MELODY #2

Nosocomephobia

*TRIGGER WARNING!*

**This chapter may contain verbal and emotional child abuse, slurs, and traumatic sequence.**

==========================

New York General Hospital

March, 2013

The woman stood in the door of the hospital room, her hair a dyed mess, eyes red and swollen, fists clenched, veins bulging across her forehead. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her face twisted into a feral expression as she crept closer toward the girl on the hospital bed. 

"What have you done, bastard?" the woman hissed. Her menacing voice grated on the ears of the thirteen year old girl, who was narcotized and covered in plaster.

The girl's eyes snapped open. Her vision was bleary, but the face staring at her was too familiar. Her heartbeat sped up in alarm. The woman's contorted features emanated more hatred than she could miss.

"I took you in and gave you a home. How could you do this to me?” the woman said through clenched teeth, spit coming out of her mouth. 

The girl blinked, breathing faster.  Her drowsy mind strained to comprehend the situation. 

Taking a step closer, the woman cocked her head to one side. "What? You don't know what you did?" 

The girl shook her head. Her lips quivered. Tears formed in her eyes as she stared helplessly at her accuser. 

Leaning down, the woman's face was inches away from hers. "Don't you dare pretend you're innocent. You killed my son, you evil bastard," she growled, gnashing her teeth. 

The girl gasped and held her breath. Her broken ribs throbbed as air filled her battered lungs. 

With a grim scowl on her face, the woman straightened up. She circled around the bed and began to fiddle with the IV tubes attached to the girl. "Ugh! Why do they put you on these. You should've died instead of him."

The girl blanched. Her body trembled. Her shoulders curled instinctively on the cold, stiff pillow. Her parched throat blocked her ability to speak. She wanted to explain what happened. That she hadn't meant to hurt the boy. But that wouldn't matter. Not to his grieving mother. Not to her social worker who promised to help her get adopted. Not even to herself. She shouldn't have survived.

Eyes darting everywhere, the girl searched for someone or something to save her from the wounded lioness who could eat her alive any second. The nurse call button seemed miles away. 

"Look at you." The woman curled her lips, giving her a once-over. She traced the cast on her legs, tapped on it with her fingers. "You broke your legs and a couple of ribs and that's it. Your fat skin saved you, huh? You crushed my son and survived. You think you'll get away with it? You think I can't send you to juvenile prison? Or even end your life myself right now?"

The woman clasped her fingers around the IV bag dangling from the metal pole and squeezed it.

Eyes growing wide, the girl shuddered, shrinking more and more into her pillow. She wanted to scream for help. She wanted to run for her life, but her injuries crippled her. The effect of the drugs was fading away, even though her self-preservation was still intact.

Praying the woman wouldn't notice, her fingers slid on the white sheet, reaching for the cord on her right side. Her only hope. 

"I've been feeding you like cattle since you've come to my house. I should've starved you to death. You didn't deserve to live." The woman kicked the side table, causing a plastic cup to fall and splatter its contents on the floor.