*chapter two*

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"Miss, we need you to fill out paperwork before we can see you," the nurse spoke to me but I my vision blurred.

"I don't mean to be rude," I spoke softly, "but I have a head wound and can't fucking see straight. I can't fill out paperwork like this!"

My soft words turned into a small yell, which the poor nurse didn't deserve. I'm still not sure how I made it from my house to the hospital without crashing. The blood was covering my left eye, and the pain I was feeling kept growing.

"Miss, it's hospital policy", she said and seemed increasingly annoyed with me.

"Nurse Betty, I'll take her back and she can do it later." I heard a man's voice say.

He was angelic. The way his blonde hair shined in the hospital light, even with only one good eye I was stunned. Pale skin, tall, a friendly smile on his face. He gently touched my forearm and helped me stumble into a room about three, maybe four doors down from the desk. The man helped me sit, and lay down on the table.

"I'm Doctor Cullen, I don't have a chart for you obviously, so what is your name dear?"

"I..I'm Joni," I said stuttering, trying to watch as he moved around the room grabbing things from cabinets and using the sink.

"Nice to meet you Joni, how exactly did this happen?" He spoke as he began to clean the wound.

I flinched, but stayed silent. I couldn't explain it to him, a doctor would want to involve the police and I couldn't have that. My parents, though they had simple jobs and had built a simple life in Forks, were prominent people in the community. They donated to charity, my mother helped run clothing drives, they supported girl scouts and things of that nature. Everyone knew them, but no one knew the dark secrets that hid inside the walls of our house. And up until I graduated a few months ago, I had chosen, more or less was forced to, play into that image. I got good grades, I was active in school sports and student council. I did what I could to make them look good, and stayed out of trouble. In the 6th grade I told my teacher about how life really was a home, the morning after the first time he had slapped me and pushed me down the stairs. She called my parents in for a conference, they laughed and said I was just telling stories. Child protective services was sent to the house as well, but they were able to put on a front for them too. Now that I was an adult, I wanted out of their clutches but I didn't want to ruin their lives. So to Doctor Cullen, as kind as he seemed, I would say nothing.

"You don't have to tell me," Doctor Cullen stated interrupting my train of thought, "however, if it wasn't an accident I want you to know we here at the hospital can help."

"What can a hospital do?"

He sighed and turned to grab something from the table, "So it wasn't an accident?"

"I never said that," I flinched again, he was using tweezers to pull glass from my forehead, "I'm just...curious."

"There's a safe haven in town for domestic violence victims, police can be called, counseling is offered and much more. We do what we can here to help everyone regardless of their situation."

We both stayed quiet after that. I heard the glass hit the plastic bin with every piece he pulled out, and when he gave me stitches I felt tears fall. Numbing medicine never worked on me. When he was done Doctor Cullen walked me back to the to the desk so I could fill out my paperwork finally. The last thing he told me was that if I changed my mind regarding how I got my injury, hospital resources were still available after the fact.

I left my address blank, which didn't make the nurse happy, neither did me leaving the emergency contact information blank too. But that was my situation, I had no one to call if something bad happened to me. And I no longer had a place to live. It was dark when I left, a little after midnight and I didn't even know where I was or where I was headed to. I saw a sign that said "Welcome to La Push", and just up the road from that was a tiny, creepy looking motel with a bright red vacancy sign.

I decided that would be "home" for the next few nights. 

Only the "Strong" Survive | Paul Lahote |Место, где живут истории. Откройте их для себя