The third novel to Volatile
"All I want to do is be with you. But I can never. Because I won't let me. Because you won't let me. There is never space enough to be safe. It's always a fight. And I can't lose you."
There is a war brewing, and Charlie...
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She was supposed to treat her as part of my residency but she couldn't. The patient was a girl, not too much younger than she was when she was taken (that was nearly two years ago), and she looked just as scared. The girl had refused to call her family up to this point, or even to say who her family was.
Perhaps, like her family, the patient's family was dead. Perhaps, like some of the others she met, she wishes her family was dead.
Elizabeth could never feel a hatred as strong as that burning in her chest. She had seen enough death not to wish it on even her worst enemies. Not even on the boy who raped her.
He disappeared without a trace when they returned, and although Elizabeth attempted the same magic trick as him, she couldn't pull it off perfectly. Every now and again, she found herself circling back to those she left. Those she left hadn't been able to move on the way she did; the whole don't forgive but forget trick was easier said then done.
Elizabeth still had nightmares about the flames.
She thought she had it the best out of all the girls she left behind. From what she understands, only a few are employed, and only a few of those further can hold down their jobs. Not that it's any of her bushes, she tried her best to leave that life behind.
It didn't help that the girl in the next room was Elizabeth. Or, not Elizabeth, but wearing her skin. Obviously, no one here has seen the death Elizabeth has seen, which makes her job both easier and harder. Here, there is no magic water to heal (or at least give the illusion of healing before the pain shows up again to take your life) and no magic boys to bring about death.
This girl, though she shares none of Elizabeth's passion nor position in life, is covered in burns. Chemical, ripping up her arms and torso. Though they aren't flames, they tore apart her body until she is nothing but pain.
Apparently acid attacks are more popular now than before.
Elizabeth was supposed to go in, but she can't. She can't, so instead she sits and listens to the girl. She stopped crying a while ago. Elizabeth isn't sure if the girl is passed out from the pain, or if she silently accepts it.
"You're the Doctor?" The patient must see her, since she calls out towards Elizabeth. "What you doing?"
Elizabeth slowly moved around the corner to see the girl. They had cut open all her clothes, which now sit bagged on the chair next to the bed. No one knew what to do when Elizabeth was set on fire, at least not to the extent of the doctors here. Somehow, she is luckier than Elizabeth. Although she wouldn't consider this luck. It seems closer to being unending suffering.
Elizabeth doesn't tell the girl she's her doctor, since she's not a doctor, but she stares at the girl anyway. "What happened?" Her voice is so soft, the girl strains to hear it over the sound of the furnace pumping through the vents.
"It was my boyfriend," she glanced down as if she's noticing the burns for the first time. "Well, he's my ex now isn't he?"
Elizabeth is glad the patient can find humour in the situation, since she cannot no matter where she looks.
"At least it wasn't my face," the girl sighed, moving her hand up to her lip to feel her skin. Red splotches rip through the skin on her hand, hiding further pain beneath the sleeves of her hospital gown. "Someone got you too?"
Elizabeth instinctively shoves her hand behind her back, hiding the burns. They get worse the further up you go. Her turtleneck manages to hide the usually visible burns on her neck.
"Your boyfriend?" The girl continues, and though she seems welcoming, Elizabeth feels as if she is standing in front of her naked.
When Elizabeth shakes her head, the girl continues to stare. Elizabeth wonders if she knows it was a boy though. She doubts the girl can tell the difference from the burns from acid and from a fire, although to Elizabeth it is clean as day.
"It's a long story," Elizabeth begins.
"That's what people say when they don't want to tell you something," the girl sighs, leaning against the bed. "It's never as long as people think."
Though she doesn't want to, Elizabeth finds herself moving closer to the girl. "There was a... I mean... my friend was trying to help me get away from someone. The plan backfired."
That's not the truth and Elizabeth knows it. There was a fight and everything went off the bender. Peter was going to kill a child and Blaize set her ablaze. Felix tried to kill them, Gregory attacked them and Elizabeth was powerless. She still is trapped beneath their thumbs though most of the men who hurt her are gone. She will never be free from the island.
There were terrible things that happened. A genocide she missed, but only barely. Charlie saved them (or so some claim), but at what cost? There were good people who did evil in the name of good, and good men who succumbed to darkness. The lines were blurred.
How many arguments did she get in when Charlie killed Oliver? Would it have been easier if Charlie killed Gregory? Would it have been better if Charlie had killed Elizabeth?
Elizabeth doesn't remember leaving the patient. Nor does she remember dropping her lab coat on the ground, or undoing her hair, which still hasn't grown back since she was forced to cut it all off. She doesn't even remember walking the twenty blocks home to her flat across town, paid for with her inheritance. She doesn't hear the song playing in the café where used to study, with a tune on a flute all too familiar.
Elizabeth can't think. She doesn't want to, especially when she can feel it. They set her skin on fire, and when she finally thought she was safe, the magic wore off and set her skin aflame again. This world had magic, but it's not the kind Elizabeth wants to cherish. It's the kind only two teenagers wield without giving a damn. The kind that murders dozens of innocence lost children.
The only thing she does remember, is turning on her gas stove, only part way, and shoving tea towels under the door.
~~~
Poor Elizabeth, but also PTSD is a big deal, and I never got to touch on it. There are more of these to come sooner or later. Not to much further down the line though.
