"Crash! Get up, honey!"
I groaned inwardly, throwing my doona off. I stumbled into my bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My short, crazy red locks were sticking up in all directions, making me look like a bat out of hell. I yanked a comb through my choppy hair, before pulling on a tee and cyan jeans. I slipped on some practical, leather Doc Martens, smiling at my reflection. I had a nice body- modelling in my younger years made me quite conscious of my weight.
I trotted down the stairs, surveying our large kitchen. Mother? Check. Little sister? Check. Dad? Gone.
My dad recently passed away, but it affected my little sister, Charlotte, the most. She's only 13, so she misses out in that father influence that I had. I walked over to her, ruffling her long, blonde hair. 'Hey, Char. How are ya?' I grinned, enthusiastically. 'Leave me alone, Cee.' She grumbled, shoving me away with her elbow. I shrugged, walking over to my mom, who was leaning over the hot stove making breakfast.
'Smells delicious, mom.' I smiled, politely. Things have been tense between both of us lately, my dad passing has been hard on her, too. I cheekily took a slice of bacon out of the pan, chewing on it thoughtfully. 'Since it's Saturday, and I'm free, can I help you at the surgery?' I asked, snuggling up to her and putting on the puppy eye act. 'Sure, I'm down a worker anyway.' My mom grumbled, scraping the bacon onto Char's plate. 'Charlotte, honey, how do you feel about going to Hannah's today?' Mom asked her, pleadingly. Hannah was Charlotte's old best friend- they had recently grown apart. Charlotte nodded, sighing. She finished her bacon, pushing the plate away and standing up. Mom grabbed the car keys, nodding at me. 'Time to go to work.'
We dropped Charlotte off, before heading to the hospital. I lived in a small, British town- Holmes Chapel. My family and I had moved here when I was 14, from Australia. I left all of my friends behind, just to come to the damn coldest place in earth besides Antarctica. In a mere 15 minutes, we were at the surgery my mom owned and run. We walked in, offering polite smiles at early patients. Mom signed in, putting me down as her assistant. 'Okay, first patient. No name offered, he was let in at around 4am this morning by a cleaner due to him being injured and too violent to leave out. He's in one of the mental case rooms, for the safety of the public and the surgery. Interesting.' My mother said, skeptically eyeing the file. 'The cleaner let a crazy guy in? Mom, how the heck do you choose your workers?' I asked, bewildered at the lack of a system.
Mom shrugged, walking down the hall to the mental case rooms. She unlocked the door, opening it carefully. There were several beds behind curtains, and it was clear one was occupied- blood smeared the curtains, and mumbled profanities drifted from behind. 'Sir?' My mother called, timidly. She walked up to the curtain, inhaling deeply before pulling it open.
I was in no way prepared for what I was about to see.