Page 8 of Conflict

“Yeah, about that…,” I scrubbed my hand over my face, allowing the feel of the rough stubble across my chin to ground me. A small, forced laugh escaped my throat. “Sorry, I’m feeling a bit out of it.” I looked to Emily for some kind of reassurance.

The kindness in her eyes shone through. “Life gets like that sometimes, doesn’t it? Right, am I okay to do a set of obs on you? The doctor will be around after breakfast to talk to you,” she strapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm, then took my temperature while she waited for it to squeeze all my life’s blood from my arm. “Right then, I can get you some tea and toast or maybe some cereal. What do you fancy?”

“Tea and toast will be fine, thank you,”

“Coming right up,” Emily manoeuvred the machine out into the centre of the little bay before she turned back to me. “Oh, your mum rang this morning to check on you, said she’ll be in later and also your girlfriend rang. They were both here pretty late last night, the night shift said they were both reluctant to leave you,” my eyelids lowered slowly at the thought of my mother kicking up a fuss. She was never one to go quietly. As for the girlfriend, I can only imagine she’s referring to Scarlett.

I shook my head ever so slightly. “Sorry about that, mum’s a little overprotective right now,”

Emily raised her hand in acknowledgement as she made her way out of the bay. When she returned, I was staring blankly out of the window, wishing I was anywhere but here. Strike that; I wished I was with Tom. Reunited with my mate. That’s where I was supposed to be, not here in the hospital with people who would certainly try to fix what they saw as my flawed mentality. There was nothing wrong with my mentality, I knew my place in the pecking order of life. My chain of thought was broken by the clatter of my breakfast being placed on the little overbed tray table. “Thanks,” lifting the cup to my lips, I sipped at the too-hot liquid. “So, what happens now? When can I go home?”

“What happens now is Doctor Munroe will be around to see you for a chat. He’ll be able to give you more of an idea of when you’ll be able to go home.” She picked up the ring binder folder that sat in the pocket at the end of my bed and began flickingthrough the pages. “You only came in last night Jamie, just try and relax before he does his rounds, and then you’ve got visiting to look forward to. Your mum and girlfriend will be here as soon as we open those doors, I’m pretty sure of that.”

Terrific, just what I needed. “Scarlett is not my girlfriend,” I snapped and instantly felt a little guilty. “Can I refuse visitors?” My brow furrowed in thought. They’d only sit here trying to pick apart my reasons for wanting to join Tom. That, I could definitely do without.

“You can, but do you think that’s a wise decision? Why don’t you want to see them?” Why didn’t I want to see my mother? Because I don’t need my life to be micro-managed. “No one here will force you to see anyone you don’t want to see. That’s your choice, but I would encourage you to think about it some more before you make that decision.” With her eyebrows raised questioningly, she waited for me to answer. “You’ve plenty of time, just let me know if you want me to ring your mum and tell her not to come in today.” Time wasn’t necessary, I knew I didn’t want to see anyone. I just wanted to go home. Tea making was not Emily’s forte, I hoped for everyone’s sake that nursing was, or we were all screwed. The tasteless liquid only served to aid the digestion of the cheap white bread that had been toasted and presented as breakfast. But who was I to complain? I had nobody else to blame for my current situation but myself. With my head rested back against the pillow, I allowed my eyes to close. The drums in my head seemed to be easing now, permitting my thoughts to wander back to the day Tom died. The heat enveloped me, making my skin prickle and the putrid stench of oil, fuel and smoke wafted fiercely up my nose. Anxiety overwhelmed my body and my sweat bloomed across my skin as my heart rate increased exponentially. As my breathing became quicker and shallower, I clutched at bedsheets, seeking something to ground me.

“Jamie?” A deep male voice broke through my nightmare, forcing me to open my eyes. I was greeted by a guy in his late fifties with thick greying hair and wrinkles surrounding his eyes. In his hands were my medical notes, he flicked them open and skimmed over the words on the first page. “I’m Doctor Munroe” he thrust his hand forward for me to shake, which I did firmly. My grandad had always said never to trust a man with a weak handshake, and I was nothing if not trustworthy. I acknowledged his introduction with a shallow smile. “How are you feeling this morning?” Steely eyes bore into mine as he waited for my response.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question,”

“I always find that honesty is the best policy where these matters are concerned. Can I have a seat?” With a nod, he indicated to the seat beside my bed. Before I had the chance to reply, he’d pulled the curtains around my bed and made himself comfortable. “I’m guessing you’re finding things pretty difficult right now, would I be right?” The file, with my notes in, was now closed and sat on his lap as he focussed all his attention upon me.

“You could say that,” I raised my hand to scrub at the back of my neck, where the pressure seemed to have settled into a nice, tight knot. “Or you could say that I’ve found my peace and should just have been left alone, in the flat.” Defiance bubbles in my chest despite feeling nothing but numb and exhausted.

“Is that what you wanted? To be left to die, alone?” Those steely eyes bored into my skull as he spoke.

I sat up abruptly, swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood with my back to the doctor. Tentatively, I took the two steps towards the window, towards freedom, where I rested my hands on the sill and took in the view over the motorway. Vehicles sped along the large expanse of road. I imagined the lives of the people driving. Sure, they were all happy in theirlives, heading off to their day jobs or home to family. Either way, I felt jealous of them. Envious of the peace they must feel. “Yes; no, I don’t know,” my head shook ever so slightly, nothing made sense now. “I don’t know how I feel. I know I want to go home,” turning on my heels, I faced Dr Munroe with my arms crossed defensively over my chest, guarding my heart from yet more pain. My back rested against the windowsill as I waited patiently for him to tell me I couldn’t leave, that I was stuck here in this godforsaken ward until they deemed me mentally fit to leave.

He dropped his gaze back to the notes he’d settled on his lap. Rhythmically, he tapped his pen on the cover of the file as he appeared to gather his thoughts. Slowly, he lifted his gaze back to meet mine before he spoke. “If that’s what you want, I can discharge you,” his attention returned to my medical notes as he opened them and began to scribble on a blank page. “There are conditions though, Jamie.” I watched his lips moving as he spoke; not sure I’d heard him correctly. “I’m prescribing you some medication to help with your mood, it’ll take a few weeks for it to really take affect but it should help you. Also, I’ve made you an outpatient appointment to come back and see me next week,” he reached across the bed and laid down a card with the time and date I needed to come back written on it. On the reverse of the card was his name: Dr Mark Munroe, Consultant Psychiatrist.

“That’s it? I can go? No committing me to the loony bin or chaining me to the bed?” I spun the card in my fingers as I watched the nerve beneath his eye twitch.

Doctor Munroe cleared his throat as he pondered his next move. “It’s a long time since I heard those words, Jamie.” He smiled at me. “But no, I’m not sending you to a secure unit, you don’t need it. I’m hopeful we can work through this together and get you back on the right track. I’ll get your discharge papers written up now and as soon as they’re done the nurses will letyou go.” He pushed himself up from the comfort of the chair before he reached across to shake my hand again. “I’ll see you next week but there will be a Crisis number in your discharge paperwork, I want you to call them if you need help before our appointment, okay?”

My head nodded involuntarily, unsure why he was letting me leave, but I wasn’t about to argue. I watched intently as he turned to leave the ward, stopping by the nurse’s station as he did. Not wanting to waste a moment, I grabbed my clothes from the locker beside my bed and dressed hastily. I wanted to be ready as soon as they handed over those papers.

CHAPTER 11

SCARLETT

“What do you mean he’s been discharged?” Pat and I exchanged confused looks as the nurse explained Jamie was no longer on the ward. “He took an overdose, tried to kill himself, and you’ve just let him go,” Pat rubbed her fingertips over her temples. The emotion evident in her voice as she carried on. “No one thought to inform me? He’s obviously not capable of making decisions about his health or he wouldn’t have ended up here, would he.”

The nurse smiled apologetically, her gaze switching between me and Jamie’s mum. “He’s an adult Mrs Kasper, we cannot disclose any information without his permission. I understand why you’re concerned but the doctor wouldn’t have discharged him if he thought he wasn’t ready.” From the corner of my eye, I could see Pat’s fists clench and unclench as she tried to work through her emotions. She blinked rapidly, I guess she was trying to hold back the tears I could see welling in her eyes.

“If anything happens to him, I will hold you all personally responsible,” Pat breathed out sharply before she turned to grasp my hand. “Come on, love. Let’s go find him.” With a swift nod of apology in the poor nurse’s direction, I followed Pat back down the corridor towards the exit. Not a word was spokenbetween us as we moved. The silence only broken when we were safely ensconced in Pat’s car. “Why is he doing this to me…us? Why would he not let us know he was leaving the hospital? I only want what’s best for him. Why is he torturing me, Scarlett?” The floodgates open, and all the emotion she’s been holding back finally unleashes, in great torrents that flow down her ruddy cheeks. Leaning across the centre console of the car, I wrap my arms around her weary form. As I squeeze tightly, I make gently shushing noises in an aim to soothe her. Pat is a broken woman; it didn’t take a genius to see that. Only, I’m not sure I’m the one to fix her. I’m barely managing to hold myself together since Tom died and Jamie’s recent attempt at joining him. As her tears ebb, she pulls a tissue from her pocket to dry her eyes and cheeks. “I want my boy back; I want to see him smile and hear that loud, raucous laugh of his. Is that too much to ask?”

“He’s not trying to hurt you or anyone else, he’s just not dealing with Tom’s death. He has to work his way through it, just like the rest of us,” my hand rubs up and down Pat’s shoulder as I ramble. “You know he’s stubborn. He’s never let anyone tell him what to do, I don’t think he’s about to start now. Grief is like that. God knows, my mum and dad have tried to drill that into me recently.” As I spoke, Pat seemed to calm somewhat, her breathing evening out to a more normal rate and I released my grip on her ever so slightly. We were both holding on too tight, thoughts of losing anyone else right now felt nothing short of catastrophic. I tried to tap into advice Tom would bestow on us in this situation; what he’d say to Jamie. With every day that passed, the connection I’d shared with him, the ability to know each other’s thoughts, slowly diminished. Fear clutched at my throat as the realisation that I’d never get that back hit hard. I lay my head on Pat’s shoulder and sighed deeply, wishing I could turn back the clock. Wishing that we could just go back to the beginning of the year and do it all again. Well, everything exceptTom dying. The losing my soulmate part; we could just erase that bit. “Why don’t we go to the flat? See if he’ll let us in, at least.” Pat squeezed my hand firmly before she reached forwards to turn the key in the ignition, firing up the engine.

“I’m not sure he’ll answer the door but it’s the only plan we’ve got at the minute,”

We both reached for our seatbelts and buckled up before Pat pulled the car out of the carpark, heading in the direction of Jamie’s flat. I rested my head against the window as Pat drove, watching life whizz past. ‘You’re crowding him, he doesn’t need you to fix him, he needs to learn how to fix himself.’ Tom’s voice echoed around my head, clear as day. He might as well have been sitting in the back seat of Pat’s ancient Toyota. ‘Give him some space, Scar.’ My head spun around to check the rear of the car, as if the last few months had been a really crappy dream, hoping to see my brother leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he berated me with his words of wisdom. ‘Phone him, tell him you understand.’

“I think we should go home instead,” the wobble in my voice betrayed my lack of conviction in the statement I’d just made. “You’re right, he won’t answer the door. I’m pretty sure he won’t even answer the phone. Maybe we could phone and leave a message, he can listen to it and then let us know what he needs from us. What do you think?” A look of horror washed across Pat’s face. She thought I’d lost my ever-loving mind. To be honest, I’d be inclined to agree with that thought, but Tom’s words echoed around my brain.

“But what if he tries again? What if he’s already…”

“Don’t. Let’s try not to go there, eh?” delving deep inside myself, I found the grit I knew was still hiding in there somewhere. “We have to believe he isn’t serious about ending his life. I think it was a cry for help and now we need to run with that.” My mind wandered back to seeing the noose hangingfrom the rafters in his bedroom, thank God Pat hadn’t witnessed that. Goosebumps spread all over my body as doubt niggled over Tom’s words of advice. “Trust me, my need to babysit him is just as strong as yours, but I’m not sure that’s what he needs. I think he needs to know we understand and that we can be there when he’s ready.” I held my breath, waiting for Pat to argue with me, when she didn’t, I continued. “If he’d been serious about it, he wouldn’t have sent me a text. The first thing we’d have known about it would’ve been when the police knocked on your door to tell us he’d…gone,” it was my turn to gulp down the emotion. The large lump in my throat made it difficult to continue. “Why don’t we go back to yours and phone him from there? If he answers, then great. If he doesn’t, well let’s cross that bridge when we have to, yeah?” My hand involuntarily reached out to squeeze Pat’s hand that rested on the gear stick as we waited for the traffic lights to turn green.

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