"I deal with bullets and sliced limbs, not f*cking broken bones!" A rough voice growled and I flinched. This couldn't be the Afterlife.

"Come on, Rog," A voice pleaded. "She's no older than your daughter!"

"But she isn't my daughter!" The roughened voice retorted. "Why didn't ya take her to the clinic or something?"

"Her father abused her," The other muttered. "She nearly gutted herself, Rog, in front of us! On top of that, she nearly drowned and didn't even put up a fight."

"Why not just let her die then?" 'Rog' asked, and I flinched. "She had a death wish, and you stopped her! If I'd been there, I'd have helped her."

"She isn't ready to die!" The second man grumbled. "Just please, take a look at her?"

"Your brother isn't so concerned with her and he was there!" Rog reproved.

"He wasn't going to let her drown, so does that mean you should let her be in pain?"

"Guess not."

Silence filled the place and I felt my wrist give a startling crack as I tried to raise it. A weak whimper left my lips and I curled up in on myself, tears running down my face and soaking the royal blue bedspread. Footsteps approached but I didn't look up, realising I was naked and my back was uncovered. Scars from past abuse by the hands of my father and equally evil 'boyfriend' littered the pale skin there and I flinched as the sound of a door creaking open reached my still fuzzy hearing.

"She's awake?"

"Seems so."

Rog let out a heavy sigh by the sounds of it and heavy footfalls echoed around the room. "I'll take a look at her."

A thin waist and torn jeans met my sight and a man was leaning over, his arms bands of tattooed muscles and healed cuts almost as bad as my own. His singlet was smeared with what I assumed to be car oil and grease, long blonde dreadlocks hanging around a face as rough as his voice had been. I tried to scuttle back, but he just took my arm in his iron grip, not biting into the skin as I thought he might. He looked the brutal type to kill without a thought, but he just gently rolled my arm around to look at the wrist that had swelled up. "He sure got you good, didn't he?" The man asked, the lack of a sneer in his voice making me wince. Just a curious wondering.

"We're going to have to re-break it to get the bone back into place," He muttered. "Get the kit from the garage."

The other darted from the room and Rog smirked. "Idiot if there ever was one. The name's Roger, kid."

I didn't answer, only looked up to him as if expecting him to bend my arm back in the wrong direction. Lull one into a false sense of security and shatter their trust with one cruel strike. "I'm not going to bite," He flashed a toothy grin, gaps there from where they must have been knocked out. He chewed what smelt like tabacco. "Just going to fix your wrist up, is all."

I just shook my head, closing my eyes as I began to shiver in fear.

"I'm going to have to give you something for the pain, though," He said half to himself.

"No," I whispered.

"Huh?"

"I don't want any," I murmured. "It nearly killed my babies; I don't ever want it again."

I recalled the time the doctors had been forced to inject me, just before having my second child. It'd nearly killed her, and nearly broken my heart.

"You're a mum, are you?" The man asked, smiling a little.

"They're dead," I muttered, my own flat voice seeming to scare him as much as it pained me.

He didn't say anything, and I didn't want him to. I just wanted to lie at the bottom of the ocean and let the water take whatever weak life I retained in my body. The other man had come back, with two others I could hear from the extra footsteps. "Got the bag," He murmured. "And the morphine."

Roger was peering down to me, as if seeing all the pain I'd gone through, but he blinked it away and accepted the needle. "I'm sorry darlin'," He told me. "But I can't have you in any more pain."

I only faintly felt the injection, closing my eyes and feeling my body relax without my minds say so. In the recesses of my mind, I could feel the throbbing as my wrist was twisted, and then set back into place, my deep breathing making them think I was asleep. My eyes opening contradicted that assumption.

A splint was on my wrist, a plastic cast set around the petite hand. "On the mend now," Roger stated, brushing off imaginary dust from his hands. "All you need is rest."

I didn't answer, closing my eyes again and cursing my luck. Why couldn't I be dead now? The blankets were covering me up to my chin now, a calloused hand checking my temperature. "So she'll be right?" A woman asked.

"Just needs some rest, I'd say. This little one has been through a fair bit," Roger told them.

"I'll look after her," Another feminine voice told them, a chair creaking as someone sat down and let the others pass.

"I'll bring you up some dinner, Andre," A man promised and I was left to just doze.

"Poor thing," Andre murmured.

I fell asleep then, listening to the sounds of feet echoing all around the place. I didn't care where I was, I only hoped this morphine would stop the dreams.