Page 1 of Ruthless Son

Mia

“What do you mean I can’t see her?” I slapped my hand against the countertop that the nurse sat behind. “I have flown all this way, I haven’t even stopped at a hotel, and you’re telling me I can’t see my own sister.”

The scent of antiseptic stung my nostrils as the cleaner swept past, narrowly avoiding my suitcase that sat at my feet, the luggage tag still attached. It was almost the end of visiting hours, I knew that, and the clock on the wall behind the smirking woman warned me that there was only 10 minutes until they kicked every visitor out.

That included the wall of muscle that had taken over every spare seat in the hospital waiting room. The line of men clad in black leather vests, riding boots and scowls watched the double doors where doctors and nurses were going in and out—the doors that read ‘hospital personnel only’ in bold red lettering—they ignored everyone while I saw every passerby scurry out of their way with nervous glances.

I knew well what happened behind closed doors in a hospital’s A&E department—pain, sadness… death.

They sat eerily still, no fidgeting, no tapping—they just sat there. Waiting.

I tapped my fingers against the counter, glaring back at the nurse who openly eye-balled the men, staring with lust-filled eyes and paying me no attention; cutting her eyes at my impatient tapping briefly before returning to ogle the eye candy.

“Please,” I gritted through clenched teeth, trying to appeal to her better nature. Of course, she must have one, what other reason would she become a nurse for? I also knew from personal experience that it was the nurses, not the doctors, who ran the wards and maintained order in such a chaotic environment. I had to play nicely with the woman who may allow me to see my little sister before visiting hours finished. “I would just like to see if she’s ok, let her know that I’m here.”

“Well, I would darlin’, but hospital policy ya see, times up.”

“There’s still 6 minutes left,” I demanded, flicking my eyes to the digital display behind her head.

“Oopsie, that clock’s a bit wrong.” She giggled.

My eye twitched with the tell-tale sign that I was about to lose my temper. A flicker across my vision that always foretold the unfortunate spewing of words. But like I’d learned to do, I bit my tongue to hold in all of the curses that I wanted to spit at her for making light of my situation.

My short blunt nails—kept neat and tidy for my own nursing role back home—dug into the palms of my hands as I rested my clenched fists on the counter. “I have been sitting on a plane for nine hours with an old snoring man beside me and a screaming toddler behind me, as it was the only seat available last minute so that I could get over here as soon as I heard about my sister’s accident, so please,” I stressed, “could I just see her for five minutes and make sure that she is ok?” My phone vibrated in my back pocket for the hundredth time, my dad ringing again to check that I was here and had seen for myself if his youngest daughter was still alive.

His pure distrust of doctors ensured he was in a full blown meltdown worrying about Millie’s welfare.

She was his favorite, his youngest baby with his second wife, my step-mom, and the only thing stopping him from being here was his refusal to leave his sick wife in the care of those same distrustful doctors. I was the only one he trusted, and that was just because I was family. Those familial ties were tighter than his wife’s purse strings. Dad had seen to it that the fact we had different moms didn’t cause a strain on our sibling relationship. She was my only sibling after all, my mom never having any other children after her and Dad divorced.

The vibrating finally stopped before restarting immediately after, and I sighed internally at the lack of help from someone who was supposed to be here to help people—even if I wasn’t the one who was hurt.

Those were the nurses who never lasted long in the profession, their empathy levels almost non-existent, and they were quick to burn out, leaving the rest of us to manage their workloads.

She typed away on a computer, ignoring my plea before her eyes narrowed on the screen before shooting toward me. “Does your sister have health insurance? I don’t have any details down for her.”

I dug around in my purse for my passport and travel documents. “We aren’t American citizens, so she has travel insurance that will cover any expenses, not health care.” I placed the documentation down, spreading the paperwork out so she can clearly see the sheet titled ‘travel insurance’.

“I’m afraid I can’t use this, we’ll need a credit card to store on file and charge.” Ripping a sheet from the printer, she slammed it on top of my own paperwork.

“What’s this?”

Her lips tightened as I picked up the sheet of paper. “It’s an itemized bill for your sister’s stay here.”

Running my gaze across the typed words, my brain spiraled at the sheer amount spent for one day in a hospital for a car accident that wasn’t even her fault. She’d been T-boned by a drunk driver, and we were being penalized by sticking me with a bill that was totaling thousands already.

Ambulance ride to the hospital - $900

Surgery for a broken collarbone - $6,000

Blood transfusion - $357

“Are you fucking kidding me? $5,000 for a CT scan?” The vein throbbed at my temple, a pulsing, pounding beat on the inside of my skull as the numbers kept growing. We didn’t have this at home. We had the NHS, a free health service, neither did we decline tourists’ travel insurance. We treated everyone, regardless of wealth or nationality. It was one of the things I loved most about England. And even when someone had to pay for services, the cost was nothing like this… merely a fraction!

The red numbers on the digital clock kept going up. Looks like I wouldn’t get to see Millie tonight, Nurse Ratched was doing her damnedest to make sure my life was as hard as possible. Her hands brushed stray hairs back, patting her incredibly neat bun that must have been sprayed into submission with an entire can of hairspray; the dull brown locks pulled tightly so that the corners of her eyes lifted up just slightly, accentuated with a thick black cat eye lined around the top lid. Her subtle pink lips glistened with each pass of her tongue across the cracked skin, which coincided with each time she looked at the bikers behind me. Men who had been silently watching our interlude while they waited for news of their own hospitalized visitor.

“Oh, time's up. Time for you to go.” Her lips spread into a false smile, with no hint of sympathy anywhere on her plain visage. “You can come back tomorrow from 10 a.m., and you can take these forms to fill out too.” She pushed a pile of papers toward me before turning back to her screen, completely dismissing me.

Picking up the sheath of insurance forms that seemed ridiculously excessive, I shoved them unceremoniously into my handbag, determined to have them all filled out tonight when I got back to the hotel and updated dad with what little bit of information I’d managed to glean from the hospital bill.

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