it, I hope she doesn’t want to die right here, on my steps. That’s what I’ve been missing, a dying woman on my doorstep. I take these things badly, and I already feel the familiar tightness on my stomach, and my heart is thumping in my throat. She’s breathing at least! I talk to her again but there is no reaction, I carefully lift her chin. God! her skin is boiling hot; it almost burns my finger as I run my hand onto her forehead and leave it there for a few seconds to check on her temp. She has fever, and it’s quite high. Hell! She may be a druggie or a prostitute left by her pimp, although, other than the bruise on her temple, I don’t see any other traces of injury on her face. I should call the ambulance before she breathes her last here.

“Hey, lady! Wake up,” I nudge her shoulder, which makes her groan and open her eyes very slowly. I see her trying to focus on me, but her gaze is blurred as if it was hard for her even just to keep her eyes open. She’s in a really poor state, her face is worn, I can acknowledge that despite the dark. Yet, she looks really young, can’t be over nineteen, twenty. She is trying to open her mouth as if wanting to say something, but nothing else leaves her throat except a quiet sigh.

“What happened? Have you been attacked? Robbed?” I attempt, but she’s only shaking her head so slowly that’s hardly noticeable. “Have you taken something? Any medication?” I ask louder and louder; I grab her shoulders and give her a shake. She shows no resistance, only falls over my chest like a ragdoll, her head rests on my shoulder, I feel her hot breath on my neck. “s**t. I’m calling an ambulance. If you have overdosed yourself…” I mumble half loudly, and I don’t even know if it’s panic or anger that ticks me off more.

I can feel her trying to push herself away from me without success, and I help her. Her fever is burning me like a flame, I feel even through her clothes how hot her body is.

“No…” she pants for a few seconds, and then she goes on, “I’m not…” another pause, “a druggie,” she breathes so quietly that I can hardly hear her voice. But she’s speaking at last. She is conscious and that fact makes me feel like a ton of weight has rolled off my chest.

“What happened? You have high fever.”

“I need… a doctor,” she moans weakly, her head leans against the concrete wall, her eyes close. Well, that’s stating the obvious. Any i***t can see that she needs a doctor, and right now. “I’m ill,” she continues, and I raise my eyebrows. No kidding? “I think… I have malaria, or… or…”

“Or what?” I ask, tilting my head, because if she diagnoses herself right here, I will crap myself.

“I don’t know,” she gulps with difficulty. Her mouth is dry. “A septic infection… maybe. I’m cold,” she whispers.

“Let me call an ambulance,” I say firmly. She opens her eyes and her fingers cling to the cuffs of my jacket.

“No. No hospital.”

Her voice is pleading, devastated.

“That’s just great,” I run my fingers through my hair with nervousness. She doesn’t want to go to hospital, perhaps she doesn’t have insurance. Then what the hell am I supposed to do? “But we must do something…”

“I need a doctor,” she groans, and tries to pull herself into sitting without success.

I support her shoulders, now are faces are level. I study her features in the dim light, and remark that she’s a unique girl. I can’t place her just now, but there is something… something special about her. Something strange, an elegance and charm that can’t be defined, despite the poor state she is in. I would like to help her. The need comes to the surface from deep within, the most hidden nook of my soul. I want to help this girl, but I don’t know how. She solves my problem.

“Are you a doctor?” she whispers with a dying voice. I’m a doctor, even if not in the sense she must be thinking of now. A dentist, but damn it, I graduated at the medical university. After some hesitation, I nod. “Then… it’s you… I need,” she says, and with that, her head falls to her chest.

Shit! I jump up, look around the street nervously, and with my hands on the back of my neck, I take a few steps up and down. What do I do? What the f**k do I do? I pause in front of the girl and watch her for a while as her chest lifts and falls erratically. The moonlight makes her beautifully drawn, pale features even more white. I’m a complete i***t! I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t take her into my apartment, after all, I don’t even know who she is. She might be a criminal. Maybe she’s running from the police. Even though I shouldn’t, I kneel down beside her, and carefully put a hand behind her back, and another under her knees. I take a deep breath and stand up with the girl in my arms. Even with the backpack on her, she’s lighter than I thought, I walk up the steps without difficulty, then I realize the key is still in my pocket. I curse for a while under my nose, trying to place her beside the wall, but she locks her arms around my neck, like a little child. Crap! I prop her up with my knees while fishing out my key and after a while, manage to stick it into the lock. I push the door open with my shoulder, and cast a quick glance at the closed door of my office on the ground floor. Should I perhaps take her there? – the thought crosses my mind, but I quickly drop the idea. Where would I lay her down? Into the seat? i***t! – I scold myself. Anyhow, it’s a shitty idea because of the hygiene issue, so we’re going to the apartment.

At my door upstairs, I do the same lame thing with the key, and by the time I manage to open the door without dropping the girl to the floor, I’m already lathered with sweat. I kick the door in with my heel and take her straight to the sofa. I carefully lay her down on it, and she dizzily opens her eyes.

“What?... Where…”

“It’s okay. You’re at my place. In my apartment,” I say, and realize it’s not so sure this fact will put her at ease in the present situation. Yet, there is no objection from her part, she simply closes her eyes again.

She is in such a state I can’t help to think about how anybody else could have stumbled onto her out there. Someone who wouldn’t have an issue taking advantage in her state. My blood begins to boil at the thought she couldn’t even protect herself if anybody wanted to hurt her. I don’t even understand why this hits me so hard, after all, I don’t even know her. I focus on her face again, move a lock of hair from her forehead and feel her pulse. “You’re in great luck with me, darling,” I mumble half loudly under my nose, while I try to pull her up by her lower arm so that I could take her sweater off. As I begin to lift her, her eyes pop open and her face jerks painfully. What’s going on now? Am I really causing her that pain?

“What?” I ask restlessly, but she’s not answering. “Hell! You could help a little. Come on!” I urge her, but there is no reaction, so I lift her arms up high to remove her top over her head. Her shirt is bulging out strangely, there is a fanny pack kind of thing buckled to her waist. I quickly take it off to get it out of the way and throw it down to the floor, next to her backpack.

As soon as I’m done with that, I realize why she jerked before. On her left lower arm, an ugly, swollen wound, about 2 inches in length. She obviously didn’t get it today, and no wonder it’s sensitive to the touch. What happened to her? – I wonder, but I’m afraid I won’t get an answer for a while. I have to clean the wound as soon as possible, because there is a danger of it getting infected. Now that the long sleeves have been removed, I take the opportunity to take a better look at her whole arm. I’m looking for traces of needles, but I can’t find any. Really, nothing at all. Other than the wound on her lower arm, her skin is impeccably clean and soft as velvet. Although her nails are short, they haven’t been chewed on, that much is obvious at once. But the more I stare at her, the more controversial this girl seems. Her clothes are not provoking but they’re designer items, I can tell from the label of her shirt and jeans. Her features are beautiful, but she doesn’t give the impression of a w***e, she wears no makeup. She looks more like a student. I could easily imagine her holding hands, inside a lecture hall.

A deep, unconscious sigh breaks from her, which brings me back from my thoughts. Her face is flushed with fever, I must do something about that. I don’t dare give her medication, because I have no idea what she’s already taken. I could put a cold compress on her using a wet sheet – I run my fingers through my hair with worry. I lean over, take off her sneakers and scan her feet with my eyes. I should remove her jeans, and the cold compress would really work if I took off her shirt too. Damn it! I can’t do that, after all, she’s a complete stranger. Although, there would be no bad intentions behind that, I’m only trying to help. I reach for her belt, then retrieve my hand. No! What will it look like if I just strip her without her consent? – I shake my head, and panic begins to take control of me. But she’s passed out, you arsehole. How could she give any consent? – I argue with myself, as if losing my mind. I begin to walk circles in the room, keeping an eye on her all the time.

After all, I’m a doctor, damn it! This issue with nakedness is part of the routine, there is nothing erotic about it. Work, nothing else – I tell myself, and taking a deep breath, I stop beside her. Yes, this is the right thing – I exhale loudly, and unbutton the jeans, pull down the fly, and with difficulty, drag the trousers off her, making sure to keep her slip on. I freeze for a moment. What the hell is that? A swimsuit? At least, it really looks like one. I’m preoccupied with the thought that through my dentist’s career it has never happened that a patient was naked during the treatment, but I drop it. I see with a shock that there is another injury on her right knee. Not an open one, but a reddish-lilac swelling. Wowsa. How did she get that? I’m dying to know what happened, but there’s nothing I can do, I must wait. I’m not removing her shirt, that would be too much. Quickly, I take out a beach towel and go to the bathroom to wet it. When I return, I just stare at her for a few seconds, silently, with the dripping towel in my hand. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, normally I’m not such an i***t in an emergency situation, but this girl… I can’t really find the words why, she’s taking my strength away. The fear paralyzes me that I won’t be able to help her, and she’ll die right here, in my apartment. That must be because of Zoey and the bad memories. f**k it, Parker! Get a grip on yourself – I say half loudly, throw the wet thing onto the armchair, get another dry towel from the cupboard, then lean over and pick her up carefully. She fits into my arms perfectly as her head leans onto my shoulder. My throat tightens as I realize, I haven’t held a woman in my arms like this since Zoey. Towards the end, when she was very weak from chemo, I often carried her like this, sometimes she couldn’t even walk to the toilet by herself.