by Asia Marquis
It feels so... desolate, in the rest of the hospital. Everything is moving so fast. It just feels like everyone around me is rushing to their grave and nobody is taking the time to just… breathe. I'm sitting in a chair and my eyes are closed and just for a moment, I can't remember where I am.
I open my eyes. It's a bathroom stall, I'm on the second floor. North side of the building. Patrick is my next patient, he returned from Iraq last March and he came in reporting discomfort in his skin. Pancreatic cancer, stage 3. The truth is, he'll be dead in a year if that. There's nothing to be done for it. No matter where you go, sometimes there are hard truths and I accept that.
I was surprised, though, at Patrick's attitude. He seems to embrace it even more readily than I do, almost not reacting at all. I don't know why and sometimes I wish things were more like in the pediatric ward because I want to ask why but it feels too personal and he seems too distant. I stand up and open the stall door. Wash my face. Look in the mirror. I feel like a mess and my looks match. I have deep, dark circles under my dark eyes and I just want to go back into the stall and try not to break down, but I need to be strong. I push my way through the door and into the bustling hall.
"Hello, Mister Burton," I try to put on a smile for him. He's got his reading glasses on, looking over a paper with a lot of numbers on it. I can't tell what it is but he lays it down and looks up.
"Is it time?" I nod solemnly, take a seat and reach into my coat, producing a bottle and counting out the pills. He takes them without comment, reaching for a glass of water that I hand over readily. He opens his mouth as if to say 'See?' I smile at him.
"Have a good day, Mister Burton." He doesn't acknowledge me, looking at the TV. It’s showing bass fishing. I can't tell if he's watching it seriously because I'm told that the remote is missing in this room and he couldn't change the channel if he wanted to. I look back at him for a second. His jaw, lightly stubbled, is set hard, like he's still sitting there at attention and his commanding officer might walk in at any moment. His eyes flicker over to me.
"Is there something else?" I shake my head and leave.
Charles is telling me a story. He's describing in such intricate detail the interaction between a giraffe and a lion, and he's making voices for them. The Giraffe is clearly English, and the Lion seems to be from California, or maybe it's the other way around and I've been confusing the story the whole time, which really changes things. Charles is just a kid; he broke his arm a few months ago. The doctor at the hospital in his old home town set it wrong and it caused a few health issues, but we fixed it, and he's getting better. In a few months he's going to go home to his parents and I'm going to get a new ball of sunshine, however brief its flash might be.
I can't get out of my head that look on Patrick's face when I left, the look like he was waiting for something or someone who never came. I know, I checked. He hasn't received any visitors his entire stay. It's pretty sad.
I've resolved to stay with him during visiting hours tomorrow, try to talk and make friends. Maybe it's not that the adults are different than the kids, maybe I just try harder. If that is the case—and indeed it might be, I'm not going to let it keep me from being good at my job or being a good person. The day's passing slow today, and tomorrow will be longer, but I've got my resolve and that's all I need right now.
I was tired. I was tired and I'm off but god damn it if I'm going to let this guy know that. It’s been damn near ten minutes now, waiting for him to do anything beyond notice me come in and he hadn't managed it so far. We've just been watching public access. He doesn't ever seem to take his eyes off the screen, and I know it isn't a mental problem. I was starting to get frustrated, and thinking about leaving, when he pipes up, all of a sudden. His voice was more of a growl, and it almost scared me.
"Are you going to leave me be, or what?" I knew I shouldn't respond but I was too damn tired for thinking things through.
"Do you have some kind of problem with me, Mister Burton? Did I do something to offend you? Here I am, spending my personal time trying to get to know one of my patients and you're bitching about 'leave me be!' " I'm huffing and puffing and I'm about to storm out when his eyes come unglued from the tube.
"I'm... sorry.” He frowns at me, but it’s got an apologetic air. “Miss... ?"
"Lincoln. Sarah Lincoln."
"If you're here to keep me company, miss Lincoln, don't waste your time on my account. I'm sure you've got someplace you'd rather be." I feel like I'm losing the little bit of attention I had and his eyes lose the brief focus they'd had. I felt like I was drowning. I stumbled for something to say, something to feel like I was helping again.
"What're you watching?" He gave me a sideways glance and grumbled something along the lines of you know what I'm watching under his breath. I could feel my breathing getting ragged and I was a little panicky.
"How, um... how do you like… it?" I'd realized only moments too late that I'd ended the sentence early and tried to cover for it but it showed and I blushed hard and started to scurry out.
"It's alright, I guess. I wish I could get that clicker, but you can't always get what you want, I suppose." I heard his voice, deep and rich, behind me, the most words he'd ever said together to me. I put my smile back on and tried to steady my shaking hands and still my beating heart.
"Um, listen, mister... mister..." and I realized I'd forgotten his name in my panic. "Mister-- BURTON!" I blurted, "If you ever want to, um, talk, then that would be... I could..." and I trailed off abruptly, looking everywhere but his face.
"Talk about what?" It was a fair question but for some reason it hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Well, mister Burton... sir... it might be outside my place to ask, but... do you have any family? Nobody ever comes to visit..." I trail off again, embarrassed at being so direct and dare I say rude to a patient. He smiles a little bit.
"I suppose you hit the nail on the head there, missy. Ever since my wife died..." He makes a face. "People don't really tend to enjoy my company on my own. I guess you could say that." I'm not sure what to do and I blink. Blink again. I blink a third time.
"Have a good day," I spit out as fast as I can. It's abrupt and hardly a fair end to the conversation but I can't think with my foot so far in my mouth. I practically run out of the room, power-walking to the car and I just started bawling. I knew how poorly I'd done and I was so embarrassed to have made a fool of myself but I couldn't help it and I just... I don't know.
I called in sick this morning. I haven't been able to get out of bed since being embarrassed yesterday. I can't even explain it, not really. I don't think I did... too much that was stupid, but every time I think about it, I get scared and the bottom falls out of my stomach. I don't think I can keep going if I feel like this every time I think about going to work. I finally got up for dinner, and I cooked an egg.
I don't even really like eggs, but I'm so out of it I'm worried I'd burn anything else, since eggs are what I learned to cook first. My mother taught them to me and I always liked to cook them to show off for her. That was before.
Today's been a good day. I managed to completely put everything out of my mind. We've got a new little girl, Caroline, and I really think she's going to get better but she just tells the best stories about everything. Apparently her grandmother was a big writer of folklore books back in the day and so she has a lot of them memorized because of having so many copies around. But she's got what so many people don't, never mind eight year olds, and that's a sense of timing and charisma. It just seems to flow out of her so naturally, time flies when you're checking in on her because she brings light into the room, you know? It's honestly the best experience.
I've been skipping lunch to try to get caught up and today I decided that because it was a good day I would reward myself. I got a sandwich from a shop down the street. Savored it on the walk back to the hospital, sat on a park bench. There were a few dozen pigeons and robins strutting around trying to get bread crumb
s. I gave them my sincerest apology and a brownie-scout promise to bring them some next time I came by, but I was so hungry. And now here I am in the bathroom again, washing my hands, and suddenly it occurs to me that I'm going back in to see Patrick Burton. It feels like almost the reverse of Monday, feeling like I'm riding high instead of trying to fight off the blues. I'm resolved to apologize and when I burst in and he's not there I feel like I've been punched. It seems like his things are still here, but this supposedly bedridden man is clearly not in his bed. I'm starting to panic when I hear a toilet flush and I feel foolish. However, my second surprise is when he walks out of the bathroom with no support, albeit with a limp, and he looks surprised.
"Missus Lincoln."
"Miss." I correct him automatically.
"I... I see." His face betrays a certain degree of confusion why I brought it up, and I realize all of a sudden what he has to be thinking, given our past conversations and my proclivity for making a fool of myself and my face is ruby red all over again.
"That's... I wasn't." I quit while I'm ahead and move aside to let him back into his bed. He looks at me expectantly. I jump a little bit when I realize he's waiting for me to do my job. I hand his pills over, the usual routine. He's got that same look again—distant, set jaw. I'm starting to wonder if maybe he isn't waiting at all. Maybe he's fighting something. Part of me says that it’s not related to me, but I'm flattered nonetheless.
"Mister Burton, do you want to tell me about your wife?"
"She was a good woman. Nobody else will ever quite measure up, not in looks, not in manners, not in brains... Though, if you don't mind my saying," he gulped, "You're pretty fair looking yourself." I blushed again, my face going got, and giggled a bit.
"You don't say, Mister Burton!"
"Patrick, please. I'm tired of everyone treating me like I'm someone special. I've spent my whole life taking orders and I'm not going to start having people 'sir' me now." He smiled, a crooked and sideways thing. It was the first time I'd seen him smile. "If you wanted to keep me company, I wouldn't say no."
I left with a promise to return when I was on my own time, and that settled him down a bit. The day seemed to fly by and I dropped in to say goodbye to Patrick. He looked more frustrated than usual and was surprisingly dismissive, not unlike he'd been when things were just getting started, and I thought we were starting to be friends. Then I noticed the outline of an erection under his sheet, bigger than I would've imagined. He noticed me looking and frowned at me.
"... You're a medical professional, right?" I nodded, unsure where this was going. "Well, see... ah... never mind. I can't. It's too embarrassing."
I gave him a soft look. "Patrick, I'm a nurse. I took plenty of anatomy classes. If you've got a problem that you're concerned about then you should mention it. At least we can have doctor Connor give it a look on his next rounds."
"Okay, then. Um..." He trailed off and made a face, chewing on the words. "I can't... um... orgasm. I've been at it for almost twenty minutes. My arm hurts and I'm sore and I just can't finish."
"Well, Patrick, that can happen with your medication. I wouldn't be too worried about it, I suppose."
He looked frustrated and I could easily figure out why. I looked out the door and the hall was relatively empty. I shut the door.
"There's something we can try that is a bit... alternative," I called from the door as I slid the lock firmly to 'closed.'
"I'm not going to lie, ma'am. It's kinda starting to hurt. At this point I'll try just about anything." I stepped back into the room and slipped my coat off.
"Lie back and relax," I said. He did, and I started to unbutton my shirt. He seemed to get the idea and I caught him looking and made a mockingly sour face. "Mister Burton! This is for your medical health!" He laughed and I continued to disrobe. When I was in my underwear I pulled the sheets down to reveal his cock, hard and long, and I started to stroke it. He groaned and I kissed him lightly on the cheek, stroking his cock slowly and relishing the feeling of a hard cock in my hand.
Time passed quickly with little result, and I was starting to think maybe this really wouldn't do it for him.
I kissed him again and dipped my head, taking him into my mouth. I couldn't see his reaction but I could hear him pretty clearly and he was clearly enjoying himself. I bobbed my head faster, and I could feel him starting to tighten up and then I felt him release... nothing. I took him out of my mouth and gave him a quizzical look; he said nothing.
I didn't know what else to do so I stripped the rest of the way, jerking him to try to keep him hard and letting him suck on my breasts.
I hopped up onto the bed, pulling my panties down. They fell to the floor as I crawled across the bed. I could see the apprehension in his face, the doubt. I kissed him, and though it didn’t go away completely his doubt was replaced by lust and aggression. He pulled me tight to him, and I guided him into me.
I moved on top of him, feeling the deliciously painful stretch in my pussy. It had been so long since I’d been with a man, I thought. It was almost like the first time again. Only, this time I felt a dozen competing emotions swirling in my belly. This was too fast, I knew, but at the same time I knew I wanted to be there for this man. I wanted it more than I had wanted anything before, just to make this man happy, even if it were only for an hour.
I could feel his thrusts becoming erratic, his rhythm slipping, and I knew he was close. I had a sudden impulse, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying out.
"Cum in me!"
He didn’t question it. He pushed harder, deeper, once, twice, and then he exploded inside me.
I could feel him pumping his seed into me, shot after shot of potent sperm. I felt alive. I kept bouncing on him, and as his cock started to soften in me I kept grinding on him, his face a look of pained ecstasy and his moans loud and deep. Finally I came hard and squirted my cream on the hospital bed, moaning his name out loud.
I got dressed in silence, embarrassed and unsure of how long it would take them to fire me for such a blatant rules violation.
It turns out, two weeks. Apparently it would've been sooner but for the red tape. I kept seeing Patrick, and they let him return to his life a month after we came together.
He invited me to keep an eye on him and I readily accepted. He was supposed to pass away by New Years and I would get back to being alone and having no career to go back to, but he didn't. Miraculous recovery, they said.
We got married by Valentine's Day and had a little baby girl, Carolyn, in honor of his former wife. I wasn't bothered by the gesture—after all, I think I got the long end of the stick.
The Wild King
His Paranormal Seduction
Wren Winter
Wiping away a bead of sweat that has dripped annoyingly onto her eyelid, Danika takes a second to lean back in her uncomfortable chair and massage her wrists. They're sore and in need of a rest, but her boss is riding her hard to finish up a website for their biggest client yet. They're a soda company, obviously aimed at a younger audience.
Under the right circumstances, young Danika could have easily given the client a real masterpiece, but they want the website done ASAP. As in, today.
Though Danika usually loves her job, it's days like this that she wishes she could be on some sort of adventure. The kind with danger, and intrigue, and maybe some romance too! In her childhood she read books that would be banned for being politically incorrect these days, where women are tied up by Afican witch doctors and tortured until they're saved.
Still, this job gives her the sort of artistic thrill that she normally would never experience. The girl failed every single one of her art classes, after all, and is a pitiful singer. The way she works CSS and Java, though? Pure magic.
“Hell,” she whispers. This is her only talent, and she knows it. If she loses this job, she'll be ruined for sure. The pink clock on her desk reads 11:43. Should I go to lunch? If I push, I can probably have this site done by 1.
&nbs
p; All around the office is the murmur of men on phones and people typing. Deciding it's better to just finish the project and go home early, she places her fingers on the keyboard and stretches her neck.
Before she can finish her stretch, a shrill sound pierces the air. The fire alarm! The screeching alarm makes Danika clamp her hands around her ears. In a panic, she watches her neighbor stand up, and the rest of the office follows him out of the room. She follows, too.
It's raining outside. “Great,” she mutters. The man in front of her shoots her a dirty look, which she ignores. Once they're all well away from the building they turn to watch huge pillars of black smoke rising from the other side of the building.
“Everyone, please calm down.” Her boss, Josh Brando, is being surrounded by a huge group of her coworkers. He looks upset and miserable in the rain.
“What's going on?” The secretary from the front desk asks him. She's clinging to the guy from editing that everyone knows she's fucking.
“A copier caught on fire and has consumed 3 of the back offices. The fire department will be here soon. Unless you witnessed the fire starting, you can all go home. I'll call you when you can come back to work.” Brando turns around and walks away. Three other people follow him. Everyone else rushes to get out of the rain and into their cars.
The office for Exemplar Designs is in the middle of nowhere. Brando thought that working in such a beautiful place would raise morale, but it also means emergency services can take up to a half hour to reach them. That whole building will be ashes by then.
