Page 50 of The Worst Guy Ever
“So what happened here, then?” she asks, snapping on gloves. She places my hands in my lap and gently removes the napkins, which, now that I see them, aren’t as bloody as I thought they would be.
“The monster over there slashed me with a pair of scissors.”
“Jesus, Rob, it was an accident. I thought he was about to grab me.” The doctor looks back and forth between us, assessing the situation. I know how it must look. She’s probably seen all sorts in here. Broken legs, stabbings, assaults. Suddenly my face doesn’t seem like such a big deal after all.
“Perhaps this would be quicker if you could wait in the waiting room?” she says to Hattie diplomatically.
“No, it’s not like that. I know she didn’t do it on purpose,” I concede. “She can stay.”
I don’t want her to leave, anyway. She should have to see what she’s put me through.
“Well, the good news is the bleeding has stopped,” the doctor says, swabbing my cheek with an antiseptic wipe. “And you won’t need stitches.”
“I won’t? Oh, thank God.”
“No, it’s just a small superficial cut.” Hattie squeaks and when I whip my head around she’s covering her mouth, her eyes closed and head tipped up to the ceiling.
“Hold still please,” the doctor says, twisting me back into position. “The body is an amazing thing. Injuries to the head and face can often bleed what seems like an alarming amount, but it’s not deep. In fact, it’s already healing, but I’ll give you a couple of butterfly stitches just for the next day or so.”
She applies them in seconds, a seasoned pro, then sits back to assess her work. “Do I know you?”
I groan inwardly. It’s a huge hospital, but there was always a chance this would happen. “We might have met. I’m Dr. Morgan, I work in the neuro team.”
“Ah yes, you were my consult on those boys in the quadbike accident last month. I knew you looked familiar. How are they doing?”
“Taking each day as it comes,” I say with a pinched, dismissive smile. I can’t talk about this in front of Hattie, and the truth is those kids have got a long path of recovery ahead of them. They’re lucky to be alive.
“Well I’m glad to see you under better circumstances.”
“Will I have a scar?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“Perhaps a thin one but it should fade quickly. Once it’s scabbed over, you can use something like bio oil to improve the elasticity, but you’ve got fantastic skin. I think you probably already have a solid regimen, yes?” That sets Hattie off again with the squeaking and she turns to face the wall.
“What are you laughing at?” I bark across the room.
“Nothing,” she breathes deeply.
Hattie would probably take the piss out of my skincare routine, but I’m not ashamed of taking pride in my appearance.
“OK, you’re all set,” the doctor says, peeling off her gloves and throwing everything into a waste bin. She taps a few things into her computer. “I’ve discharged you from here so you can head straight out.”
“Thank you.” I’m starting to feel like a bit of a tit for walking in here thinking I’d need reconstructive surgery and walking out with two little plasters most commonly seen on children with bumped heads.
“Excuse me doctor, I was just wondering…” Hattie says as we’re halfway out the door. “Could we have handled this at home?”You little shit.
“Probably,” the doctor throws her a small smile that says‘yes, you idiots’. “But it’s always good to come in if you’re worried about things.” Hattie presses her lips tight and nods.
“Why have you asked that?” I say.
“No reason.” Her shoulders shake.
“I’ll let the two of you go enjoy the rest of your Sunday together.”
That’s the final straw. Hattie bursts out laughing. “Oh God, no. We’re not together.”
“Oh, my mistake. Apologies. See you around Dr. Morgan.”
Storming down the corridor, I feel Hattie at my side, struggling to keep up. She’s usually the one running out on me, but right now, I need to be as far away from her as possible.
