Page 44 of Open Water

“I get off my shift at 8 o’clock tomorrow, so I won’t see you in the morning. Tomorrow night?”

Matteo nods. And Tom feels surprisingly light as he hops down the steps onto the drive and lets the gravel crush under his feet. He likes the idea of this. And he is seeing Lukas tonight.

Of course, he doesn’t even step through the staff entry door to the Sergel Emergency room, before someone pushes him and shouts at him and he has never changed into his scrubs as fast.

It’s chaotic out there. They don’t deal with the big incidents down here in the city centre. This place is for people walking in with minor injuries. Parents with kids who can’t face the hospital waiting lines for an obvious stitch job. Yet, there is shouting and screaming going on behind curtain two and there are two police officers filling in paperwork at the desk, and Marianne, who no doubt has done the early shift and not made it home yet, just shoves a clipboard in his hands and points at curtain five without saying a word.

They don’t need to speak much down here, colleague to colleague. They are all experienced people where enthusiasm and bedside manners have worn off to create a comfortable silence of truths. People are shit. People do shit things. Then, people are kind of fucking shit about it. Then, we fix it. Rinse and repeat.

The woman behind curtain five is Astrid. Of course. It’s Sunday night and Astrid will have gone to evening mass and the well-meaning yet useless vicar will have filled her already fragile head with thoughts and not done his actual job of filling her with peace and calm. Which is why Tom is a stern atheist.

“Astrid, hello!” Tom says calmly as Astrid hurls abuse at him and tries to put her hand on his head to bless him from all sins. She’s a lovely woman when she is calm, despite her unkempt looks and the unhinged temper.

“Astrid. Remember the rules we have discussed here? You do not bless me. That is for Jesus to do. Okay? We made a deal with each other. Now it says here that you have cut your leg. Would you let me look?”

He gets another round of abuse which he quietly sits and takes in. Nods appreciably at the intricate rant about the cobbled streets being the work of Satan. Yeah, he can agree with that.

She eventually gets her leg up on the stool he has placed in front of her, lined with the green protective paper they use for everything. Liner. Snot catcher. Blood soaker. Tear wiper.

It’s a clear cut. Crisscrossed with the scars of a myriad of different injuries that has Tom’s textbook stitching written all over it. She’s not injury prone. Astrid may be in her late sixties, but her self-harm is a long running issue, and her mental state overrides her chronic sensory issues, causing deep and frightening injuries that Tom will patch up over and over again.

“Astrid, how are you getting on living at the Solrosen group home? Are you enjoying it?”

She quietly mutters her reply, something Tom can just barely make out. It’s a great place, the group home she has been placed at. If they could only keep here there and not let her roam the streets at night. She needs to find a church that will calm her. A place of worship where someone can take her there and take her home after, not let her work herself up to this state every Sunday night. That damn church she attends needs to be shut down.

Not that it is any of his concern, nor his responsibility. He still patches her up and makes the phone call to the Solrosen home himself. Exchanges pleasantries with Heidi, the carer in charge. They know each other well. And he waves Astrid off in a taxi that he charges to the 'Healthcare in the Community' account. Fuck them. They can sue him for all he cares.

He takes the gloves off his hands and folds them up carefully. Inside out.

“Protect, Preserve, Promote,” he mutters to himself. Letting the cool night air blow on his face for a second.

“Hello.”

He has almost forgotten about Lukas. Oh God. Lukas. Lukas is here standing in front of him on the pavement like some apparition of sorts.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he blurts out. “I would shake your hand but I’m not clean.”

He looks a right state. Blood down his leg and non-sterile gloves in his hand. He’s a walking talking bio-hazard. Lukas just shrugs his shoulders, a mask of indifference on his face, when all Tom can do is smile.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine, Tom.”

They just stand there. Tom would hug him if he could, but then Lukas would probably recoil in horror if he tried.

“My phone is in my coat pocket.” He angles his hips. Hands up in the air. He’s not clean. His lab coat is fine though. No blood.

Lukas fishes the phone out of his pocket, then just stands there. Looking at the lapel of his coat. The one where he keeps all the pins and badges.

“What are all the pins for?” he asks. Looking genuinely curious.

“It’s a good icebreaker with patients. People tend to look and start asking questions.”

Lukas angles his head. Looking seriously cute. His hair is a mess. Curls and tangles. He hasn’t shaved all weekend either, and the scruff on his chin is doing things to Tom’s insides. Tom kind of wants to reach out and touch it. Kiss it. Feel the coarse stubble against his lips.

“What’s the safety-pin for?” Lukas says. His finger reaching out to stroke the ragged edge of the ‘Proud LGBTQ Parent’ pin.

“The safe space movement. It tells people who are looking that I am a safe person to speak to. That I won’t judge. That I am an ally to them, whatever their race, religion or sexuality.”

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