Page 19 of Wicked Things
The nursing staff are literally running from one end of the building to the other, harried expressions on their faces, beads of sweat on their brows. The woman in scrubs at the reception desk is a picture of calm, though. She carries a tablet from patient to patient, asking them questions, grading their level of need as she goes. As she passes me, she places a hand on my shoulder.
“How you doin’, honey? The headache getting any worse?”
I give her a bland smile. “About the same. Just...y’know.Throbbing.”
She nods, and I can read her mind perfectly:Go home, take some aspirin and go to sleep, you jerk. You’re cluttering up my E.R.She suggested as much when I checked myself three hours ago with a mild migraine, but I’d politely smiled and sat myself down, telling her I didn’t mind waiting.
And here I’ve sat. Waiting.
The nurse with the tablet moves on, and I look up to find that the two girls sitting opposite me are staring at me. Not even hiding the fact. They look me up and down, head to toe, conducting some assessment of their own. “You’re here for aheadache?” the one wearing pink sequins asks.
I angle my head to one side. “Problem?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, dude. Drink a few beers and get over it.”
“Yeah,” her friend agrees. “Drink some water, andthendrink some beers. You’ll be fine in half an hour. Geez.” They’re both looking at me like I’m failing at life. The girl who apparently broke her friend’s nose stops frowning and gives me a non-too-subtle smile. “You aresuperhot by the way. Do you have a girlfriend?”
Oh lord. I look away, watching a balding guy smashing his fist into the vending machine, the top of his head growing redder and redder as he struggles to make the machine comply.
“Hey, I asked you a question.Do. You. Have. A. Girlfriend.”
I slowly turn my gaze back to the girl. “No. I do not have a girlfriend.” My response is clipped. Cold. It’s the kind of tone that speaks volumes to most normal, sane, intelligent people. It’s the kind of tone that says,run for your fucking lives.These girls aren’t smart enough to register this, however.
“Why not? Are you one of those assholes who dates a bunch of women at the same time?”
“No.”
“Then spill. Are you gay?”
“No.”
They roll their eyes in unison. “There’s no need to say no likethat.”
“How did I say it?”
“Like you’re a fucking homophobe or something.”
“I’m not a homophobe. I’ve slept with men before.”
This stops them both in their tracks. Their eyes double in size. “Are you for real?” Sequins drops her bag of frozen peas on the floor.
“Yes, I am for real.”
“That is the…hottest…thing…I haveeverfucking heard,” she whispers. “I can’t even…fucking…” Her eyes roll up to the ceiling, like she’s beseeching whatever god she believes in for assistance.
I don’t smile. I shrug my shoulders, eyes scanning the waiting room. “People are people. You either wanna fuck them or you don’t.”
They don’t say anything else. My eyes rove from the set of double doors at the far end of the E.R. to the entrance, studying the faces of the female doctors who breeze and out of the space. A minute passes. Two. When I turn back, the girls, who I’ve frankly forgotten about, are staring at me with their mouths open.Stillstaring at me. I get the feeling they haven’t looked away since I spoke last.
They share a brief, loaded look, and then the one on the left says, “Have you ever been with two girls at once before?” in a secretive, suggestive manner, her voice lowered.
I rock my head back, and I laugh. I can’t fucking help myself. The sound of my amusement booms over the chatter and drunken shouting filling the E.R. Have I ever slept with two girls at once? Have I ever…
If only these two knew the depths of my depravity, they wouldn’t be fucking talking to me right now. They’d be asking for an armed guard for their protection. My insane reaction to their poorly veiled offer must be incredibly offensive to them, because they get to their feet, wobbling on their ridiculous fucking heels.
“You’re a rude cunt,” the girl with the broken nose informs me. Like this might be new information to me. My smile fades, and I allow my face to remain utterly unmoved by her anger.
“I’m sorry,” I say stiffly. “You just fall into the, ‘people I don’t want to fuck’ category.”
