His Little Heart

It had been a long night for me. One moment I was walking up the steps to my orphanage, the next being carted off into an ambulance in flashing blue and red lights. I can’t recall very well what happened exactly that brought me here - the Behavioral Health Pavilion at Nationwide Children’s - but I know for certain I didn’t like where I was now.

The room I was in was clad in a pretty baby blue with soft white carpeting. It held very little, a small white couch I was hunched over, waiting anxiously for my case provider to see me, and a few large cushioned sofa chairs tucked up in the corners. Every few minutes, my tired eyes would wander over to the door, securely closed to keep me from walking free. A narrow window was built in the door, a peep hole of sorts for me to see any approaching people. Right now, a nurse stood guard outside, waiting until the doctor showed up.

If it weren’t for the circumstances I was presently in, I’d have thought the small room absolutely gorgeous. I wouldn’t have minded sitting on the couch I was on, my hands cupped underneath my chin with my palms facing up as my right leg trembled and my stomach felt light in anxious fear. I tried not to look around the room, staring vacantly at the white carpet floor. A small dull pain throbbed at my forehead, exhaustion heavy in my tiny bones.

Sitting there, alone in that room, prisoner to wherever I was, my mind contemplated the events of the night. Things had been fine and so unsuspecting to what happened, a terrible occurrence I couldn’t remember. Blue and red lights, and loud wailing sirens lit up my night, and then the jarring sounds of people calling my name, asking, demanding to state my name and date of birth. Nurses, I realized too late, and then, two hours in a room full of chaos.

I was given a wristband to identify who I was. A doctor, a man who promised I was in good hands, took my vitals and some of my blood. A kind-faced nurse, now standing outside this room, aided me into a loose fitting gown before taking me to collect a sample of my urine. Harry, that was his name, was patience and kind while he assisted me in the bathroom. He tried making small-talk with me, his voice friendly and rich with care, yet I refused to say anything, faint with fear.

He took me back to the emergency ward, and closing it off, allowed me a small respite. I had slept for a couple of hours before he roused me, explaining softly I was being moved elsewhere for more deeper care. There, after guiding me into a wheelchair, he took me to this room, reassuring me all was well.

“We’re going to find someone to come talk to you,” I remember him saying before he left. “It’ll be alright. You can relax now.”

It was impossible to relax. The longer I sat here waiting, now going on past an hour, the more nerve-racking I became. I was tried, scared, and uptight. It felt like I was sitting on glass, my body prepared to bolt if need be, my muscles aching in dreaded anticipation. I wanted sleep, needed it badly, but there was no way I could bring myself to do so, not until I had a better picture of what was going on. I didn’t trust this environment, full of faces and people I didn’t know.

The muffled sound of voices caught my attention. A stream of fear crept down my back at realizing that it was probably the doctor I’d been waiting for to come see me. The thought of seeing another new face caused me to pull down on my lower lip, twisting it nervously between my thumb and index finger. I wasn’t ready to see anybody, didn’t want to.

The voices stopped, and a quiet knock rapped at the door to announce the newcomer before the door clicked open. My blue eyes stayed fixed towards the ground, and I felt my body stiffen even more.

“Good morning,” the person greeted affectionately.

The voice, male, sounded gentle and calm. It was deeply smooth with hints of a velvety British accent, his tone and volume soft enough to be heard. They sounded professional, sturdy, and warm-hearted. Well-collected, cultured, but most importantly, considerate to the position I was in.

I didn’t look up at him yet.

The man, Dr. Thomas Hiddleston, grinned at me warmly, and taking a few steps further into the room, slowly sank down in one of the sofa chairs. He made himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other, his white coat straining over his lanky, lean figure. He let a few brief moments of quiet grow between us.

“How are you doing?” he finally asked.

I let go of my lower lip. My eyes stayed downcast, my throat tightening.

“I’ve been told you had quite the evening,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.”

He sounded apologetic. I didn’t like it, the way he spoke in a low murmur so abjectly. It made my tightly sealed lips fall into a frown I didn’t want him to see. My teeth clenched, my jaw hardening with annoyance. It didn’t feel right, for him to be sorry about what happened to me when I didn’t even know myself what had befallen me.

I shot a look at him, a hard glinting glare that should’ve smoked him into ashes. He only grinned at me in return, introducing himself with, “I’m Dr. Hiddleston.”

Dr. Hiddleston, as he shared and presented on the coat he wore, was seated comfortably across from me. My hard glare shifted at the surprising and alluring sculpture of him. His body was firm and taunt, covered by the medical scrubs he wore underneath his coat. His face, painted with softness, was fresh and charming, his blue eyes holding care and kindness behind them. His mouth was curved into a naturing smile, outlined by reddish-pink lips.

He looked incredible, his handsome looks resembling what older chicks would say to be that of a fine glass of wine. To me and my younger perceptive, he looked like a charming prince, a fairytale brought to life.

“Are you feeling better?”

My moment of astonishment disappeared, and just like that, I was back to staring at the floor. I quickly reminded myself that looks could be deceiving, especially nice ones, and that he was a complete stranger to me. A doctor with a fancy name.

Dr. Hiddleston waited for a reply for a few minutes before clicking open his pen and flipping open the file he’d brought in. I heard the soft scribble of pen on paper, then the turning of papers. I scowled at him.

“It’s been a rough night for you,” he glanced up from the file. “I won’t keep you long, dear. I just want to go over a few things with you real quick, if that’s alright with you. It says here,” he squinted to read the fine print of the recorded notes of my admission, “you were brought in for what appeared to be because of some very bad anxiety. Is that correct?”

Again, he waited for my response. I looked back at him, unsure on what he was talking about. Anxiety? Maybe. I don’t know! How was I suppose to give him a proper answer when I still didn’t know why I was here in the first place. I didn’t know anything on what led me here, the missing puzzle pieces of this scary mystery no where within reach of my missing memory. It frustrated me that I couldn’t remember. It frightened me.

“Luna?” he prompted quietly.

I gave a shrug of my shoulders.

“You don’t know if it was anxiety or not that landed you here?”

Again, I lifted my shoulders with a shrug.

It was quiet for a moment. He was probably disappointed with my lack of response or silently mad at my poor display of respect towards him. It was a fairly simple question that required only one of two answers. A yes or a no, but for me, an uncaring shrug.

“Do you remember what might’ve brought you here?”

Nope!

I shook my head sadly.

Dr. Hiddleston went back to writing, clearly noting down my limited responses. “Nothing at all?” he said again.

Another shake of my head.

More pen on paper.

I started hating the couch I was on. I felt like a true prisoner undergoing interrogation at the hands of a very demanding officer. I waited for him to continue.

“Well,” he peered up at me, “Your charts, along with the behavior you showed, hinted at what appeared to be a very bad and upsetting anxiety attack. Do you know what that is?” I nodded curtly.

“Do you recall feeling nervous, any uncomfortable sense of panic or unexplainable doom? Sweating, heart pounding, shaking, or tightness of chest? Difficulties breathing?” He rattled off slowly, his pen moving with every shake of my head. “Did you feel weak or really really tired?”

I feel weak and tired right now. Listening to him while stuck in this room as he diagnosed what happened bothered me more than it should have. Just thinking of those things, the shortness of breath, the uncontrollable shaking, and the painfully racing heart, happening to me sounded awful and full of unpleasantries. If I had gone through that, how did I even survive? Those things combined sounded like a death sentence, bound to upset any person’s sense of well being and heath. My, if I had that experience, with all those occurrences, my poor feeble body should’ve broken into shambles.

Most of the responses - a shake of my head in whirling confusion - felt forced and muted, and I felt that Dr. Hiddleston was taking notes with an air of caution. For now, he was probably just jolting down whatever I said to make things as easy as possible between this small interaction, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t believe a thing I said. He’d reevaluate my notes and see some dots that didn’t match up to the storyline of whatever he heard about me. He’d probably re-interrogate me later as well.

The thought of having to see Dr. Hiddleston again did little to calm the agitation inside me. I wanted him to shut up already and let me leave. I didn’t like it here, in this unknown place and room with this weird stranger sitting no less than a couple feet from me, studying me like some mysterious parasite. I really wanted to crawl away.

“Luna?”

The sharp call of my name snapped me out of the daze I had gone into unconsciously. Taken by surprise, I couldn’t help the small jump of fear my body did, nor the mean growl of, “What?” from leaving my mouth.

Dr. Hiddleston didn’t seem bothered by my nasty remark, and frowning worriedly, asked if I was okay. “You went somewhere for a moment. Where’d you go?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from speaking aloud again. I glowered at him rudely. I wasn’t going to say anything else to him. I had spoken enough for one day.

Dr. Hiddleston waited a few moments longer to see if I’d say anything, yet after awhile, he called a retreat and looked back at the clipboard. He wrote something on it quickly before he starting talking again.

“I understand that things might be very overwhelming right now and that’s fine,” he said softly. “It’s perfectly normal the way you feel, which if I’m to guess, you feel like complete trash. I would share with you what happened to you, or what might’ve occurred, but I think you’d appreciate a soft bed and some z’s more right now. Does that sound good? A nice little nap before I see to you again and go any further?”

I nodded, sitting up straighter at the mention of going to bed. I don’t know how my eyes were still open and I hadn’t collapsed to the floor in overspent exhaustion. If things had continued and my lack of sleep was kept disregarded, I’d have happily and helplessly exploded into a fit of crying demand. This doctor wasn’t a complete idiot, and bless his heart, saw the silent plead in my eyes crying for sleep.

“Please,” I weakly said, affirming his suspicions of my sleep-deprivation.

Dr. Hiddleston smiled, and standing up, the clipboard tucked underneath his arm, ducked his head out of the room to call for the nurse on duty. There was some hushed conversation between them before the door was opened wider to let Harry in.

“I hear someone needs a nap,” he smiled at me. I stood up, nodding.

He gestured for me to follow him, and together we left the blue room behind. Dr. Hiddleston stood by the door, watching on as we got further and further until we came to a pair of elevators. While we waited to go in, I sent him a quick look back.

Dr. Hiddleston caught my eye, nodding encouragingly. A soft ding! sounded and with a gentle prod, Harry guided me into the elevator. Before the doors closed completely, I saw Dr. Hiddleston disappear back into the blue room.

*

~unedited