6. The Nurse
SIX
THE NURSE
HARKINS
This place is a fucking circus.
The problem isn’t the patients—it’s the staff who walk around thinking they’re somehow better than those they’re treating.
None of these fools have an inkling of a clue, no guiding narrative in their brain to warn them they’re only one bad day away from checking into the very place they see themselves as the reigning authority.
“Shall we pray together, Demetri?” Ferreira asks in the most non-satirical tone.
When I don’t accept her offer, she grabs my hand anyway, murmuring a soft Hail Mary at record speed.
I cringe through it, but I don’t stop her. It seems to help her, so I guess it’s worth something to someone. Once she’s done, she wipes her hand on her scrubs like she’s cleaning my spiritual filth off her.
“Don’t worry, lady. You can’t catch my brand of sickness.”
She sneers, but I think she’s pretty well aware.
“If you’re not going to eat, you need to at least take the medications the doctor has prescribed.” The once-bubbly Ferreira is fed up with my lack of enthusiasm for what they call “care.”
I turn my head away, letting her know what she received of my attention has now expired.
It’s the same shit, five times a day, for the last three days.
Eat, pray, and attempt to medicate.
Nothing changes, so neither does my answer.
Still, she comes back toward me now with the tray, her performance finely tuned.
“Demetri,” she tries to sympathize when I make no effort.
“Camila.” I give her the same response as always.
“Look, I’m trying here. We all are. You hardly eat, won’t take the medicine the doctor has prescribed. Your time in the critical care ward is running out, and we do need the bed space for other emergency patients.”
Are they kicking me out?
I don’t ask the question out loud; it’s quite clear when the orderly shows up behind her, holding my bag of personal possessions. It’s nothing more than the clothes I wore the day I was admitted.
The day I forced my admittance.
“I didn’t want to tell you this directly.” She softens her tone. “Doctor Valerian believes you are not good for Camila’s progress.”
“Excuse me?” I snap my head in her direction, just in time to see my least favorite orderly—Fred—smiling far too big.
“Aw.” The orderly laughs in a mocking tone. “He looks so defeated. He thought he was going to catch a free ride here.”
I look down at my bandaged wrist, still too tender and weak to even close my fist, let alone wipe the smug smile off that asshole’s face.
“You both show increasingly dangerous signs of codependence for such a new relationship. He fears for her safety—”
“She’s my fiancée. He thinks I would harm her?” I flare my nostrils in disbelief, anger coursing through me just enough to force her a couple of steps back. “I would never.” I push the words past gritted teeth, sinking back into the bed so she can cease the pretense that I’m some monster.
I’ve done everything possible to keep a clear head here, to not give them a reason to medicate and dull my senses.
“I’m not ready to go.” I swallow my pride as I push every word past my lips.
Nurse Ferreira smiles, but it’s creepy—victorious almost, like she’s finally gotten her way.
“Then take your medicine.” She holds up the little paper cup from her tray, shaking the pills in it for emphasis.
I snarl, turning my chin away when she pushes the cup toward my face.
Nurse Ferreira sighs exhaustedly. “Fred.”
The little weasel laughs. “Come on, big guy. Don’t make me feed you these pills. They go down a lot smoother with water.”
For him, I spare a second of my time. “You couldn’t if you tried, dick bag.”
“Ho-ho! I got him to talk to me, Ferreira!” He gives her a goofy grin, but the nurse just rolls her eyes.
“Fine, we can do it your way. But don’t leave a mark again.” Her voice is stern as she steps out of the way and moves toward the door, covering the little viewing window with her body so no one can see inside.
Fred grabs the paper cup and approaches, looking down at my arms still strapped to the bed. He smirks. Idiot thinks he’s king shit because he can best a guy twice his size when the opposition is restrained.
He taunts, “Open up, big guy. It’s better for both of us if you do it the easy way.”
I crack my first smile since Halloween, but there’s no humor or joy to accompany it, just a sense of satisfaction, of satiating the thing inside me I clearly recognize now as something broken, something foul, something vile.
The seed she planted in me.
“The hard way is always more fun.” I keep the smile plastered on my face, not reaching my eyes.
The dumbass grabs my chin with one hand, as if he’s strong enough to pry open my jaw just because my arms can’t stop him. He’s scrawny, with thin little twig arms that struggle to force my mouth ajar.
I do the favor for him, because I’m well aware of where I’m taking this.
He was warned.
Because his goal isn’t to administer the meds. Maybe it’s to humiliate, to remove my autonomy and deprive me of any form of consent. That’s why, instead of chucking the pills down my throat like a smart nurse, he shoves two fingers in my mouth to pry it further open.
So, I bite, clamp my jaw shut until I can feel the pressure in a way that feels good, like a release of all the anger and hatred building up inside me the last few days.
“Agh!” the asshole screams, tossing the little cup of pills and using his free hand to try to get me to open.
“Demetri, stop!” Ferreira demands, too scared to open the door and call for help because it reveals too much of their own wrongdoings.
There’s a cacophony of screaming, shrieking, and belligerent noises, but I don’t let up because I know I’m close to that satisfying crunch.
Ferreira pulls my hair and tears at the skin on my face, as if she can somehow force my mouth without getting caught in the crossfire herself. Her nails sting, the scratching a welcome pain that only fuels me further.
Fred grips my hair, pulling me back, and only finds that it increases his agony the more he tries to dictate his own fate.
“Get him the fuck off me, Ferra!” he screeches.
Her sharp, pointy nails dig into my skin, both their panic growing at an increasingly amusing rate.
“I’m gonna get help,” she tells him, but the idiot only cries out in pain.
Once she’s out the door, his free fingers prod into my eyes, the pressure building, but I don’t yell. I simply let up enough to pull back on my own, just enough to let him retrieve his fingers, but I keep the skin and meat for myself.
The bloodcurdling scream pierces my ears. Fred holds up three nearly fully degloved fingers, his eyes wide with shock as I smile with his flesh between my teeth.
He faints, and I chew, just in time for Nurse Ferreira to rush back in with another orderly at her side. Blood drips down my chin, the asshole attempting to remain calm, but his facade is weak.
“Secure his straps,” he commands her.
They haven’t loosened, but I don’t fight her.
The orderly flares his nostrils, showing the fully loaded syringe ready to go. “Why are you doing this, Demetri?”
I spit the wad of flesh onto the other fool fainted over my bed. He can have his macerated meat back.
“Camila.” I repeat her name as if it’s the only prayer I need here.
He sneers, “The hot girl in the first ward?” He smiles. “Your girl is in for the long haul.” He leans in close, too close, as if my discomfort somehow emphasizes his point. “Be a good boy, or I’ll be sure to pay her a visit tonight on your behalf.”
I don’t respond, don’t move. The lack of action lets him feel superior, like he’s rightfully ripped something from me.
Except Ferreira isn’t fast enough with the straps. I’ve got just enough give to lean forward and close the remaining distance between us. “It will be the last thing you do.” I spit a wad of Fred’s blood into his face, enraging the fucker enough that he socks me in the nose.
It’s a weak punch, bloodying my mouth a bit further, but it evokes humor instead of pain.
Nothing is right in this place. My head is wrong, my mind corrupted, my heart rotting.
I cackle, dropping my head back just enough to give me the wind up I need to throw all my weight into the slam. My entire head throbs from the pain, but the orderly is on the ground, so I know he got the worst of it.
“He fucking headbutted me!” he tells Ferreira, as if she hasn’t been watching the entire thing. Her nervous little hands tremble, unsure how to proceed. “Call security, bitch!”
She hesitates at first, shocked by the insult but still a faithful servant to their little operation. Ferreira scrambles out of the room, leaving me and this dick bag alone with a bleeding Fred.
“He’s gonna need medical attention,” I suggest calmly, the corner of my lip curling with delight.
“Shut the fuck up.” He stands, the name badge on his scrub top so faded, I can’t make out his name.
Jesh? Joff? Something fucking stupid like that.
Jesh grabs the front of my gown, pulling it up as if he was somehow going to lift me with it, but instead, it comes off completely. His gaze hits my bare cock; he tries to hide it, but I’ve already clocked it.
“Yeah, it’s even bigger when it’s hard.” I smirk in amusement, watching him attempt to shake that look off his face but he throws the hospital gown over me in a clump.
I can’t see shit. It’s both infuriating and disorienting. The first blow is a surprise. The second and third, I expect, though they have less force to them. By the fourth punch, he’s out of ammo, but he keeps hitting, the wadded up gown both cushioning his blows and absorbing some of the impact.
I laugh, mostly because it’s the only thing I have that I can control. He hits harder, I laugh louder, blood pooling in my mouth just long enough for the next punch to force it past my lips.
“Get back!” I hear a deep, authoritative voice command.
“He started it!” Jesh defends himself, but I still can’t see who he’s talking to.
Ferreira’s voice adds to the conversation. “He bit Fred.”
The gown is pulled off my face, four security guards standing over me while Ferreira and Jesh tend to Fingerless Fred.
“Why haven’t you sedated him?” Doctor Valerian’s voice fills the room with his presence.
“Uh, um…” Ferreira stumbles through her words, unsure what she can say that won’t give away the lack of professionalism.
“I think your boy wanted to play with my junk first,” I explain, biting back a smirk.
The doctor doesn’t share my good mood, grabbing the syringe and stabbing me with it before I have the chance to protest. “Say good night, Mr. Harkins.”
The cold fills my veins faster than I can swallow the taste of it down. I attempt to mumble a correction, but all that comes out is, “Doccct.”
My tongue becomes fat, my head numb and the room goes blurry.
And then, dark.