Page 90 of Right in Front of You

When I stepped into the room and saw the next patient, I almost fell over. I wanted to turn around and back out, but a nurse blocked my way from behind.

“The police brought him in. They found him passed out on a sidewalk, and when he came to, he complained of stomach pains and was asking for you,” one of the nurses said.

I wanted to run away and never come back, but my duty as a doctor stopped me. Inside this hospital, I would treat him like any other patient. I had to. But outside, I wouldn’t pass him the last glass of water before his death. Okay, maybe I would, but I would also pray that he choked on it.

I took his chart and quickly checked his vitals. He had lowered blood pressure and a bump on the back of his head. There was a note that he’d been coherent when they found him. Was he dead?

He took in a deep breath and exhaled, snoring.

Nope. Definitely not dead.

“Mr. Fowler,” I called out to him, but he didn’t move, so I gently poked him with my pen. I had yet to think what I’d do if I had to touch him. Jesus, I’d never thought that Father would end up here as a patient. “Mr. Fowler, you need to wake up.”

His eyes opened slowly. A hint of alcohol wafted toward me and I wanted to throw up. I remembered that same smelly breath from ten years ago. He had the same lost eyes and the same cunning grin. I took a step back.

“How much have you had to drink today?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Are you still having stomach pains?”

He looked down at his stomach and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, your blood pressure is a little low. We’re going to get some fluids in you and check back on you in an hour. A nurse is also going to look at that bump on your head. She can give you something for pain relief.”

I turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To work.”

“But you have to take care of me. I’m your father.”

I turned to the nurse in the doorway and asked her to give us a moment. If I wanted him out of my life for good, I had to stand up for myself. I had to draw a line that should have been drawn years ago. When she left, I ripped into him. “Where were you as a father when you raped me ten years ago? What about all the times you asked me to change in front of you? What about when you jerked off while I showered? You’re a sick bastard, and the last thing you are to me is a father, you sick ass. You’re fine to leave after the IV.”

I turned on my heel and left. I didn’t stop until I reached the bathroom, quickly asking the nurse to start the IV on Mr. Fowler before I locked myself behind the door. I braced myself against the wall and felt my tears fall all on their own.

What happened in there?

My heart was hammering in my chest, tightness overwhelming the upper ribcage. How dare he demand anything of me? How dare he come to my place of work to look for me? Was he really ill? Or maybe just drunk? And where did I find the strength to confront him about what he’d done? I wasn’t sure, but it felt incredibly satisfying. It felt as if a ton had been lifted off my shoulders. Was this a coincidence or some sick way in which he thought my life belonged to him?

Whatever the case, I knew that I never wanted to see him again and made a note to always look at a patient’s name before walking into another room. I turned on the tap and splashed cool water over my face before going back out to the ER. Though I didn’t think of him while with other patients, his threatening voice was always in the back of my mind. I wouldn’t go back to check on him and politely asked a co-worker to do so. He told me that Father was well enough to be discharged, and so that was what happened. Knowing that he was out of the hospital, a wave of relief washed over me.

It wouldn’t be long lived.

Before my shift was over, I felt someone grasp my arm and pull me into a supplies closet. My scream was muffled by a large hand over my mouth. It reeked of cigarettes, grease, and dirt. It reeked of torment.

With one swift jab that connected my elbow to his ribcage, I pushed my attacker away and headed for the door, but he was too fast.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Father grabbed me and pushed me away from the door.

“Anywhere but here. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His hands dropped to his waist as he unbuckled his pants, right in front of me. Memories from the past all flooded back, all at the same time, and I couldn’t move. Watching his fingers pull the belt out of its loops, I remembered standing behind the pub, shocked that Father would actually do it. I didn’t want to. I tried to run but fell down, and that was how I’d scraped my knees. He grabbed me by my hair, flipped me over onto the grass, and held me in place. I grabbed a broken bottle from the side and aimed for his neck but he grabbed my wrist before I made the connection. Watching him now as he pulled down his zipper, I felt an urge to kill him for what he’d done and for what he wanted to do now. But I wasn’t the same young, naïve, and scared teenager anymore, and I wasn’t about to throw my doctor’s license out the window either.

“Get the fuck out of the way,” I said, pushing him. He didn’t even sway.

“Whoa, there. I could have you reported for speaking to me that way, Molly. Now be the slut that you know you are, just like your mother, and turn around for me.”

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