5. Easton
EASTON
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Like it’s not bad enough, we have to volunteer at the hospital. Like there aren’t a hundred other things I could be doing right now, things I actually want to do. No, I have to pretend I’m not sickened by the pile of bedpans waiting for me.
“Here.” The orderly who gave me this assignment looks pretty fucking pleased with himself as he hands over a mask. “This helps. Gloves, too. Don’t forget the gloves.”
Gloves? At this rate, I’m wishing I could wear a whole-body condom. I can’t wait to get home and burn every stitch of clothes on my body. And this is only day one.
“What, you squeamish?” The guy wears a name tag. It says Joel. I wonder if Joel knows I’m imagining how much fun it would be to empty one of these things on his head. “We’ve all been there.”
Right, the difference being this is his job. It’s not mine.
“I’ve got this,” I mutter after looping the mask’s straps over my ears.
I can’t imagine it making that big of a difference, but at least I don’t have to breathe in anything floating around in the air.
Oh, Christ, is there going to be diseases floating around in the air after I do this?
Dad has no idea what the fuck he’s asked us to do.
He didn’t ask us. He told us. All because we had the balls to do what he can’t or won’t. Protecting what’s ours. He can’t be bothered to encourage his wife to lay off the pills and would rather pretend there’s no problem at all. Why would he face up to reality now?
Somewhere, my brother is being forced to do the same kind of humiliating grunt work I’m staring down. When we compare notes later, I’m not going to tell him I punked out. Besides, the sooner I get this done, the sooner I don’t have to deal with the stench.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan, glad I’m alone by the time I get started so Joel won’t have anything to laugh at.
They have to know who we are, right? They all do, everybody at the hospital.
It’s not like I expect everybody around here to know us by sight, but we’ve been here enough times to be familiar.
I wonder if they know why we’re doing this. Dad wouldn’t allow it.
But word spreads, doesn’t it? Whether we want it to or not.
All I know, by the time I’m finished emptying and rinsing bedpans, is medicine is the last thing I ever want to pursue.
I can’t imagine having to face something like this every day, getting into the nuts and bolts of the body.
That’s for people like Dad, who consider it a calling.
I literally cannot imagine it, and I can usually imagine a lot of things very clearly.
Right now, I’m imagining how much fun it would be to make that pretentious, pearl-wearing bitch do this for me.
All her fault . And then she has the nerve to stand in front of us and sling insults around?
I can see her in front of me now, smirking while people laughed at her insult.
I’d like to know who the hell those people thought they were, too.
Like we couldn’t easily end them if we felt like it.
All of the thinking and imagining in the world isn’t helping, but at least it gives me something to focus on as I finish my task.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to be finished with anything as I am when I pull off my gloves and throw them into the nearest trash can. It’s kind of amazing I didn’t throw up.
Though as it turns out, there’s something worse than cleaning bedpans. I never would’ve guessed it, but it’s true.
The clock in the hallway tells me I’ve only been here an hour.
I would’ve sworn it was almost time to leave, but we have two hours left.
I mean, three hours, no big deal. Right?
That’s what I tried to tell myself all day, especially when I would remember what I had in store for me after school.
I’ve watched three-hour-long movies that flew by, but time is crawling now.
All because somebody couldn’t bother minding her own business.
“I’ve got you. Don’t you worry about anything.” The sound of Preston’s voice grabs my attention, like a beacon cutting through storm clouds. I turn in that direction more out of desperation than anything else—maybe I’ll feel better if I know he’s going through as much shit as I am.
There he is, coming down the hall behind a wheelchair that holds a woman who looks like she personally witnessed the invention of the telephone.
I’m surprised she can hold her head up, as thin and frail as she looks.
“You just sit still now, Mrs. Peterson,” he says, walking slowly and carefully, pushing her down the hall.
This asshole. Why the fuck couldn’t I have got a job like that? And here I was, thinking we could commiserate. All he has to do is push a wheelchair.
He spots me and jerks his chin in acknowledgment. “We’re just taking a little walk around the floor,” he explains once they reach me, and I fall in step beside him. Very slow, tiny steps. “Mrs. Peterson’s next-door neighbor is in another room, turns out. We’re going to pay her a little visit.”
“Speaking of pay, who did you pay to get such an easy job?”
“I didn’t have to,” he says with a shrug. “I guess I’m just better with patients than you are.”
The scarecrow in the chair pipes up. “Can you go any faster?” So, Mrs. Peterson can speak, after all. “I don’t have that much time left on earth, you know?” I mean, she’s not wrong.
Another voice catches my attention before I can laugh at the way Preston scowls. “Hey, Easton. What are you doing?”
Fucking Joel. My blood pressure shouldn’t be this high. “Just walking Mrs. Peterson to her friend’s room.”
“I don’t think we need two people to push one wheelchair.” He thrusts a pitcher my way, then waves a dismissive hand. “Fill that with ice water, then refill the cups in the patients’ rooms.” By the time he’s finished, he’s already halfway down the hall.
The only thing that stops me from giving him a sarcastic salute is knowing Dad will hear about it and probably double the amount of time I have to spend doing this in retaliation. “Whatever I can do to help,” I grit out through my clenched teeth.
My brother snickers, then continues down the hall, faster this time. One of the nurses behind the desk notices. “And you, Preston, there’s plenty more for you to do. We don’t need you hanging out with the patients all day.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Mrs. Peterson grumbles, and now I have to walk away before I burst out laughing.
At least I know I’m not the only one in fucking misery right now.
It’s probably wrong, but knowing my brother is getting his ass chewed, too, makes this feel easier to deal with by the time I have the pitcher filled and start going from room to room.
I’m pretty sure there’s a rule around here that all the elderly patients have to watch the same TV shows, all of them in black and white, all of them turned up so loud I have to shout to be heard.
One of the patient’s, a middle-aged man who’s been watching golf, surprises me by clamping a hand on my wrist before I can turn away from his bedside. “Do you need something?” I ask before his grip tightens with obvious urgency. “What can I do?”
“I… I need…” He gives me a pleading, wide-eyed look.
Before a fountain of puke erupts from his mouth.
And lucky me, being held in place so I can’t escape the splash.
The pitcher falls from my hand and what’s left inside hits the floor, ice cubes sliding in all directions while my patient keeps retching, and I seriously question every choice I’ve ever made in my entire life.
By the time our hours are up for the afternoon, I don’t care if I never see this hospital again.
“I shouldn’t still smell puke, should I?
” I ask, looking down at myself and expecting there to be chunks on my regular clothes, which I changed into after putting on a second, clean set of scrubs.
There’s nothing on my shoes, nothing in my hair or anything like that. But I still smell it. “Do I smell bad?”
My brother only gives me an exhausted stare, standing next to me as we wait for the elevator to take us to the lobby.
I plan on running for the car and maybe even kissing the ground once we get out there.
Do people seriously do this kind of work every day?
“No worse than you usually smell. But don’t take my word for anything—I have old lady smell stuck in my nose. ”
“That’s your fault for trying to get out of doing actual work by hanging out with the old ladies all day.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t be able to get away with that next time.
They’re gonna be watching me closer, dammit.
” He barely stifles a yawn as the doors slide open.
Thank fuck. I need to get out of here. This has been the longest afternoon of my life and all I want is to get home and scrub every bit of it off my body.
Isn’t it funny how priorities change on a dime? Because as much as I can’t wait to get out of here and maybe rid myself of the odor of puke, all it takes is one look at the girl standing alone in the elevator car to make something else seem even more important.
Anticipation makes my blood hum. Emma. She told us her name is Emma, didn’t she? When she made a scene in front of all those people at school.
Emma leans her back against the wall, and as soon as she sees us, she folds her arms while her shoulders rise until they almost cover her ears.
“Fate is funny, isn’t it?” At least my brother sees the humor in this as we join her in the car, crowding in on her. There is something too satisfying about the way she shrinks a little. Because she’s nothing. She’s the entire reason I got puked on today.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, standing close enough that I can feel the heat from her body radiating off her. “Let me guess. Nothing better to do than hang around the hospital all the time? Is this your idea of a fun afternoon?”
“Considering you’re also here…” she whispers, staring straight ahead like that will do anything to help her. “Maybe you shouldn’t be the one to talk.” She then blows out an exasperated sigh when it’s obvious we’re not going to let it go. “I was visiting my granddad. Satisfied?”
“Not even fucking close.” Without thinking, I reach out and hit the red button on the panel, bringing us to a stop between the third and second floors.
“What are you doing? Jesus Christ,” she mutters, touching her head to the wall before sighing again. Like she’s the one whose life has been completely fucked up. Like she’s the one dealing with shit and piss and puke, all because some people don’t know how to mind their own business.
“Keep playing like you have any control right now. It’s actually pretty funny.
” She’s going to squirm. I know she will.
Everybody has a breaking point, don’t they?
We’re close to hers, I can feel it. The way her nostrils flare, faster and faster with every breath she takes.
The way she keeps closing in on herself—arms wrapped tighter, shoulders higher, pressed against the wall like she wants to melt into it.
What a shame for her she can’t.
How good for us. Finally, something about this day is looking up.
“I want to get out of here.” She tries to launch forward like she’s going to reach for the button panel, but I outstretch an arm to stop her.
“You think it’s that easy?” I ask with a laugh when she rebounds off me. “Please. No, don’t be rude. We wanna have a conversation.”
“I am not interested in having a conversation with either of you. And…” Her tongue darts over her lips like she’s nervous, which she should be. “I’ve had a really long day.”
“A long day? Oh, you poor thing.” She is not going to get sympathy out of me.
Preston’s laugh is bitter. “We just got finished volunteering to make up for what you did.”
She opens her mouth, but before she can hand me any bullshit about everything being our fault and not hers, I lean a little closer, satisfied when she shudders.
“You know, nobody would hear you if you screamed. Nobody knows we are in here with you. We could do anything we wanted to you, and there’s nothing you could do to stop us.
” A glance toward my twin tells me he’s fully on board—eyes twinkling, his mouth twisting in a smirk. Oh yeah, we’re on the same page.
“I guess neither of you geniuses noticed the camera mounted in the corner, under the ceiling. Say hi,” she murmurs with a snarky grin.
A grin that slides away when our eyes meet, and I haven’t flinched.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I counter with my own smirk. “Do you think anybody could get here in time, if they’re even watching the video feed right now? It would be too late to do anything to help you.”
“You really are sick, aren’t you?” She looks at my brother, then back at me. “Both of you. I’m gonna ask you one more time to get this elevator moving again, or else.”
That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard in years. “Or else?” I hoot, shaking my head as I close in on her, pressed against her, one arm on either side of her body so there’s nowhere for her to go. “Or else what?”
She doesn’t tell me. She shows me.
She doesn’t knee me hard, but then, she doesn’t need to. Every guy knows a ball tap can be just as painful as a full punch if it’s delivered in the right spot.
And Emma’s knee definitely hits that spot.
All the air rushes out of my lungs as I stumble backward. This time, I’m the one who’s going to puke all over the place. “Bitch!” I manage to gasp as I slide halfway down the wall at my back.
“Now start the fucking elevator,” she hisses at Preston, who jams his finger against it to get us moving again.
Wincing, I do everything possible not to writhe in agony.
This bitch. She is determined to keep upping the ante. Because at first, she was an inconvenience. A nosy little nothing who needed to be smacked down and reminded of her place.
Now? I want to hurt her. I crave the sight of pain leaking into her eyes and filling them with tears.
As soon as the doors slide open, she’s gone—turning sideways to fit between them before darting for the revolving door at the other end of the cavernous lobby. Meanwhile, I can barely handle the thought of moving, my balls throbbing with every heavy beat of my heart.
“Fuck, man. Are you okay?” Preston doesn’t know what to do, obviously, looking like he’s the one in pain as he crouches near me.
“Do I look okay?” I ask, staring off in the direction Emma disappeared in. “I’m going to fucking kill that girl. Wait and see. She’s going to die for this.”