‹ONE›

‹Part 1›

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the frame of the door as my step sister digs around for the correct medication for our next patient. She was told he needed stitches due to a punch to the eye. The slit was described as deep, and bloody.

Great.

"Are you not grossed out by this sort of stuff?" I ask her while she pulls open a draw that carries cotton buds.

"No, and if you want to be doctor, you can't be grossed out by this stuff either," she tells me, glancing over her shoulder and giving me a look. "Carrey, can you grab the disinfectant wipes please. Thank you." She instructs her assistant nurse and Carrey nods before searching a different draw.

"What if I don't want to be a doctor?" I reply to her.

"Why are you doing work experience here then?" She turns her full body to face me.

"Because the whole idea of work experience is to see whether you want to go into that profession. Isn't it?" I answer.

My sister, Rebecca, rolls her eyes and makes her way to the sink. "Yeah, whatever." 

She reaches for the box of latex gloves, and pulls a pair them onto her hands.

"What?" I ask. "You told me I can do my work experience here, don't regret it now," I tease her.

"Yeah, I know," she throws me another one of her trademark I'm-not-bothering-with-you-anymore looks, "but anyway," she edges closer to me, speaking in a low tone so Carrey is unable to hear. 

"This next patient, he's the guy I was telling you about."

"Oh," my lips curve into a smile. "The kid that's ten years younger than you?" I raise my eyebrow at her when she smirks back at me.

"He'll be eighteen in a few weeks!" She defends herself. "So, nine years younger."

I laugh, "still, Becca, shouldn't you be looking for an older guy? Maybe someone who's, I dunno, of the legal age?"

She waves her hand dismissively at me, "he's a few weeks off eighteen, it's fine. I'm just having some fun."

I cringe as she says the word 'fun'. I'm going to convince myself that by 'fun', she means the innocent watching a movie, or the going bowling kind of fun.

"Has he made a move yet?" I ask, putting all those awful thoughts of my stepsister to the back of my mind.

"Yes, he's asked me out on a date," she beams, as if getting a date is like getting a Nobel prize.

I want to ask for the boy's name, but Rebecca, tying her brunette hair up into a high ponytail, twists to face Carrey.

"Are you ready, Carrey?" She asks the new trainee nurse, who is busy –and having trouble - getting the medical instruments together for our injured patient.

I hope there's not much blood.

"Yes, you go ahead, I'll be right behind you," Carrey smiles at us both through her large round glasses, which remind me a little of Harry Potter. The old woman hunches over the tray, inspecting all the instruments already placed on it.

"Come on then," Becca gestures for me to follow her out of the storage room, harshly illuminated with artificial lighting.

I follow my sister down the busy ward and past the hectic waiting area where injured patients are waiting for the doctors. We eventually reach a treatment room, where most of the less urgent cases are dealt with. Quickly scanning the room with my eyes, I take in all the patients that are seated on the examination beds. Someone in the far corner seems to have a broken nose, and is holding a large bloody tissue against its bridge as a male doctor prods gently at it with his finger. Nausea creeps in at the sight of the blood pouring from the poor patients nose, so I turn my head away.

I follow Rebecca in her long white coat, pacing to the bed in the middle where a young man sits holding an ice bag to one half of his face. Dry blood covers most of the other half due to the large and open wound just above his eye. The surrounding skin is so swollen that it has forced his left eye to stay partially closed.

He's looking down at the ground, where his feet rest against the dodgy-looking yellow hospital floor. I think they got a yellow floor to camouflage any vomit that patients may throw up.

That's disgusting, Flo. Focus.

I can't help but feel a little sick as a result of the vast amount of blood on his face, which is practically disguising his features. So, I am obliged to look away from him as well and bow my head to stare at my intertwined fingers.

Several times in the past, my sister's mentioned how he's a gorgeous heartthrob who made her dribble at the first sight of him. But, in this state, he just makes me want to run away.

Eugh...blood.

"Oh my God, what happened to you this time?" My sister gapes, while reaching for the hospital curtain near the heart monitor, and winding it around us in order to give us some privacy against the other nosy patients.

My sister makes her way to the boys side, tenderly raising his head with her fingertips to make him face her fully, closely studying the gash. 

"How the hell did you do this, Jake?" 

So that's his name; Jake.

Wait.

‹Part 2›

Instantly, my eyes dart up to land on the boys face. Although I'm not directly in front of him, I can clearly see his side profile. Honestly, if it wasn't for my heavy curiosity, I would still be admiring the oh-so-lovely yellow puke flooring instead of the dry blood glued to his face, but the name Jake instantly rang warning bells in my head. I mean, the odds are tiny, it can't be him, yet it might be, and maybe...

Oh God.

My heart jolts in its place, the blood flow rushes to my cheeks, and I'm left in a flustered state as I look at the injured boy before me. I try to close my mouth, but it continues to drop open. I try to lessen the strain that is pulling on my eyes, keeping them wide, but that attempt also fails.

Not here, not now, not like this. Oh god.

"Hey, Becky. And don't worry, it's just a little scratch." Jake replies huskily to her, making me turn to my sister in surprise.

She wasn't lying when she said she has this crazily sexy boy wrapped around her finger. No one calls her Becky.  

 "How many times do I have to say this, you have to call me Doctor Jackson when I'm working." She smirks at him, reaching for the ice bag that is pressed against his face.

He still hasn't spotted me. Part of me wants him to, yet the other half is crying at me to get the hell out of here before he does.

"Nah," he bites at his lip. "Becky is much sexier."

His comment sends Becca into giggles, and makes me want to hurl the kitkat I had half an hour ago.

"Oh, and this is my sister, she's doing work experience here, so if you don't mind, she's going to be watching for a while."

Finally, Jake's eyes land on me for the first time in two years. For a moment, he doesn't react, but once he processes who I actually am, his lips part fractionally. I can see his Adams apple wobble up and down through the skin of his throat as he swallows.

A good several moments pass of us simply staring at each other, my eyes wide and my heart flaming, whereas he looks calm and collected. I open my mouth to speak, not really sure of what to say, but I just want to break this awkward silence with some flow of words.

However, my lips quickly seal shut when he speaks instead.

"That's fine." He says, so simply and unbothered.

Does he not recognize me? He must know who I am. What? What just happened?

My sister looks curiously from myself and to him with a confused expression moulding her face. But luckily, she doesn't press on the issue any further and changes the subject completely. Placing her gloved hand on Jake's chest, she leans a little closer to him.

There is a green monster climbing up my back at this very instance and it goes by the name Jealousy.

"Hold on for a second, I just need to go see where my nurse is and then I can get you cleaned up." She tells Jake with a flirtatious smile, removing the ice bag from the right side of his face.

Yes, that is definitely Jake Lloyd, just a bloodier, more tired, and a sluttier version. What the heck happened?  

"Flo, can you please hold this against his head for a sec?" Rebecca turns to me, outstretching her hand that holds the ice bag.

Hesitantly, I take it from her and nod.

"Sure," the word comes through my lips in barely a whisper.

Without another word, Becca slides through the opening in the curtain and disappears to look for Carrey. After watching her vanish, I glance back at Jake, fully focusing on those turquoise eyes once again.

Two years is a long time, I'd forgotten what he even looked like. All I could remember is that he was handsome, well built, and had the best coloured eyes I'd ever set my sight on.

            Thankfully, he hasn't changed much. Other than the fact his body is a lot more muscular than before, but not in an excessive way, in a sexy way. He's actually turned into a tall and broad man who you surely don't want to get into a fistfight with.

            I stand insanely still for a good ten seconds, watching him as he watches me. Unlike my flushed face, his is totally blank and I can't read him at all – just like how Jake's always been, a closed book. Nevertheless, this blank expression he's wearing just makes me think that he's certainly not happy to see me.

            What did you expect, Flo? Open arms and smile all around?

            I take two steps forward, until I'm stood directly before him. His leg is so incredibly close to mine, that I can feel some of his warmth travel to the lower part of my body, sending shivers along my spine and through every nerve in my body.

            His heavenly eyes are sturdily fixed on mine as I bring the ice bag up to the right side of his forehead, where I can make out a large, circular and yellowing bruise. Carefully, I press the ice bag against the bulge. For a second he winces, closing his eyes tightly shut.

            "Sorry," I say, hurriedly taking the ice bag off of his forehead.

            He quickly opens his eyes and grabs a hold of my moving hand, making me freeze still. Spreading his fingers snugly over the back of my hand, he brings the ice bag – along with my hand - to his forehead again. You'd think my fingers are freezing as a result of the ice I'm clasping onto, but Jake's grip heats up my full body within seconds.

            "Hold it there," he breathes, closing his eyes again.

            "Okay," I say, before opening my mouth to speak again. "It's good to see you too, Jake." I tell him, half jokingly, and half annoyed.

            Two years, and he looks at me as if he doesn't remember who I am. I would much rather prefer an emotion shine through, whether it be angry or sad – anything is better than a blank.  

            He lifts his heavy eyelids to reveal those lusciously beautiful irises again, and he gazes at me for a moment.

            "For all I know, you can't be who I think you are, so I think you've got the wrong Jake." He replies coldly, making my eyebrows furrow in frustration.

            Who else in this damned town is called Flo? And I doubt I look that different, although I have taken out my nose, eyebrow and lip piercings. You see, I went through a gothic phase a few years ago but when I moved away I decided to change my whole appearance in order to become a 'New Me!' (my lifestyle change only lasted two day, though).

            "You know exactly who I am." I tell him, narrowing my eyes.

            "Really? Because the last time I checked, this girl who looks exactly like you, and even shares the same name, fucked off to Australia two years ago." He responds, venom oozing from each word that escapes his tongue. His sharp glare is piercing my eyes, forcing me to look away from his icy stare.

            Shocked, I don't know how to phrase a suitable sentence from the jumble of words floating in my head. I swallow, and swallow again.

            "You can let go," he says emotionlessly, holding the ice bag against his forehead to oblige me to drop my hand to my side.

            Taking a step away from him, I decide to speak further.

            "You haven't changed at all," I say, keeping my voice low.

            "Neither have you, you still seem like a bitch." He hisses, "or do you prefer slut?"

            "Shut up." I bite.

            I normally don't get angry that easily, but when Jake, of all people, is throwing this at me, all at once, I can't help but feel fuming. My blood boils lividly as I take in the state of my once best friend. He's looking at me as if I'm scum, not worth a single thing.

            "Make me, Flo." He replies, a horrid look in his eyes. "Or better yet, get on a plane and sod off to Australia again. Don't bother to say goodbye to anyone, because you're far too important for all of us."

            "Stop it!" I raise my voice over his, disabling him from continuing in his pathetic attempt to make me upset.

            It's not really pathetic though is it, you are getting upset. 

            A small smile tugs at his lips, but it's one of those terrifying smiles that hold no happiness or joy at all. "Am I hurting your little feelings, Flo?"

            I look away from his painfully malicious eyes that cut into mine, and ignore at all costs the shooting soreness scratching at the back of my throat – a sure sign that the tears are on their way.

            "Jake, can you just stop?" I manage to pronounce.

            He's silent, so I glance up at him.

            He's wearing that blank face again, shielding every emotion, even the angry ones that were more than evident a few moments ago.  

            I wait for him to throw his next insult, but we're interrupted by my sister, who holds the curtain open for Carrey to wheel the tray to the side of Jake's bed. Due to Carrey's bigger frame, Jake budges in his place to give her more space to stand.

            "So," my sister starts, pulling at the gloves on her fingers, to tighten them around her hands. "Tell me what happened?"

            Taking the ice bag away from Jake's forehead, she examines both the bruise, and the open and bloody wound above his left eye, careful not to cause him too much discomfort.

            "Bad boxing match." He replies, closing his eyes. His left eye is already halfway closed because of the gash above it.

            He boxes now?

            "Ouch," my sister responds. "Did you win?"

            Slowly, he opens his eyes to meet hers. "Don't I always?"

            Rebecca giggles at this, reaching for a disinfectant wipe on the tray.

            "When's your next match? I might watch." Becca says with a enticing smile rearranging her lips. Cautiously, she daps the disinfectant against Jake's injury.

            "In three weeks time, you should come." He grins, biting at his lower lip in an attempt to be sexy.

            I've seen it all before, Jake. The way you flirt with girls, the way you once flirted with me.

            Rebecca blushes as she aids his cut. I can guess that she's trying to focus on her work at hand, yet can't help sneak a few peaks into his eyes.

            This time, it isn't the gooey blood trickling from Jake's wound that's making me nauseous, but rather their blatant flirting.

            "Yeah, I might. Flo, do you wanna come?" She twists her head to face me for a moment with her eyebrows raised, then returns to her task. Jake's eyes shift to look at me; they're bland and completely impassive, as if he isn't even seeing me.

"Uh," I begin, "I dunno," I shrug, avoiding Jake's brutally hostile eyes. "Becca, I need to go to the toilet really quickly." I say, trying to get away from this foreign boy before I explode.

Foreign, because this isn't the Jake I used to know. The Jake I used to know used to be there when I needed him, and wait for me at the school gates, or introduce me as his 'best friend'.

"Okay, hurry up though." She replies; her voice distant.

Whatever, I'm not going to hurry up. She can do all the flirting she wants, and he can eye her up all he wants, but I will not be the one to witness it. I wonder how awkward Carrey feels right now, just stood there silently.

Never daring to look back at them, I find the opening in the curtain surrounding us, and pace away from the ward as quickly as possible.

‹Part 3›

Ignoring the busy noises around me, I keep walking and walking and walking. Once I reach the corridor, which connects our ward with ward seven, I take a seat on one of the blue chairs aligned against the walls. The window beside me has its blinds drawn, allowing the mid-afternoon sunshine to seep through the transparent glass and heat the corridor with warmth.

I didn't want to see Jake, or River, or Ky, or Georgia, or anyone who I used to know, for at least another few weeks, or until I start school again this autumn. This was not meant to happen, and I definitely was not ready for Jake's reaction.

I prepared myself for some unpleasant reactions, but never did I think it would be that bad, and from Jake – of all people. I thought he'd be one of the people who'd welcome me back kindly and be a little less judgmental, not call me a slut.

Yet, he has a point. I am a slut.

No you're not, my brain tells me.

I sigh, resting my head against the wall behind me and stare blankly at the plain white ceiling. My fingers wrap around the wooden armrests of the chairs, tightening around squeezing the hard material to release some of my agitation.

Stop thinking so negatively, what did you promise? Fresh start; forget what happened two years ago.

After ten minutes of contemplating whether I should go back there or not, I inhale deeply and push myself off of the chair. Slowly, to kill as much time as possible, I make my way back to the ward, praying that Jake has disappeared by now.

Straight after I push through the doors to reveal ward eight, my sister spots me over the few crowds of nurses and patients flowing in for emergency appointments. With a clipboard secure in her hand, she jogs towards me, dodging a patient whose making their way to the reception area with a cast around their arm.

            "Flo!" She calls, "I need you to fill out this form again, same thing as last time, just get Jake to fill in his details and signature. There's been a cardiac arrest and they need me there, now. " She finishes hastily, handing me the navy blue clipboard that has a pen slipped into the pocket on its side.

            Inside, I kick myself for having to go back to him. But, I just say "okay," to her, and take the clipboard from her hold. Rapidly, she pushes past me and dashes off through the double doors.

            Watchful not to bump into any patients blocking my way to Jake's situated hospital bed, I put on the best poker face I can manage and slip through the shielding curtains.

            "No, coach, I'm fine. It was only a few stitches. What?" Jake speaks into the receiver of his mobile, unaware of my presence as he's facing away from me. "Coach, with all due respect, you're not my mother, I'm fine. I'll see you at training tomorrow." He tugs at the hair on the back of his head, listening to the other end of the phone. "Yes, I'm fine. I'll be fine. See you tomorrow." He eventually hangs up, locking his phone and slipping it back into his jeans pocket.

            Mustering up all the courage I have within me, I pace around the back of the hospital bed and clear my throat to let him know he has company. Instantly, his head flicks in my direction, his intense eyes sealing our gazes together.

            "You need to fill out a few details on this form, right here." I point towards the top part of the black and white piece of paper. "And then sign down there, and you're good to go." I say as kindly as I can, ignoring the fact that he isn't even looking at where I'm pointing, but instead at my face.

            His watch on me is burning through my skin.

            Not meeting his eyes, I hand over the clipboard. Finally, he lowers his gaze to read through the form and after a minute takes the pen from the side to start to fill in the blank spaces.

            "Isn't your sister supposed to be filling this out for me?" He asks, keep his eyes on the piece of paper in his lap.

            "She was called off for an emergency," I answer, folding my arms over my chest and waiting patiently for him to finish.

            "Why aren't you filling this out then? You're her assistant for now aren't you? You should know most of this information about me. We were good friends, weren't we? Maybe even more than that, before you decided to disappear." He raises his eyes to stare me down once again.

            We were good friends, maybe even more than that.

            "Go on, can you remember what my date of birth is?" He queries, eyes narrowing as he waits for me to reply.

            3rd September.

            But I don't say it.

            "Are you finished with that?" I smile, completely ignoring the death glare he's directing at me.

            He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're pathetic."

            Don't listen to him, Flo.

            "You know, of all the times me and your sister have hung out, she's never mentioned that you're her sister. She's never even mentioned that she has a sister." He says, too calmly.

            "We're not related, Jake," I tell him. Rebecca is going to be my stepsister, the daughter of my soon-to-be stepfather.

            "Yeah, I know that, Flo. I would've known if you had a sister. But then again, would I? Because you didn't tell any of us that you were going to leave, I had to go to your Mum's house, who by the way hates my guts, and find out for myself." With every word, the anger within his eyes builds, and he becomes more aggressive.

            You asked for emotions, here are the emotions.

            I've seen this ugly side of Jake before, but never has he used it against me. It's horrible.

            I try as best I can to make these harsh sentences of his leak from my brain, but instead they stick like super glue, and I'm not going to be able to forget them.

            "If you're finished, can I have the form please?" I ask politely, outstretching my hand to accept the clipboard from him.

            After looking at my hand for a while, he lifts the clipboard and places it onto my palm. Then, his eyes lift to meet with mine, bitterness in them.

            "I hope you don't mind, I'm kind of banging your sister." He says, a malicious smirk on his smug face.

            That hurts. It shouldn't, but it does. 

            "Why would I mind?" I ask as innocently as possible, ignoring the jealous pricks poking at my insides.

            He gives me an effortless shrug, an air of mischief radiating off of the sparkle in his eye. "Because the last time I checked, you had a thing for me."

            Wow, Jake, when I think you can't get any worse.  

            I laugh a fake laugh, embracing some of the venom. "Yeah, the last time you checked was two years ago. A lot has changed since then, Jake. And if I recall correctly, you had a thing for me too."

            Satisfied with those last words that sting the air, I turn on my heel and walk away from him. Although I have an agonising urge to look back over my shoulder, just to see his expression, I steadily control it. Placing the clipboard on the receptionist's desk, I continue to pace away from the ward, to the staff toilets and find the nearest available cubicle. Locking myself inside, I stay there for what feels like eternity.

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