Page 53 of Waiting for a Prince
“Shedid this?” He stroked the hair away from Sam’s forehead, sticky with blood. Sam was shaking, his eyes huge, and Mark’s mind slid from panic mode into practical. “Look, we can talk about this later. Right now it’s more important to get your head looked at.” He slipped his arms under Sam’s and helped him up onto his feet. He guided Sam into his bedroom and sat him on the bed.
He looks so lost and confused.
Mark could understand that last emotion.
He dashed into the bathroom and pulled a small hand towel from the airing cupboard. He held it under the tap and ran cold water over it until it was sodden, then he wrung it out. When he got back to the bed, Sam hadn’t moved an inch. He winced as Mark wiped carefully at the blood on his face, Mark patting his cheeks scored with long scratches to try and remove some of the dried blood from them.
One more trip to the bathroom to rinse out the towel, and then Mark folded it and pressed it against Sam’s forehead.
“Hold it there, please, and press as hard as you can” he instructed the subdued Sam, who automatically raised his hand and did as he was told, his eyes wide and staring. Mark glanced down at his own naked body.
“I’ll put on some clothes and then I’ll take you to St. Mary’s, okay?” The hospital was only about twenty minutes away.
Sam gave him a dazed look and then nodded.
This silence is starting to worry me.
He made sure Sam wasn’t about to fall off the bed and then grabbed his jeans and T-shirt. As he squirmed hurriedly into the jeans, he continually glanced over at Sam. He shoved his bare feet into his trainers and helped Sam to stand. After grabbing his jacket and car keys, Mark led his stunned friend out of the flat and down to the street.
The Fiesta was in a parking area behind the flats, surrounded by trees. As they approached the car, the floodlight was activated and the area was bathed in a bright white light. He opened the passenger door and eased Sam into the seat, watching carefully to ensure he didn’t catch his head. From the look of him, Sam was in shock. Mark secured his seatbelt and then got behind the wheel.
The car sped through the quiet streets toward the centre of the island to Newport. There was little traffic around and Mark nudged the accelerator impatiently, slowing only when he neared the stretch of road which contained one of the island’s only three speed cameras. Sam’s head lolled back against the headrest, his eyes closed, his hand still holding the damp towel in place. When Mark saw him shiver, he put his foot down, and in no time, the hospital was in view.
Mark pulled into an empty parking space and reluctantly left Sam for a moment while he fumbled in his jeans pocket for change for the parking meter. Once the ticket had been placed on the dash, Mark held out a hand to Sam.
“Come on, babe. Nearly there.” Sam opened his eyes and stared at Mark, his eyes clouding.
Aw fuck.
Mark grabbed his hand and helped him to get out of the car. After locking it, he put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and guided him to the main door of the hospital. Just inside the main building on the right was the Beacon centre, the out-of-hours clinic. It was still open. They entered through the automatic sliding doors and went to the reception desk. Several people were sitting around, quiet pockets of chatter taking place. Mark saw a couple of lads looking very much the worse for wear: they’d clearly been in a fight.
The nurse behind the desk looked up as Mark and Sam approached. Her gaze took in Sam’s head and the spots of blood spattered on his blue shirt. “What’s the name?”
“Sam Prince.” Mark spoke for his friend. He had to wonder how much information Sam was capable of giving in his present state. Sam leaned against the desk, his arm resting on the smooth countertop.
“Address?”
Sam frowned as he tried to focus, but he managed to stutter out an address in Sandown.
The nurse took down his details. “Okay, you need to take a seat. The doctor will call you.”
Mark helped Sam to a seat in a quiet corner, away from the clinic’s other occupants. Sam leaned back against the wall, his eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. The hand containing the towel fell limply into his lap. For several long minutes neither of them spoke. Mark stared down at the floor. There were so many questions going around in his head.
“Do you think we’ll have to wait long?”
Mark could have wept with relief to hear Sam speak. “There aren’t that many in front of us.” He gazed anxiously at Sam. “How are you feeling?”
“Head hurts,” he whispered. Sam closed his eyes. Mark yearned to take hold of his hand, but he wasn’t sure how Sam would feel about that, given their location. He glanced at the cut: the bleeding seemed to have stopped at least.
“What happened, Sam?” Mark couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Sam winced. “Not now. Please.” He kept his voice low. He opened his eyes. Mark was jolted by the pain he saw reflected there.
That’s the second time today.
Except it wasn’t Saturday anymore, and that moment on Ryde beach seemed a lifetime ago.
“When I’m finished here, can we go back to your flat? I promise, I’ll tell you everything.” Sam swallowed.
