Chapter 3 Brielle
The Fighter, In This Moment
The golden horizon appears as I leave the hospital.
My new life has been ever hectic but I have been trying to collect as much money as possible to embark on my dream—a dream that seems so far away from the present: leave the United Kingdom and be rid of my past, to live in America and own a small ranch.
I shudder as each demon lurking in the recesses of my mind creeps its tendrils around my present thoughts. Bracing my arms across my chest, I trudge down the cobblestone roads.
There will be no thinking of that time. There will be no thinking of the deaths, the fire or of him .
I urge myself to focus on the busy schedule ahead by pulling out my journal from my small leather bag.
—Hospital, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday: 1900 to 0700.
—Funeral parlor, every Tuesday and Thursday: 0800 to 1400
—Flour factory, Mondays and Wednesdays: 0800 to 1400
—Note: If I pick up an extra hospital shift, will help toward goal: 18,000 Pounds
—Pay monthly to family: 90 pounds
—Ticket to America: 105 pounds
—Ticket New York to Montana: 97 Pounds
—House/land: 12,800 pounds
If I keep picking up extra shifts, I will become closer and closer to my goal.
As I place my weathered journal back into the sack, my apartment complex appears before me.
It isn’t much but it is mine. The bricks are worn and cobblestones have not been laid; only gravel rests in front of the building.
The walk is a mere ten to fifteen minutes from each of my jobs and the rent is cheap, for it is in a rougher portion of town, but it’s manageable: scurry home, stay smart, stay safe, have multiple locks and keep aware, and anyone could live here.
Well, unless they’re dense; then they’d have no hope of survival.
In addition, the landlord is a bloody schmuck.
Carlton is a fifty-year-old man who can’t take a hint, apparently.
His drunken self will often approach me with flowers or ask me out on a date.
Luckily, he hasn’t cared enough to observe my work schedule, and my work schedule is the best excuse to not sit with his rotund, combed-over person for a painstaking meal.
He spits after every third word, oversteps boundaries and talks over everyone and anything.
Goodness, I would bet he speaks over the birds singing in the morning.
My colleagues retort that I should use him for the free meals, but I can’t fathom leading someone on; in addition, they wouldn’t be pleasant meals.
Besides him speaking over every living thing, it would be hard to avoid his spit coming from the jutted, gaped front teeth, or ignore his third chin and overly cocked eyebrow.
No thanks.
As I arrive to my paint-stripped apartment door on the second floor, unfortunately, Carlton is waiting .
“It’s rather early for you to be up?” I swiftly mention—then secretly place the apartment key in between my middle and forefinger, so it juts out of my knuckles.
I’m in no mood this morning.
“Ah! My beautiful Brielle, as stunning as a bell. Just tha girl I was lookin’ foh!” His greasy smile spreads across his face as my skin shrivels in disgust. If it weren’t attached to me, I figure it would crawl to the welding factory and burn off at Carlton’s glance.
“Interesting I’m the girl you are looking for, since there are no other females in this building.” I stop seven paces away from him as he looms outside my door. I swear he purposefully gave me the apartment on the second floor, end of the corridor, so he could cause these awkward “run-ins.”
“Bri, darlin’. When are you going to let me take ya out on tha town? Huh? I keep askin’ and a prettay gurl like ya deserves a good time.” He winks and I nearly vomit in my mouth.
Wait— if I did vomit, maybe he would leave ?
My hand clutches my waist as I scrunch up my face.
“You all right, love?” Carlton tilts his head to the side in confusion as I do my best interpretation of becoming sick.
“I… Ugh… I had a bad lunch and…” The gagging sounds emit from my throat as I hold out a hand to warn him not to come close.
Carlton’s swollen, round red nose turns up in disgust. Quickly the hand that was clutched to my stomach makes purchase of the apartment keys, and swiftly opens the room door.
I keep my other arm out steady as I walk myself promptly into my flat, then slam the door and its several locks behind me.
“’Ope ya feel better, poppet!” Carlton yells through the door as if he needed to expel his voice over the sound of a railway train.
I shake my head then gracefully make sickening sounds loud enough for him to hear.
I try not to chuckle as I hear something escape his voice distantly in the hallway: “Disgusting.”
I peel the hospital garments off my exhausted skin as I anxiously wait for hot water to arrive in my shower.
Alas, only lukewarm water spouts out. That was another tactic Carlton tried to pull, lying that this was the only available apartment and that it only ran hot water from time to time.
It rarely runs warm water and he utilizes the ploy of offering his own shower for my use.
His multiple offers of his shower haven’t gone unnoticed, and those days I do decline, my showers run ironically cold.
After scrubbing my skin from a long shift, I settle into bed, and back into the same nightmare that haunts me.
The depths of the dark drag me into oblivion as I try my best to run within a void landscape.
Flames.
Seven-foot flames reach from the ground and surround me as I hear him screaming in the background.
As I feel the scorching heat lick my skin, a loud knocking wakes me from my nightmare. Cold sweat clings to my lower back and forehead as I curse to myself.
Of all people, why is it Carlton to have awoken me? Hopefully, I can rest my head once more and just pretend I’m out cold and he will leave.
Before I can shut my eyes and pray I don’t return to the past, a knock raps upon my door.
“Brielle, you’re coming with us! Whether we have to take you hostage or not.” Anice’s voice comes singing through the wooden door as she knocks again .
“Don’t make me call the fire department and report that I haven’t seen you! I’m sure they’d love to see ya in your knickers!” Hearing her faint chuckle.
I spring from my bed, messy hair rustling in front of my face.
As I pull the door open after unlocking the several locks, I see her standing there, long purple dress, short black heels, a green sparkling shawl and a tilted fashionable hat.
Beside her stand Tilly and Amanda, two other nurses from the hospital.
They each have one hand on their hips, looking as if I’d held up their whole livelihoods.
“Well, you can’t go out looking like that!” Amanda pushes herself into my small loft.
“Amanda, I just worked last night. I can’t go out, girls, I need to rest so I can work my other jobs.” I frantically try to tidy my loft. Luckily I don’t have many belongings.
“You’ve been sayin’ that for a year now and we’ve decided, we are taken ya to our favorite spot. They have great music, amazing drinks and handsome men!” Tilly states as she claps her hands together .
Amanda steps forward with a hairbrush in tow. “Not just any men. It’s the Adders’ pub. The Den” She winks at me as she begins brushing my hair.
I stare at them in confusion as I allow Amanda to brush my rat’s nest of brown strands. “I don’t know what that means.” Yet the word Adders draws some sort of recognition to tug in the back of my mind.
They all laugh at the same time, leaving my cheeks to heat in embarrassment for feeling like the butt end of a joke.
“Of course you don’t, silly! It’s ’cause you never leave work, or you never leave this flat!
I don’t think you have ever had fun!” Tilly gestures to the dress in her hands as she hands it in my direction.
I slink into the restroom and swiftly put it on, thinking of all the possible things that could go wrong.
I’ve never been positive. So many traumatic things have happened in my life, leading me to constantly await the next horrible thing that could go wrong.
I anticipate any possible bad scenarios and plan a response even if they never arise.
If I go to this pub, I will be surrounded by drunks.
I can’t stand drunkards; they make me so uncomfortable. I don’t even drink .
“Ladies, I don’t drink and I just don’t feel comfortable…” Before I can get my statement out, they rush me within the bathroom and begin placing makeup on my face.
“All will be well. We won’t leave your side and we promise you will have fun tonight!” Amanda states as she dusts eyeshadow onto my eyelids.
We walk across town to The Den. The infamous Adders’ pub.
I have only heard of the Adders and briefly seen what they do to individuals that happen to be admitted to our hospital.
Then a memory comes to life, of the night I met the two young gangsters within the London hospital.
Surprisingly, I haven’t run into them again since living here.
Considering their hobbies and poor decisions, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d met with misfortune.
The Adders did not get their name from a simple infatuation with the type of snake. The group actually utilizes the snakes as a form of message or weapon against those who cross them. At times, we have had patients with multiple adder bites, alongside other injuries caused by the ruthless gang .
Reflecting on the various patients we have cared for because of the Adders has raised my anxiety to a higher level, as we walk from the brisk fall weather into the heady establishment.
Tilly happily opens the wooden double doors into the pub. The pub is alight with life as the sounds of piano keys and the smell of cigarette smoke curl across my senses.
Various men and women are conversing, laughing, drinking and singing along with the piano.