Page 74 of Savage

I realize I don’t actually know her last name.

I take the tablet and go to sit down in the waiting area. I fill out as much as I can. No insurance information, address—my own. Next of kin—me.

Last Name.

Finally I add “Smith,” because it’s as good a name as any.

I go to hand the tablet back. “Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it,” I say to the receptionist. He nods and gives me a sympathetic look.

Then the only thing left for me to do is wait.

How do people do this? How do people sit here, waiting, and waiting, not knowing what’s going to happen?

My phone buzzes a few times, but I ignore it. Several people stare at me, and I wonder why until I realize that I’m still wearing my suit, and it hasn’t dried yet from when I’d stepped under the shower.

Why hadn’t I changed first? Normally I change before I go to see Stef. I hadn’t even taken my shoes off.

Was there something different today? I’d heard the shower, or there was a smell… But that’s ridiculous. There was no smell, not with the water pelting down on her and washing the blood away.

Those thoughts are still circling in my mind when a doctor approaches me. “Dr. Savage?”

I glance up at the man. I think I’ve seen him around, but we aren’t in the same department.

…Of course we aren’t. This is emergency services. We aren’t here to deliver any babies.

“Yes?” I say after too long of a pause.

“I’m Dr. Henrikson. We’ve stabilized her for now. Please, come this way so we can discuss things.”

I follow Henrikson to the ‘bad news’ room, as we called it during my residency, where the doctors tell the patients’ loved ones all the terrible things that have happened.

No, it’s also the room where they tell them good things. Fuck. I need to snap out of this daze.

“Okay, so, first of all, good job on bandaging her up. You probably helped save her life,” Henrikson says.

“Yes,” I answer. I look at the couch in the corner of the room, but I don’t want to sit down. I just want to go to Stef’s room.

“I just wanted to ask a few follow-up questions. She’s your girlfriend, you said?” Henrikson asks. “Do you have any idea what might have caused this?”

“I have no idea.” My voice is steady, numb.

Of course I fucking know why she did it. Because she’s an addict, she doesn’t value her life, she thinks she can waste her body and her mind and…

…and because of how I’ve been treating her these past several days.

Because of everything since the party.

It’s my fault.

I clench my fists. “I want to see her.”

“She’s not awake yet. We want to keep her for observation.” Henrikson eyes me strangely. “A lot of the nurses here will be disappointed to find out you have a girlfriend, you know.”

“I don’t care what they fucking think,” I snap back at him. “Ask your questions, then let me see her.”

He bristles a little, but he must be used to this kind of reaction, too, because he manages to remain pleasant as he goes through his list of questions. I barely remember my answers. Whatever I say must satisfy him, at least.

“She’s in room 208,” Henrikson says at the end of it. “But don’t expect much.”

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