Wanting the Man

The bright light seared her eyes through her eyelids. It was a rude awakening, but she refused to rise. She lay there and forced herself to relax.

It was difficult, but given the situation, she needed time to come to terms with whatever was going on.

What was going on? Was she dead? She didn’t feel dead, but then again, she’d never been deceased before, so this might be it.

She still hurt. That was disappointing. Her head felt like her entire scalp had been taken as a trophy and her brain attacked with a potato masher. On top of this, her body ached.

She’d once been stupid enough to think she could run a half marathon with no training; this was worse than the morning after that. Here she was, thinking that the afterlife was painless.

Realization dawned on her—there was pain everywhere except in that vital place. If she’d been raped while being unconscious, she was certain that that place would hurt like hell.

She tried to remember the last few minutes of her life but came away with nothing. Her last memory was being dragged from the building, oh, and the pain. She remembered the blinding pain.

She lay there and wondered what was next. She could feel that she was in some cotton robe thing that seemed loose and open at the back. Covers weighed down on her as she lay flat on her back.

Was she still in the morgue? She once read a book which predicted that when you died you stayed stuck in your body and spent eternity alone, awake and caked in dirt. That would be less than ideal.

She twitched a finger and relaxed again. Then she realized that the cloth didn’t cover her face and she wasn’t cold. It wasn’t the morgue.

One possible reality ruled out, sixty-four million yet to go.

She crossed out a couple more, just because they were ridiculous. She wasn’t a flesh-eating zombie because that still sickened her, wasn’t in hell, doubted that she was in a cryogenic frozen state floating around in space, unlikely that she’d been reincarnated as a supermodel with a boyfriend who looked almost as stunning as she did, and it was probable that she wasn’t brain dead either—although, maybe that shouldn’t be completely crossed off the list yet.

“Of all people, you should understand,” a voice entered the room.

It hurt her head, but she forced herself to remain still. She needed more information.

“I do understand,” a different voice with a rough tone bit back, “I understand perfectly.”

She tried to remember Sam and Archie’s voices. She might not be dead. This might not be over. Maybe they carried her off and she was now a hostage.

“This is not the same,” the first voice sighed. “Why can’t you see that?

With very slow movements, she shifted her wrists and flexed her ankles. There were no restraints. That didn’t mean much, but it was a start.

“There are differences, but it’s the same. I’m frustrated that you can’t see it.”

“It’s been years,” the first voice sounded tired, “You have to move on. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Silence followed. She almost moved, opened her eyes, and dived for the exit. If she was dead and these were two arguing angels, then she would apologize later.

“Why am I here, Tom?” the rough voice was even more annoyed.

Tom? Who was Tom? The only Tom she knew was Doctor Layton. But that didn’t make any sense.

“You are here because you need to do the right thing.”

“The right thing? That’s all I ever do these days!”

“Calm down,” the one called Tom said to the man with the harsh voice, but he said the words while standing over her. She could feel him watching her.

A warm hand picked up her wrist. Without thinking, she pulled away. The idea of anyone touching her made her feel dirty. With her hand in motion, she couldn’t keep pretending that she was unconscious.

She groaned and scrunched up her face.

“It’s alright, Andrea,” the soothing voice did little to reassure her, “You are safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

You tell that to my head, she thought.

She blinked her eyes open in time to see a straw heading in her direction. On seeing the glass of water at the other end of the straw, she recognized that her mouth tasted vile.

The water tasted divine as she sucked it through the straw.

I’m not dead, she decided as the light forced her to blink some more. She was surrounded by hospital furniture, beige walls, and two men who, despite being heavenly, weren’t angels.

Doctor Tom Layton held the cup and was searching her face and reactions for any signs of concussion, confusion, memory loss, or permanent brain damage.

In the other corner of the room stood a pair of shoulders she was very familiar with. What was he doing here?

“I’m not dead,” the words weren’t a question but were more of a statement of how disappointed she was.

“No, Andrea, you’re going to be fine. What do you remember?”

“Not much,” she tried to wrap her arms around her chest, but the IV made it too difficult.

“The police will want to talk to you,” Doctor Layton frowned.

“How did I get here? Please tell me that neither of you were involved?”

“No, we weren’t there,” he smiled with sad eyes, “It was a security guard who was responding to the fire alarm they set off.”

“What about,” she frowned, not wanting to say anything more.

“They ran off when the security guard arrived. But they dropped you as they did. You’re going to be fine, but you lost consciousness for quite some time. We were quite worried about you.”

“Why?” It was a genuine question. No one was worried about her, so she didn’t see why a man she met earlier that day and the man who hated her most in the world would care if she was unconscious.

“Do you remember the date? What’s today’s date?” Doctor Layton continued without answering her question.

She shrugged and looked out the large window.

“What year is it, Andrea?” Doctor Layton asked again.

“Why are you here?” she didn’t move her eyes from the white window frame with the inky black night outlook.

“My card was in your bag,” she could hear the frown in his voice without looking. “They rang me.”

“I see,” she smiled with a sad laugh. He was here as her practitioner, nothing more. “Then why is he here?”

Doctor Layton turned to look at Joshua Wood, who was now slumped against the wall like some juvenile delinquent. “He’s here because I asked him to come.”

Great, so the only two people who came to her hospital weren’t there by choice. Where was her mother? Where was Jill? Did no one on this planet care what happened to her?

Tears pushed themselves out of her eyes. She closed them, but it was too late. Doctor Layton handed her a tissue, but she just held it while the drops forged rivers down her cheeks.

“You can leave. You don’t have to stay.”

“We aren’t leaving,” Doctor Layton said, but she caught the glare he threw at Mr. Wood.

She just rolled over so that she could cry with her back to him. Eventually, he would leave. Mr. Wood was already halfway out the door. It wouldn’t be long before the doctor left too.

“I tried to ring your family,” his words left no doubt what her mother had said when contacted. “Do you have anyone else who I should ring?”

“No,” she closed her eyes and although she had her back to him, she shook her head. “There’s no one.”

“Well, now you have someone,” the doctor smiled, “You’re going to need someone close for the next forty-eight hours, and then I don’t want you on your own for the next week at least.”

“What?” she twisted to see if he was serious. “I live alone. There is no one.”

But the doctor wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Mr. Wood.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mr. Wood shook his head with slow movement as his glaring eyes never left his friend, “We need to talk, outside.”

“Excuse us, Andrea,” Doctor Layton smiled like this happened every day.

She watched them file out of the room, but they didn’t go far.

“Don’t even consider it, Tom,” Mr. Wood’s growling voice could be heard from the other side of the door.

“She doesn’t have anyone else, Josh. You sent her to me. I know you. She needs you and, I think, you need her just as much.”

“That’s not your call to make. I’m not responsible for her, and I have no intentions of getting any deeper with any of this. Think of the consequences, Tom.”

“I am, Josh. Look at her. She’s been through too much. I don’t want a suicide on my conscience, and I doubt you would survive another. This is different. She isn’t the same as Georgia.”

“Don’t, Tom,” there was pain and warning in his voice.

“Like it or not, Josh, you are involved and you can’t walk away from this unscathed. If you try, then you’re going to end up an empty shell. You’re my friend, Josh, but I you haven’t been the same since. She needs help to heal, and so do you.”

“You’re wrong,” Mr. Wood swore, “I can’t do this, Tom.”

“I know, Josh, and that’s why you have to do this.”

Mr. Wood swore again, and there was silence for a long time.

“I’m not a nursemaid.”

“A nursemaid? Do you remember that party?” Dr. Layton laughed. “We were, what, third year? We dressed in tight white nurse’s uniforms and fishnets.”

“I remember,” Mr. Wood huffed. “It took weeks for my leg hairs to grow back. We had a tutorial the week after, and the Orthopaedic Lecturer, Doctor Horner, couldn’t keep his eyes off my legs. I swear that I can’t look at fishnets the same way.”

Dr. Layton said something that she couldn’t hear, but both men laughed.

“She needs you, Josh,” Dr. Layton said as the laughter died away. His voice was soft, and she could hear the affection in his tone. “And I miss my friend.”

“Hell Tom, you always got me into the worst situations.”

“And out. I’m asking you to do this, Josh. I’m asking you to trust me.”

She didn’t hear the answer, but the door swung open and Dr. Layton walked back into the room with a small confident smile, closely followed by Mr. Wood who was still scowling.

“It’s settled,” Dr. Layton announced. “You’ll stay with Josh while you recoup.”

This was too much for Andrea. All the emotions from the past couple of days reached boiling point and exploded within her. She saw red.

“What do I look like?” Andrea spat the words at the surprised doctor. “Chopped liver? I’m not a child. I’m not a charity case. I don’t need a minder. I don’t need his help. I don’t need anyone. You can both go to hell. I’m going home.”

“You heard that?” Dr. Layton grimaced.

“Can you please leave now,” she pushed the bedcovers off and swung her feet down. “I need to get dressed.”

“I can’t let you leave,” was all he said, but the tone stopped her.

“I can discharge myself,” she looked around the room but couldn’t find her clothing.

“No, you can’t.”

“What?” she twisted to see what he was talking about.

“You’re at risk. You’ve been unconscious for three hours and you’ve had severe physiological trauma. You need to be monitored for forty-eight hours and observed for a week, maybe more.”

“Because you think I’m unstable? Because you think I’m going to kill myself?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “You’ve been through a series of traumatic events that would test the best of us. As a doctor, I’m not willing to trust that you’re strong enough to cope with this. You need support. You can’t be alone when the shock of this wears off.”

“And you think he,” she pointed at Mr. Wood, “Is the right person to console me when I realize that two men almost raped me?”

“Yes,” he said again with clear certainty. “Joshua Wood is exactly the person you need when you get to that point.”

She stopped and looked at Doctor Layton, confused by his confidence.

“I’m not going with him,” she sounded like a disobedient child now.

“You can either accept Josh’s help, or I can admit you to a psychiatric hospital for the time necessary.”

“No!”

“I can and I would,” his tone was still very calm. “As a professional and your doctor, I am bound to act in your best interests. And, as someone who would like to be your friend, I can’t let you walk out of here and deal with this alone.”

“But a psychiatric hospital?”

“That is normal procedure when no family is available.”

Andrea turned to the window again. She hated her mother at that moment in time.

She could try ringing her and begging, but she knew that her mother wouldn’t answer her calls, listen to her message, and wouldn’t hesitate to hang up on her if she called from a different phone.

Her mother was stubborn and took her social standing within the Golf Club very seriously.

Although having her daughter committed to a lunatic asylum wouldn’t sit well with the golf ladies, Cynthia O’Neil would sooner announce the sad news of her daughter’s passing than have Andrea move in with her, especially at the moment.

“What about Jill?” she asked but knew that this was a long shot.

“Who’s Jill?”

“Jill Arnold, she’s my friend, from work,” Andrea’s eyes flicked up at Mr. Wood, “She was supposed to meet me last night but... she must have been detained.”

Doctor Layton and Mr. Wood looked at each other.

“I’ll make a call,” Mr. Wood disappeared out the door.

Once he was out of the room, Doctor Layton turned back to her, “Your test results are back.”

“Oh,” given his expression, her heart sank.

“Good news, the rape kit turned up negative,” he looked at the paperwork in front of him, “But the tests for Benzodiazepines, GHB, and the like came up negative.”

“Benzo-what?”

“These are typically called ‘Date Rape Drugs’. They are colorless and flavorless and easy to add to a drink.”

“But you said I wasn’t raped?”

“That’s correct. But given what you told me, it is probable that you were drugged. I expect that someone slipped GHB into your drink. It commonly heightens sociability, promotes libido, and suppresses inhibitions. It leaves you very open to suggestions.”

“But you said the test was negative?”

“It is also very difficult to detect. If I’d been able to test you first thing Thursday morning, I might have had a chance to isolate it. But Friday morning,” he shrugged, “The test result was probably a false negative. But there is nothing I can do to prove that.”

“But drugged?”

“The effects are not long-lasting, and the side effects are temporary. I suspect that the dose was low because you aren’t displaying the more unpleasant side effects.”

“So my memory will come back?”

“No, you won’t retain any memories of the event.”

She almost breathed a deep sigh of relief. Adding those memories to her recollections from last night might prove the doctor right.

Because she couldn’t remember the Christmas Party, her mind still refused to believe that was her.

If her memory returned, then she would be confronted with more than just the images; she would know what she did. It would be too much for her.

“When you said that the rape kit was negative,” she cringed, “Does that mean I didn’t have sex?”

“Yes, it contained a swab which was tested for semen. There was none present.”

She closed her eyes and this time did release a long breath.

Talking about sex with Doctor delicious was bad enough, but knowing he had tested a swab taken from her for another man’s semen was just too much.

“And all the tests for Sexually Transmitted Diseases came back negative.”

“No luck,” the door to her room swung open and standing in the frame was Mr. Wood. His body and face froze in place as he realized the conversation he was walking into. “I’ll come back later.”

“No need,” she huffed.

Half turned in the doorway, he turned back, “You want me to stay?”

“No, I don’t want you to come back,” she muttered. His attitude toward her had awoken the realization that he hated her. She had said it before but somewhere inside her she didn’t truly believe it. Now it was crystal clear.

“Unless you have any other questions, Andrea,” Doctor Layton looked at her. She shrugged and shook her head at the same time, “Then you might as well come in, Josh. So you couldn’t get Jill?”

“No answer from her phone,” his voice was softer, “I checked with Jane and Jill Arnold hasn’t been back to work since the Christmas Party.”

“But I got the email from her work address?”

“The same email that asked you to meet her at that bar?”

“Yes,” Andrea nodded.

“Well,” Doctor Layton smiled, “It’s settled then. Andrea will move into your house, Josh, and I’ll make an appointment to see her next week.”

“No! I can’t,” she pushed herself back away from Mr. Wood. “I can’t move in with him. Can’t I just go home? He could just ring me.”

“No,” Doctor Layton emphasized, “48 hours of constant supervision. That means he will need to be at your side for the next two days and then close for the next week, maybe more.“

“At my side? What does that mean?”

“It means you will not be out of my sight for the next two days,” Mr. Wood answered.

“No!” she quickly thought this through— toilet, shower, sleeping... all in his sight? There had to be someone else, anyone else. “What about Henry? Henry Shaw might do this?”

“Henry?” Mr. Wood sneered then muttered, “I wouldn’t trust Henry looking after you. You might have no STDs now but after 48 hours under Henry’s care you’d need to be retested.”

“How dare you!” she shot at the man at the other end of the room, “I might look like a floozy to the whole world but I’m not! I don’t just fall into bed with men!”

“That’s not what I was saying,” Mr. Wood cringed, “I wasn’t questioning your virtue. I was questioning his.”

“So you’re saying he could do better than me? You think he shouldn’t stoop so low as to proposition me?”

“No, that’s not what,” Mr. Wood ground his teeth and shut his eyes, “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Henry isn’t honorable with women.”

“Well, it looks like you two are going to have a fun week.”

Doctor Layton’s eyebrows lifted dramatically, then he covered his mouth to hide the small smile that was growing there. “I’ll discharge her into your care, Josh. Ring me if you need anything.”

“Great,” both Andrea and Mr. Wood growled at the same time.