Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabble 30

"Should I call an ambulance?" 

"No, it'll be fine. I am sure some new snitches and another few weeks of bandages will do the trick," Richard did his best to give his electric smile that wrapped people around his little finger as a child. It didn't work as well now, but occasionally someone fell for it. 

"A few weeks is a long time; you should get it looked at," the voice of reason pushed. Ah, the face came into focus. Dr Drake. No wonder his lie didn't work. Drake was a clever one, too clever.

"I'll go to the clinic instead," Richard reassured

"You don't like hospitals," Dr Drake said, pulling his first aid kit closer to him.

"What gave that impression," Richard winked or possibly half grimaced, but the attempt was made. Stupid.

Drake nodded, glancing over at a clock before letting go of his arm. "I'll stitch you up here if you won't go. Wait here."

Running away, as tempting as it was, would cause bigger issues. Richard stayed in the plastic chair, arm over the sink. Number whispered under his nails. Not inked into his skin, but the impression licked up his face. Whoever bought his contract was eager to talk to him.

The urge to be worried mixed with the concern that Drake might frogmarch him to the hospital if he showed signs of infection. A telephone number had implications. Whoever brought his contract was set up on the mortal plane. That left a limited number of opinions, all bad for different reasons beyond simply being a demon.  

He should call the number. His new master gave it with an implied order to get in contact. He shouldn't call the number. The longer he waited, the longer his last few moments of freedom lasted. A lie and a shield from the truth.  

A name sat engraved on his flesh. Someone owned him. 

Reason to call number two; the longer he took to obey the order, the more angry they would be upon their first meeting. Richard didn't want that. 

His phone was back in the classroom. He'd have to wait until Drake stitched him up before calling. Some were more reasonable than others - for some, even the amount of time it had been would be too short. For others, a few hours would not be a bother. His luck swung both ways according to the moon and stars. 

He wanted this over.

He wanted this to be a bad dream. 

Neither was likely. 

Drake finished sterilising the kit and got to work sewing up his flesh. He spoke the entire time. Richard hissed once or twice as the thread pulled harder than the numbing agent could last. The principal appeared and ordered him to go home before he gave any of the children nightmares. The lecture could have been worse. Drake didn't let him move until he'd cleaned the arm again and bandaged the wound. That helped hide the name from his sight.

"Come see me in a week, and I'll check it over for you," Dr Drake said, patting his shoulder. 

"I appreciate it," Richard rubbed the top of his arm, nervous. It meant fewer questions if he could trust Dr Drake to fix him up. Doctors liked to ask tough ones when it came to unexplainable injuries. 'My arm opened up on its own,' was not going to be an acceptable answer. 

One of the brats dropped his bag off at Dr Drake's room. A couple of quid was missing, but a picture of Richard turning into a zombie had been pressed in there. Damian enjoyed drawing though it was unusual for the normally serious boy to draw something whimsical. 

The weight in his hand hurt, but the brick didn't want to lift easily. His heart fluttered as he looked at the virtual keypad waiting for the number to type.