Chapter 42 Lincoln
Igot Laynie tucked into bed, but she was restless all night. She woke up several times asking for water and I wondered if something was really wrong with her. I rubbed her back each time she woke until she fell back to sleep.
Don said he killed Eddie last night and asked me to meet up with him to finish him, but I couldn’t leave her. He told me to bring her and let her do it, but I wouldn’t put that on her conscience. She wasn’t a monster like us. She would probably give her abuser a second chance, if given the option. Thankfully, the option didn’t live with her, and Don took care of it. Alek was next, but I told him to leave him for me so I could make sure he suffered.
I woke before her and made a big breakfast, knowing she was probably hungry. I sat next to her on the bed and woke her. She looked confused until she saw my face.
“I’m here, baby. Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. “Just thirsty.” She paused for a moment. “Linc, I think something is wrong with me. I feel terrible. Can we call George?”
“Of course.” I pulled out my phone and called him. I let him know what was happening, and he said she should go to the hospital because it might be serious.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she said after I hung up.
“Laynie, we have to find out what’s wrong. I’ll go with you and won’t leave your side, okay?”
She agreed, but with reluctance.
* * *
New York Presbyterian Hospital was buzzing with people when we entered the emergency lobby. There was a blonde, middle-aged woman chewing gum behind the counter.
“What’s going on?” she asked as we approached.
“She needs to be seen. She’s nauseous, drinking a lot of water, no appetite.” I raddled off a few of her symptoms. She handed me a chart and told me to fill it out and they would take her vitals. I looked down at the clipboard and realized I didn’t know half of this stuff about her. I filled out what I could and would have to ask her the rest.
“Does she have an ID and insurance card?”
I pulled a copy of her ID I had out of my pocket and told them she didn’t have insurance.
She huffed, “Well, she can try to apply for our charity program, but she’s going to have to pay up front or you need to go to a public hospital.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
She eyed me, but took the ID and entered the information, blowing bubbles with her gum.
Laynie came back to me after they took her weight and blood pressure and helped me fill out the missing information on the sheet.
We found a spot close to the window, and she curled up in my lap as we waited for them to call our names. I rubbed my thumb across her bruised cheek. It was still slightly red but turning a purple color. It would look ugly in a few days.
“Who did this? Alek?” I knew she didn’t want to talk about it, but I wanted to know.
She nodded, but didn’t say more.
“You know you can talk to me about this?”
She looked up at me with sad eyes. “I know I can, but when I talk about it, it feels like reliving it.”
“I’m sorry your family time was ruined. I should have been there with you to protect you.”
“It’s not your fault.” She reached up and touched my face, and I caught her hand and brought it to my lips.
“You’re so beautiful.”
She closed her eyes and smiled as if my words were dancing around in her head and she was watching them. “You’re beautiful too.”
I laughed and kissed her on her forehead.
We ended up waiting for two hours to be seen. Apparently, there were several gunshot victims who had come in just before us.
“Alayna Morris?”
We stood up and walked towards the nurse holding the clipboard.
“Follow me.”
They had Laynie stand on a scale and mentioned her being underweight. We entered the room, and she sat on the corner of the bed while the nurse spoke to her. I found a chair in the corner and listened.
“Alayna, tell me what’s been going on?” the nurse said, holding an iPad and wheeling a chair closer to Alayna.
“I’ve just been feeling really thirsty and throwing up a lot.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“I guess a few days.”
“Your underweight by at least 20lbs. Have you been eating?”
“Yes, I just haven’t been hungry lately.” Laynie shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
“Well, I’m sure the doctor will order some labs, but let me check your glucose really quick.” She went to prick Laynie’s finger and noticed her nails. “What happened here?”
Laynie looked at me, nervous. “I, um, bite my nails,” she lied.
“This isn’t a result of someone biting their nails.” She said, but didn’t pry any farther. She pricked her finger and ran the blood through a handheld machine. “Jesus girl, your sugar level is 670. Let me grab the doc really fast.” She rushed out of the room.
“Is that bad?” Laynie asked me.
I nodded, feeling sick that I hadn’t brought her sooner.
The young doctor rushed in and did a quick exam on Laynie. He rattled off some medical jargon to the nurse and told Laynie she was going to be admitted. He left a gown on the bed and walked out.
“I don’t want to take my clothes off, Linc. I don’t want them to see my scars.”
“I know, but you have to. They are here to help.” I walked over to the bed and helped her out of her t-shirt and pajama pants. Her back was a mess, covered in whip marks. I rubbed my hands over them and she flinched away from me. “It’s me. Stop it.”
“I’m ugly,” she whispered.
I grabbed her face, forcing her to look at me. “You’re beautiful. Stop it now.” It hurt my heart to hear what she thought of herself. These scars made her insecure and guarded, but I was determined to love her through this pain.
I put her gown on her and we waited for the doctor to come back in.
The nurse came in first and started an IV in her arm. Laynie didn’t even flinch, and the nurse made a comment of how tough she was. She had no idea how right she was. They transferred us to another room upstairs and hooked Laynie to fluids, administering insulin through the IV line.
A different doctor came in after the nurse left. He introduced himself as Dr. Chaney. He looked to be in his 50s and in a hurry.
He pulled some gloves over his hands and explained to Laynie he was going to examine her. She nodded, but looked at me with worry.
“It’s okay,” I mouthed at her.
When the doctor opened the back of the gown to place his stethoscope on her back, he audibly gasped. “What happened to you?”
“I um…I was kidnapped,” Laynie said, looking at me again.
“Like human trafficking kidnapped?” he said in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Is this recent? These scars look new?”
“Yes, it was recent.”
After listening to her breathing, he had her lay on her back and open the front of her gown. Scars covered her breasts, including some from cigarette burns and bite marks.
“What happened to your face?”
“Someone hit me.”
“Did he hit you?” he said, looking at me.
“No,” we both said at the same time.
“He’s…my friend.”
“Well, let’s deal with one issue at a time, I suppose. You have type 1 diabetes, Alayna. Did you know that before you came in today?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“We have a care specialist who’s going to come in and go over a lot of information with you, but I need to get this glucose level down so you can be fully coherent. I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.”
Laynie closed her gown when he left.