seattle, washington
1987
CHAPTER ONE
Trash bags, as it turns out, are not good at breaking falls.
Although Sydney was only conscious for a moment after the fall, the pain he felt when his bones broke and his head felt metal was enough for him to wish himself dead.
He was unconscious and bleeding out for about an hour before someone had found him, or at least that's what he heard when he awoke in a hospital bed.
The bright white lights of the room sting his eyes as Sydney jolts awake, strapped to several machines. His breathing tube causes him to gag, catching the attention of one of the nurses in the room.
"He's awake! Page Dr. Cullen!" The nurse orders the other as she pulls the tube from Sydney's throat.
She attempts to calm him down, but Sydney's wild nature pushes him into a frenzy. He barks back profanities at the nurse in an attempt to make a run for it. Sydney knew not where he was but he sure as hell wasn't planning on staying.
But just as he manages to push the nurse off him and swing his legs off the bed, he realizes that his right leg is in a full cast and falls face first onto the smooth linoleum. It is cool against his cheek.
A gasp is heard shortly after the other nurse waltzes into the room with a tall, pale man by her side. Sydney eyeballs them from the floor with a defeated face, and allows the doctor to help him up. Sydney's lips let past a sharp hiss- as the doctor's cold fingers dig through his hospital gown.
The doctor smoothly takes a step back from Sydney, clasping his hands behind his back with an easy smile. The nurses behind him on the other hand, scowl back at Sydney before leaving the room.
"I see the pain medication is working perfectly, otherwise you would've felt your broken leg from the fall."
Sydney eyes the doctor's white coat, mentally tracing the cursive writing along his left breast: Cullen M.D.
"Sure," Sydney deadpans, looking everywhere and anywhere for unattended medical equipment that could possibly aid in his escape.
"Are you looking for something, son?" Dr. Cullen asks, noticing his line of sight.
Flinching at the last word, Sydney shakes his head and feels where his pockets would've been for a smoke.
"Actually, do you happen to have a cig on you?"
If he wasn't on so many pain meds, he would've sworn the doctor looked like Paul Newman when he cracked a smile. It was weird.
"No," he laughs. "There's no smoking in a hospital anyway."
Sydney frowns, and when he does he suddenly can feel exactly where every cut sat along his face.
"I read your files after you were admitted and I noticed you're in foster care. Do you mind telling me where your foster parents are? I'm sure they're worried sick about you, Sydney." Dr. Cullen adds.
"They don't give a shit about me." Sydney scoffs, suddenly on edge. "All they care about is getting their fat check every month from the state."
Dr. Cullen's fine blond eyebrows raise at his words. It was true after all, Sydney thought, they didn't care what he did as long as he showed up on inspection days. Assholes.
"That's quiet alarming. Have you told anyone about this?" He asks, the level of genuine concern in his voice surprises Sydney.
He shakes his head. Sydney was seventeen and a half, why would he screw things up when he only had six more months left of this hell hole?
Six more months until he tasted- no, savored freedom.
"I see." Dr. Cullen stood tight-lipped for a while before suddenly gathering the clipboard tightly into his chest and left Sydney alone once again.
Only this time he did not return for hours.
In the meantime, Sydney took advantage of free cable and watched reruns of 'The Dukes of Hazard', longing for a car like that one one day- minus the confederate flag on the top.
A new nurse also came in with a tray of food, leading Sydney to guess the original nurses didn't want anything to do with him- most people didn't, anyway.
Out of curiosity, Sydney asks the nurse about where Dr. Cullen has run off to, and he was surprised to feel a bit disappointed when she said he had went home for the day.
And just like that, the bitterness in Sydney's heart returns.
He slumped in his bed, picking at the ABC soup until there was none left and slurped the red Jell-O as obnoxiously as he could. After all, who was listening?
No one.
The hours merged together into night and Sydney's pain medication pulled him back into slumber. That night Sydney dreams about robo cops and Paul Newman.
It must've been early the next morning when Sydney was awoken by the sound of murmuring outside the curtains of his room. After years of living in less than adequate boys homes, Sydney had quickly learned to sleep with one eye open.
Although he couldn't hear what the voices were saying, his blood turns to ice the moment he recognizes the blue straight leg pants from the other side of the curtain.
Switching into flight mode, Sydney slides off the bed- taking his IV with him- and this time carefully lands onto the floor. He swings his boot with each calculated step and stands still beside the curtain, waiting. He could feel the blood pulsing in his ears.
"Alright," a deep voice says. "Let's see if you're right."
With every muscle coiled, the moment the cop steps through the curtains and into the room, Sydney swings the IV pole with every ounce of strength he can conjure up.
Blood sprays everywhere as the IV is ripped from his arm and the pole lands right into the policeman's tired back no doubt. He lets out a grunt and falls to the floor and Sydney jumps over him the best he can; dragging the boot behind him as he attempts to run down the hall.
Confused nurses eye him as he hurtles on by. But just as he spies an elevator, Sydney feels the familiar prick of cold, bewildering marble-hard fingers grip him by the shoulder. Stopping him dead in his tracks.
"And where do you think you're going, Sydney?" Says Dr. Cullen, his voice on edge. "Don't you realize that you've assaulted a police officer? Again?"
Oh, so he really has read up on me, Sydney thought sheepishly.
Gingerly, Dr. Cullen eases his grip but doesn't let go. Instead he wheels Sydney back in the direction he came out guns blazing. It also seems that he didn't swing as hard as he thought because now there was the same policeman he had hit only this time he rubs his back with a snarl.
"You definitely weren't exaggerating, Doc." The policeman growls, following them back into the room.
Sydney scrunches his nose when his foot slides over the blood he spilled earlier, and also notices a slight shift in Dr. Cullens step when he notices too, but only for a moment.
Dr. Cullen assists Sydney back onto the bed as if he weighed nothing and politely asks a CNA to clean up the mess he made.
Together, the policeman and Dr. Cullen look over Sydney with a keen eye, suddenly making his cheeks burn. He wasn't accustomed to people taking any remote interest in him, especially anyone of authority- well, the right kind of attention, anyway.
"Show me where they are." The policeman breaks the silence, and for a moment Sydney cocks his head in confusion.
Until his eyes narrow in on Dr. Cullen.
"No." Sydney hisses through gritted teeth. "No fucking way, man."
Dr. Cullens amber eyes- amber eyes what the fuck?- soften.
When did he have amber eyes? Thought Sydney. He blinks hard a few times just in case the meds are still messing with him but they stay the same color as before. Pools of liquid amber.
Still, his tense demeanor doesn't falter in the slightest.
"Kid, c'mon I don't got all day."
"Fuck off."
Dr. Cullen carefully draws closer, and Sydney snaps his head in his direction.
"And fuck you." He snarls, a slight crack in his voice.
Suddenly the rooms begins to feel hot and Sydney's throat bobs.
"Sometimes," Dr. Cullen whispers, "the hardest thing to do is ask for help. Even when we don't think we need it."
He shakes his head and dark curls fall over glossy brown eyes. It takes Sydney a moment to compose himself before staring back at the policeman, unwavering. Then, and only then does he begin to peel down his hospital gown to reveal the raised white scars that cover most of his chest and back.
And by the end of the night, Sydney is pulled from his foster family and- to his surprise- temporarily handed over to Dr. Cullen; who is apparently no stranger to the foster system as he has five kids at home. Or so he told Sydney.
"So what? You think I'm indebted to you or something?" Sydney shrugs, sliding into Dr. Cullen's obsidian Porsche.
He runs his hands over the dashboard in silent awe. This whole car probably cost more than his life was worth.
Dr. Cullen chuckles as he slides into the drivers seat.
"No, not at all. But there are a couple things I will ask from you before I take you home." He says.
The word home doesn't sound like a word at all to Sydney, but he nods his head anyway.
"Whatever."
A half smile appears along his lips before he says, "First, I want you to call me Carlisle from now on. Do you think you can do that?"
Wrinkling his nose, Sydney leans back and eyes Dr. Cullen with distaste.
"You're parents must've hated you, too."
To this, a bubble of laughter escapes from Carlisle's finely shaped mouth.
"What on earth leads you to believe that?"
"Because," Sydney explains like it's obvious. "they gave you an awful name, dude."
Carlisle's grin did not fade as he nodded along. "Fair enough." He says, "And secondly, please buckle your seatbelt. The road can be a dangerous place."
Sydney laughs. Really?
His keen eyes look to Carlisle who also happens to not have gotten the memo.
"I'll buckle up once you buckle up." Sydney smirks.
And sure enough, Carlisle clicks his buckle into place and waits for Sydney to do the same. Once he does he goes on, putting the car into reverse.
"And lastly, please try to make friends with my children. I promise they mean well."
His last request caught Sydney off guard. He completely forgot about the fact that he already had kids at home. But for the meantime Sydney musters up a 'sure thing' and wedges himself deeper into the seat.
"Oh, and no drugs inside the house."
Sydney's stomach drops. So they did find weed in his system after all.
"Shit." He exhales, running a palm over his sweaty face.
"And please refrain from cursing in front of my wife, Esme."
"Fuck, okay- uh, I mean, damn?"
A chuckle. "We'll work on it, no worries."
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