Touching her hand, Anton brushed his thumb over her knuckles before writing, "Please ask her to come by, if she's allowed."
"I'll let her know you asked. Dr. Bennett, your plastic surgeon, will be here soon. Any questions about yourself?" Her eyes held a merry twinkle.
"How long am I here?"
"That's Dr. Bennett's decision. You can ask him."
Anton handed her the white board.
"That's for you to use while you're here, until you feel like talking."
He gave her a thumbs up.
"Anything else?
"No. Thank you," he wrote.
"You're very welcome."
"I'll be back to see you soon," Dr. Maddox said.
He gave her another thumbs up.
Dr. Bennett, and his group, walked in a few minutes later. He was a tall, self-possessed man with broad shoulders and a swimmer's lean build. He smiled and shook Anton's hand.
"I won't ask how you're feeling," he said quietly. "Because I imagine you hurt like the devil. Let us tell you what was done." He reported himself, his interns scribbling notes. Afterward, he fired questions at them, which they answered quickly and succinctly. "Any questions, Mr. Winthrop?"
"How soon can I leave?" Anton wrote.
Bennett cut his eyes at his students. "It could be a while," he emphasized, widening his eyes meaningfully. "They want to put you in jail as soon as I release you. Considering the obvious risks for a man post op, I've insisted you remain here several weeks." He held up a hand to still Anton's protests. "I know it's not ideal. But a man with a head wound, on a compound with inmates trying to prove themselves? No. You'd be an easy target. And the next time, you might not survive. It's my understanding that you live in a mobile home?"
Anton inclined his chin slightly.
"Also, not ideal. And you live alone. Your choice is here, or rehab with Mr. Carpenter."
"Which do you suggest?" Anton wrote.
"I strongly suggest you stay here for at least two weeks. If I feel you're recovering quickly enough, I'll send you to rehab with him. I think he would do better with you around. We did a lot of delicate reconstruction on your ear. It was, to put it bluntly, dog meat. What did you fall on?"
Anton drew a large question mark. One of the interns stepped forward.
"I saw the―incident, sir. He fell on the pebble patio by the food truck. The officer shoved him down, and he was unable to break his fall. Then the officer dropped on him while he was down, further driving his face into the patio."
Anton's eyes grew wide. Stunned from the initial fall, he'd forgotten that part. It explained why his chest and back hurt, in addition to his face.
"I gave my statement to the lieutenant," the intern told Anton.
"You were one of the people who helped me," Anton wrote and showed him.
"Yes. Susie and I responded first."
He shook the young man's hand, mumbling. "Thank you very much, for your help." He felt a sob rising in his chest, overwhelmed by his feelings. He'd never had complete strangers give him assistance before. His experience had been the complete opposite, and even friends could turn.
"No one should be treated like that," the young man said. He looked like he wanted to say a lot more, but snapped his lips shut. "You're welcome. Kinda wanted to kick his ass."
Everyone laughed. It hurt Anton to laugh, but he snorted with amusement.
"I appreciate it, but he'd have creamed you, Doc," Anton wrote.
"Not me. I'm Bruce Lee, baby!" He made the characteristic sound as he struck a crazy pose.
Everyone laughed louder.
"If I need a bodyguard, I'll call. Thank you, again," Anton wrote.
"Anytime, dude." They exchanged a knuckle bump.
Half an hour later, Maddox returned. She took a full set of vital signs, frowning.
"I know you're in pain, why didn't you take your pain med?"
"Don't want to sleep. Want to visit CV."
"Okay, but we keep it short for both your sakes. And pain meds right after."
"Yes, ma'am."
His visit with CV lasted about ten minutes. His friend was obviously in a lot of pain, despite his medication. The pain had aged him another ten years, making him pale, with dark circles around his eyes. Maddox took his vitals, too, seemed satisfied and withdrew to the corner of the room.
"They treating you okay, Donnie?"
"Yes," he wrote.
"Good. I hope they nail that asshole."
"Me too."
"I think it's time to go back to your room, Mr. Winthrop."
©2021 Dellani Oakes
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