Page 7 of Hearts Held
“Ladies, I don’t drink and I just don’t feel comfortable…” Before I can get my statement out, they rush me within the bathroom and begin placing makeup on my face.
“All will be well. We won’t leave your side and we promise you will have fun tonight!” Amanda states as she dusts eyeshadow onto my eyelids.
We walk across town to The Den. The infamous Adders’ pub. I have only heard of the Adders and briefly seen what they do to individuals that happen to be admitted to our hospital. Then a memory comes to life, of the night I met the two young gangsters within the London hospital. Surprisingly, I haven’t run into them again since living here. Considering their hobbies and poor decisions, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d met with misfortune.
The Adders did not get their name from a simple infatuation with the type of snake. The group actually utilizes the snakes as a form of message or weapon against those who cross them. At times, we have had patients with multiple adder bites, alongside other injuries caused by the ruthless gang.
Reflecting on the various patients we have cared for because of the Adders has raised my anxiety to a higher level, as we walk from the brisk fall weather into the heady establishment.
Tilly happily opens the wooden double doors into the pub. The pub is alight with life as the sounds of piano keys and the smell of cigarette smoke curl across my senses.
Various men and women are conversing, laughing, drinking and singing along with the piano.
Though the pub is vast, what with it being three stories high, it feels so welcoming. The ambiance envelops you, with low lighting, small candles aligned in the center of the long rectangular tables that adorn the center of the pub, each seating ten to twelve individuals. Smaller circular tables that seat four individuals surround the outer portions of the bar as well as the second floor. The bar is an elongated L shape on the farther left side of the establishment, painted black with various embellished bottles of fancy liquor. Mirrors adorn the back of the bar, allowing the environment to seem more open. The only windows are located near the front of the building, on either side of the double doors. The second storyhas a glorious balcony overlooking the first floor. The atmosphere vibrates as even more individuals socialize. Leading up to the second story is a wooden Victorian staircase with encircling snakes delicately carved into the posts.
“I’ll buy us a round of drinks! Everyone likes whiskey, right?” Amanda shouts.
We settle around one of the circular tables just as Amanda comes back with her hands full of whiskey-filled glasses. I stare at my drink, contemplating what to do, considering I hate alcohol and all its ties to earlier memories.
Tilly shares a small toast to nursing as they begin sipping their drinks. I fake some small sips as we get dragged into a conversation about Anice’s dating life. Time goes on, and the girls don’t realize my drink hasn’t budged an inch. The pub begins to feel more constrictive as more and more individuals come in to seek services. Amanda and Tilly gawk at the three-piece-suited men and their matching hats.
Two gentlemen stop by our table and I freeze with recognition as bright blue eyes peer at me from beneath familiar pale white-blond hair.
“Angel?” Bobby’s familiar face lights up and he cracks a handsome smile.
The girls snap their heads toward me in shock. The other gentleman with green eyes and black hair looks surprised at our interaction.
“You know one another!?” Amanda asks.
Bobby’s smile widens as he lifts his hand and scratches his bottom lip with his thumb. “You could say she saved me.”
All three girls gasp in disbelief.
“I didn’t save you. No, I just was doing my job.” I try to swiftly regain control of the conversation, but Bobby juts out both hands and shakes them along with his head.
“No, no. You call sewing up my stab woundsjust your job? You saved my life. That’s why I call you ‘Angel’!” Bobby places one broad arm over my shoulder and I freeze with the contact. Though he means no harm, it is hard for my body to not recoil from the past.
Luckily no one notices, so he doesn’t take offense.
He begins telling the girls about the night of our meeting with such passion and detail that hereally captures their attention. Reliving the details reminds me of my last fateful night in London.
The pain.
The fire.
The screaming.
My face begins to heat and old emotions threaten to break through.
Not here.
Not now.
I try to compartmentalize and distract myself.
Luckily, again, no one notices, so I figure I could excuse myself to the restroom.
“Pardon, I need to use the restroom,” I murmur.
