Someone is going through my pockets, and I moan and try to push them away… oh god my face hurts, and it’s wet… why is wet… where am I?
“It’s ok I with the ambulance, you need to lie still”
I am sitting up although all of my body is telling me to lay back down, oh god my face – it hurts so much, its throbbing, and wet … it comes crashing back down on me and I can’t help but sob. The blood streaming from nose, and my chest is killing, but all I can think is my parents would be so disappointed in me for not fighting back.
“What’s your name? Are you hurting anywhere else?”
I want to tell her to leave me alone, push her away, and be left alone in my shame – I didn’t do anything, I didn’t put a single hand on them, I didn’t protect myself, I virtually laid down and let them do this to me.
I manage to sob out my name, I stand up, I want to run, but everything hurts and my fucking nose is still streaming blood, and I’m still crying. All I can think is that my family will be so ashamed – my brother would never let this happen to him, Jesus, my mum wouldn’t. She didn’t raise me to be a wuss… I should have fronted up to them, but I was just too scared.
Oh god, the thought of telling everyone what happened is going to be so embarrassing. I just want to go home. The paramedic is still talking to me – telling me she is going to take me to the hospital to check me out. I don’t want to go but I don’t know what else to do.
My phone! I frantically search my jeans – nope – gone… as is every else… no wallet, no keys… The paramedic tells me it will be ok… is it wrong I want to tell her to fuck off?
I just gulp… fighting back the tears, even though it feels like my nose is broken, and my chest is in a vice, I feel worst about my phone… isn’t that ridiculous. I instantly feel cut off, and violated… I know everything I say and do is on that phone.
I get in the back of the ambulance and she is being nice – but keeps fiddling with me and talking to me. I feel suddenly so numb and cold.
***
Sitting in A&E passes in a bit of a blur, there is a lot of hubbub around me, but I am just sat there, not doing anything, re-running it through my head over and over, what I should have done, should have said, how I should have landed one blow… how I should have not walked down there in the first place.
I feel so dirty, the blood has pretty much dried down my top and just want to strip off and get into bed. But they said the doctor would need to see me, and the Police will be coming. I can’t face them, I don’t want to, I don’t want to explain to anyone how I let it happen.
I finally get called, and a young doctor checks me over, he tells me that my nose isn’t broken, asks me a lot of questions, and then tells me I will need to get an x-ray on my chest when I mention it hurts. Oh Jesus, more waiting… I have to figure out how to get home yet… I don’t even know what hospital I am in. He tells me to wait, and says someone will take me to me to get the x-ray done.
I’m still waiting, and then a Police Officer turns up, and I hear him ask the receptionist for me, oh god here goes. He introduces himself, explains he needs to take the details. I want to say, don’t waste your time. But I just can’t be bothered to put up the fight. Isn’t it odd how you notice the detail at the weirdest time, I am suddenly fascinated by how crisp and white his shirt is, it’s been starched and ironed within an inch of its life. I’m oddly jealous of it, but I think it is because I know I will have to throw my shirt away.
We start talking about it, him asking me basic questions, where I was, what time? I can’t even begin to think, I can’t even guess. I can only work backwards and try to figure it out. He asks me to describe them – them – the men that beat me to the floor – and I can’t. I couldn’t remember what they were wearing or what they spoke like… how tall were they? I don’t know. Not taller than me. The more I go on, the more pathetic I feel. I get beaten to the floor and I can’t remember a single thing except I didn’t do anything to stop it.
I really don’t want to cry but the lump in my throat is betraying, and when I am describing them kicking me on the floor, my lip is quivering, and I gulp loudly. Great now the big baby can’t even tell his tragic tale without blubbering. He asks me who kicked me and how many times – funnily enough I wasn’t taking a survey.
He finally finishes, takes my contact details and says he will be in touch, they will check CCTV and speak to the person that reported seeing it from their flat. He says that they will need to take pictures of my injuries and speak to me again to take a proper statement. He asks me if they can contact anyone but I’ve already told the nurse that there isn’t. I don’t have anyone’s mobile and I definitely don’t want them to ring my parents in the middle of the night – they will probably have a heart attack thinking I am dead.
So the wait continues. I am tired, hungover and still bloody and I can’t bare being in this hospital a single minute more. But as I just start to think about leaving, a porter turns up with a wheelchair – god knows why – to take me for my x-ray. I do what they say, and am returned to my waiting room seat in less than 15 minutes. Oh god I want to go home – I bite the bullet and ask if I can use the phone to ring my flat landline – I pray that one of them hears the phone which is rarely ever used.
“Hello?” comes the bleary voice of Kate. The sense of relief washes over me and that fucking lump is right back in my throat.
“It’s me, Liam, I am hospital – St Thomas’, do you think you could come and meet me?” I manage to fumble out before I feel my lip quivering.
“Are you ok? What happened?” I hear her become alert in seconds and panic resonate in her voice all at once.
“Nothing – I got beaten up … they are doing x-rays … I just need to get home” I am sobbing now, and even more ashamed.
“’l’ll be there, St Thomas’ right?” she asks.
“Right” I say crying openly.
“Don’t worry, I will be there soon, love you” She says and I can hear her voice is a bit thick.
“Love you too” I manage to blubber.
***
They have sat me on a bed, still in my dirty clothes, but at least I have had some water. The doctor comes in and explains that they think I have broken my sternum – I didn’t even know what he was talking about until he said it was my chest bone. I don’t really care. I just want out, I want my friend to turn up, and I want to get home, to bed.
He says it will be painful, but there is not a lot they can do, they will proscribe me with strong pain killers that may make me feel a bit woozy and tired, and I am only to take one every twelve hours. He is quite firm in telling me anymore and I will be useless. I get it. I am not a child and I am not going to overdose. He is just signing my paperwork, when in a flurry of white curtain Kate’s face comes into view. My heart lurches with a relief I had never known, I felt a weight drop from my shoulders and my damn quivering lip resurfaced in a second. The doctor said I could go as soon as I was ready and excused himself, just in time for me to sob, and breakdown.
For a while Kate just holds me – I knew this was hard for her as she can be a bit of Monica from Friends about germs and dirt, but she just held me as I cried and cried. I tried to tell her what happened, but I couldn’t only get out stupid snippets. Finally with one long inhale, I managed to gather myself enough to jokingly say, “so how was your night?” and laugh. She knew it was hollow though, and simply said “let’s get out of here”.
We waited for a cab, I sat in silence all the journey home staring out the window, and didn’t notice a single thing. Kate pays for the taxi and I think to myself I will have to pay her back. We get inside and I hug her, say thanks and go off to bed.
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