The Right Treatment (3 page)

Fuck it,
Matt thought as he dragged on his scrubs. Another stomach pumping and hours of watching to see if it was too late. Bloody idiots! God graced them with life and health and stupid fools pumped all this crap in, destroying the wonderful gift they had been given. It made him mad as hell every time. Real first world problems. And nine times out of ten they came back. When he volunteered with Medicines Sans Frontiers in Africa, at least then he was making a difference, helping people who became sick due to circumstance and who were grateful for that help.

Here, he pumped a youngster out, only to find them back in a few months later because they had repeated the same thing over again. Too much money and too little appreciation for living. And far too much soft-soaping with psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo. He firmly believed anyone who ended up in a hospital for mucking about with drugs should be forced into a boot camp and taught discipline and self-control. And not be draining the valuable medical resources time after time.

He rushed to cubicle one to see a woman lying unconscious, oxygen mask on her face and shirt open, with electrodes taped on at the ready. More machinery was hooked to her arm and hand and there was the sound of bleeping and whirring. She didn’t look much like a human at that point in time, more a ghostly extension of the machines she was wired up to.

“Vitals?” he asked as he scrubbed up. The nurse gave him a rundown. Nothing hugely alarming, thank God; her pulse was weak, but stable. He checked her eyes, her pupils were dilating and responsive. Hopefully it would be nothing more than removing any additional pills she may have swallowed and let time do its healing. She was prepped and ready to go. He intubated her and watched the contents of her stomach drain into the kidney bowl. It was more fluid than anything; he was dealing with a young lady who obviously hadn’t eaten before hitting the town. Even at that, the stench was rancid; there was an acrid bitter smell filling the cubicle. Something familiar struck him about the girl lying on the bed, but Matt hadn’t time to study her features while worrying about her survival.

“Have her bloods been done for toxicology?” he asked.

A nurse handed him a form to complete; he ticked four boxes and threw the vials full of blood into the plastic bag, marking them urgent.

“Get them over to phlebotomy now and tell them it’s
urgent
urgent, maybe even a matter of life or death. I need the results to know how to treat her. I don’t suppose we have a name for the forms?”

“We do, actually! Aoife Devine; a friend came with her when she was admitted.”

Matt froze. His pulse seemed to pound through his veins, he could hear each beat, feel it threaten to burst his blood vessels. Jesus, she looked so fucking awful he hadn’t even recognised the face he missed every day. For a moment he was sixteen again and a brazen little lass of twelve was smiling at him, telling him not to pay any attention to the lads (including her older brother) who had been taunting him. He could see her cheeky, freckled face and cute little button nose, and her hair tied in a high ponytail. She was so vibrant and full of life and even at twelve nothing fazed her, not even her God-awful parents.

“What did you say her name was?” Matt snapped.

It couldn’t be right. His Aoife would never have ended up in this mess. She was much too together. He had watched her grow up, and once her dyslexia had been diagnosed, she seemed to go from strength to strength. Even when he was at college, he loved to come home for weekends just to see her. Of course she never knew. No one did; he felt so silly being besotted with a girl so much younger than him. But she had been his saviour when he was too shy to stand up for himself. Her older brother and his gang of cronies had picked on Matt non-stop for being a geek, thumping him, taking his stuff, throwing things at him. When Aoife caught them, she called a halt to it by telling their father. Aoife then appointed herself Matt’s friend, even though he was a few years older, following him around like a little puppy. Matt still dreamed of meeting her brother and his cronies again, now that he realised what a bunch of assholes they really were. But his sixteen-year-old self just didn’t have the confidence.

And for all Aoife had helped him, in turn, he had been her champion when her obnoxious, appearance-absorbed parents didn’t get her. Or when she struggled with her schoolwork. He used to fantasize about coming back to find her when he qualified and whisking her away on a white stallion beyond the rainbow. By then though, Aoife had already rejected him and they were no longer neighbours. Also, Matt had grown up; he knew there was no beyond the rainbow. Matt had forced himself to survive his disappointment, found himself, and relegated his sweet little saviour to his fantasy world. Until now. But her reappearance came in the form of a nightmare.

He lifted the oxygen mask and examined her face closely, shining his light in her eyes again. She was white as a sheet, too thin, had black circles around her eyes, but there was no mistaking that cute little nose, or indeed those hazel eyes, dull and unresponsive though they were. Matt felt sick. All of his feelings about drugs being for losers had just been turned upside down; his Aoife was no loser.

The bloods results came back showing a small enough amount of MDMA, or Ecstasy, and almost negligible amounts of alcohol—nothing near as bad as he had feared. She had collapsed as a result of dehydration, and he supposed, exhaustion. But she had been unbelievably lucky—even one E from a bad batch could be fatal, he knew that, and surely to God, she did too.

Fortunately everything seemed to be functioning normally, even though she was still out cold, and Matt went off in search of the ‘friend’ who had come with her. He expected to find him or her in a totally senseless state, another ‘druggie.’ What he found was a distraught, sober young woman who seemed to be very concerned for her friend, and it was someone he vaguely recognized.

“I presume you’re here with Aoife.” The woman looked incomprehensibly at him.

“Aoife Devine,” he clarified and she nodded, finally registering. “She is doing fine, she needs fluids and rest. She hasn’t come round yet. Just how much of this stuff has she been doing?”

“Oh, thank God. I don’t know. I just know tonight was her fourth night out in a row and she was not looking good today. I told her to lay off that shit, but she never listens.”

“Have you contacted her parents?” Matt asked, praying the answer would be negative. He knew if Aoife didn’t come round soon, they would have to, but he knew how devastating that would be on her.

“No, I was waiting to hear what’s going on. Do we have to?”

“Aoife’s not in any immediate danger, but if she doesn’t come round by morning, then yes, I’m afraid we do.”

“They don’t get on…” Fiona started.

“I think it’s Fiona, is it? You probably don’t remember me, but I was Aoife’s neighbour, Matt. If she doesn’t come around by morning, I will have no choice.” He saw the recognition finally register.

“Oh, thank God. I know you’ll look after her properly. Please, just do what you can. Ring them if you have to. But just make her better.” Fiona started crying. Matt understood, it was relief at a friendly face mixed with shock. It was funny how people reacted at times. Had he been a complete stranger, he knew Fiona would have remained anxious but stoic.

“Come on, let’s get a hot drink in the staff canteen. You look like you need it,” Matt said. He mentally blew a kiss at any thoughts of sleep for now. Between concern for Aoife and compassion for Fiona, he wouldn’t be able to rest anyway.

Chapter Three

Aoife was hurting everywhere, and not in any fit state to listen to the lecture she had just heard. With all the hospitals and doctors in London, how in the hell did she manage to have landed under Matt McDaid’s care? She knew she should be grateful to him, but she hated him to see her in this state.

“You’re one hell of a lucky lady to be here, Aoife. The morgue is full of those who weren’t so lucky. I have a good mind to bring you down there to show you what I mean,” Matt said. Actually, she felt anything but lucky. Her throat, chest, and tummy hurt like hell from her stomach pumping. Her head was hammering from the comedown and the nightmares. But more than that, her pride hurt. She was being treated like an addict, and referred to a shrink. She was no addict; she used alcohol and drugs for recreational purposes, the same as everyone else did. She was just unlucky. And doubly unlucky to have landed on Matt’s doorstep.

She studied him as he perused her chart. His intense grey eyes were the same as ever, but they seemed harsher, no doubt as a result of his disapproval of her behaviour. His dark brown hair was already starting to pepper ever so slightly with silver, but it suited him. His deep pink, full lips were pulled in a tight line and there was a furrow between his brows as he caught her observing him. She felt her face heat at being caught, but concluded that Matt had grown into one hell of a handsome man, or would have, if he tried putting a smile on that stern face.

She cringed as he untied her stiff blue hospital gown, pulling it forward, dropping the stethoscope between her breasts,

True, he had probably seen it all last night, but she was unconscious then. Now she had to suffer the humiliation of the man who had refused to take her virginity baring her tits while giving her a verbal dressing down to remember. The cool breeze through the open window seemed to conspire to cause her shame, mingling with his warm breath, creating a confusion of sensations, causing goose-pimples on her chest and to her total mortification, making her nipples pucker and peak. Matt neither did nor said anything to make her more uncomfortable, but he noticed. That much was obvious from how his eyes seemed to linger as he told her to turn around while he listened to her chest. The gap down the back of her hospital-issue gown was resting right on the crack of her bottom as he pulled it open to place the stethoscope on her back. She flinched, unsure if it was the cold of the instrument or the total utter humiliation that was the cause of the shiver.

Aoife spent three days in the hospital before they evicted her for a more needy case. In that time, Matt had been in and out several times every day, lecturing her on the damage she was doing to her body. He harped on and on until he was blue in the face—he even managed to make her father seem like a pussy cat, which was quite an achievement. But at least Matt didn’t put her down—he talked about her stupid choices, not about how bad a person she was. And how she had the ability to take back control, as long as she wanted to. Had her parents known what was going on, she would be forcibly dragged back home to listen to a catalogue of how she had been screwing up her life from the age of four and all that without one constructive piece of advice or help. Matt had saved her from that at least by not calling her parents. In return, she could put on her attentive face, pretend to listen, and let it all go in one ear and out the other, both with him and the damn psychiatrist. Aoife knew she had no problems; she was just unlucky to get a bad E.

“You are not to take any drugs without clearing it with me first. Nothing. Not even an aspirin or a beer. Is that clear? You have my pager, I won’t keep you waiting any longer than is strictly necessary. And I’ll call to check up on you daily,” Matt warned on Wednesday before discharging her.

“What about my antidepressants and sleeping pills that the shrink prescribed?”

“That’s Dr. Smith to you. Fiona has control of them; she will dole them out until you learn to be more responsible.”

“I’m not a child!”

“Then stop acting like one. You should consider yourself lucky Fiona is even agreeing to look after you after all that has happened. Frankly, if it was me, I would start by giving you a damn good spanking for your past behaviour, before moving on to discussing how I expected you to behave in the future.”

Aoife bit her tongue, outraged at his suggestion. And yet, Aoife knew he had a point—her behaviour towards Fiona was unforgivable. To go off with her ex was stooping below even what Aoife thought was acceptable. It was different for her, she had never had a relationship to speak of, but Brian had been Fiona’s first love. She was totally ashamed of herself.

The first three days passed without event. She let on to be playing by the rules and following orders. Sure, Aoife was having trouble sleeping, but somehow she got through it. She was still a shadow of her former self though, and she knew it. Every time she looked in the mirror, a ghost of a person stared back at her. Her weight was still way down from her ordeal, her skin tone pasty and grey. Her once glossy, shiny black hair was now limp and lacklustre. Her eyes were dull and surrounded by dark circles, sunken into her pale face, like a panda in reverse. It might have helped if she could summon up the energy to shower and wash her hair, but that seemed like an impossible feat to her defeated spirit. Although Matt had instructed that she needed at least half an hour of gentle exercise every day, Aoife couldn’t bring herself to leave the house, so she lied, assuring him she was going to the local park every day.

Matt called to her apartment religiously, either going on or coming off his shift. More often than not, Aoife pretended to be asleep while he and Fiona stood at the door and talked about her. Fiona would give him a rundown on her mood and behaviour, not holding anything back even though Aoife was right there, albeit supposedly sleeping, and had threatened all sorts of heinous things, like killing herself or disappearing to somewhere no one would find her if Fiona told tales. Aoife knew Fiona felt responsible for her, but nobody asked her to be a babysitter. She should butt out and mind her own fecking business, and let Aoife get on with her own life. She was fine.

The first big argument with Fiona started over dinner; Aoife had refused to eat. She couldn’t—she hadn’t had a bowel movement since leaving the hospital and she was in agony. She was still in her nightclothes at dinner time and after Fiona had a go at her about not eating, her attention was drawn to the nightdress.