Page 85 of False God

20

The last time I was in the A&E was fifteen months ago.

I had bad memories of hospitals before that. All the visits associated with my knee surgery. And even longer ago, a faint recollection of my grandfather, pale and surrounded by beeping machines.

Until my father died, I thought I’d spend a lot of time in hospitals. My intention was to become one of the scrub-clad figures rushing up and down the white hallways with an efficient urgency.

I didn’t just drop out of medical school because of the responsibilities of becoming a duke or because of the financial mess. I left because that terrible night made me question if Icoulddo it.

Could I be the one to tell someone their father was gone forever? Could I walk the hallways of a hospital without that memory rattling around in my skull?

I didn’t know, and I was fucking scared to find out for sure.

Just like I’m scared now.

I shove a hand into my hair and release a long exhale, not making eye contact with anyone passing by. They’re staring atmy formalwear, I think, not because they know who I am. It’s been more than a year since a tabloid ran photos of me leaving a pub or a club. I know because I haven’t been to a pub or a club in more than a year.

I glance down the hallway, then return to studying the worn linoleum.

Lili said she was fine going back to an examination room alone, and I’m second-guessing whether I should have pushed harder to accompany her.

Also questioning if I should have come in the first place. She was surrounded by close friends who have known her for years. They would have looked after her. Taken care of her. Comforted her. Known what she needed a hell of a lot better than I do.

But she asked forme.

She was hurt, and she asked for me.

No one has ever done that before. No one has ever needed me before.

And I couldn’t walk away from that. I didn’t want to.

So, I’m stuck in the hallway with ghosts of the past, feeling sick to my stomach because of awoman.

I’m 90 percent certain that Lili is fine. The scrapes on her hand and shoulder were shallow. They’ll start to scab by tomorrow. And she was alert and aware, not vomiting or confused or exhibiting any symptoms to suggest a serious brain trauma.

But none of my medical training is helpful right now. I’m suffocated by the same feeling of helplessness that drowned me when my dad died.

There was nothing we could do. That’s what the surgeon told me.

“Charlie?”

My gaze snaps up, anxiously scanning Lili from head to toe as she stops in front of me. She looks the same as she did when anurse escorted her back, except she’s now carrying a folded piece of paper.

I stand. “That was fast.”

Felt like days, but I don’t think she was gone for more than an hour.

“Yeah.” Lili nods. “We would’ve been at New York General until midnight.”

“All set?”

“All set.” Lili waves the paper at me. “Discharge paper. And I can take two”—she glances at the printed text—“paracetamol for pain. You know what that is?”

“Acetaminophen. Same thing as Tylenol. We can stop to pick some up.”

“No need. I brought Tylenol with me.”

Lili heads for the automatic doors. I follow, breathing a little easier once we’re outside.

---