Page 2 of Joshua
An hour passes, and it only becomes worse. I throw on leggings and a shirt before grabbing my purse and keys. The car ride to the hospital is unbearable. My vagina is on fucking fire. Maybe I should have used a mirror to check it before I left.
I press the call button on the steering wheel and shout, “Call Angela!”
“Hazel?” Angela asks groggily after two rings. “Is everything okay?”
“No! Everything is not okay! I bought that damn warming lube you raved about, and now my fucking vag is on fire!” I yell and rub my crotch.
“What?” Now she sounds more alert than when she answered. “Your vag is on fire?” she asks before breaking away. “I told her about the new lube and now her vag is burning.”
“Great!” Tears prickle the backs of my lids, and I laugh. This situation is absurd, and now Bryan, Angela’s fiancé, knows my pussy’s business. “Just fucking great,” I mumble.
“Are you laughing?” Angela asks, concern and surprise coating her words.
“Why shouldn’t I? Thanks to your suggestion, my pussy feels like I shoved jalapeño juice up it, and now your man knows it too.”
“Hazel, honey—”
“Look, I’m almost to the ER. I thought I’d let you know so you can explain to my parents how I died by melted vagina.”
I end the call before she can reply. I’m being dramatic and a bit of a bitch. I realize this. If I survive this shit, I know Angela will forgive me. She better after recommending the lube.
I blurt a string of curses and put the car in park. For a second I sit, my hands curled around the steering wheel. I stare at the large red ER sign, my heart thumping in my chest. A bucket of ice would be really handy right about now. My stomach tenses, and a tremor runs through me.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to take the next embarrassing step. “They deal with crazy shit all the time,” I mutter to myself.
Walking through the sliding glass doors, I try recalling my last ER visit. Cold air hits me, and I wish I would have grabbed a sweatshirt on my way out. It smells sterile, and I’m happy to not run into anyone.
It’s rather silent in the lobby, and I notice the check-in desk is unmanned. Glancing around, I don’t see a soul. At the desk, I see a sign-in sheet and pick up the pen.
The door behind the desk opens. “Don’t worry about filling it out,” a lady mutters.
Setting the pen down, I watch her slip into the chair and bring the computer to life. “What brings you in tonight?”
“I’m experiencing a burning sensation…” I say, still debating how to get the right words out.
“Is it in your chest?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Your head?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Well okay. How about you give me your info, and we’ll have you checked in so you can be seen?”
I nod and give her my name. She asks me a series of questions which I answer quickly, doing my best not to squirm. I extend my arm, and she puts a band around my wrist with my information.
The burning is worsening with each passing minute. I imagine little creatures hanging out around a bonfire inside my vaginal cavity before I breathe in deeply through my nose.
“You okay, Hazel?” she asks, seeing my pain.
Shaking my head, I lean my elbows onto the counter.
“I’ll be right back, hon, and we’ll have you sorted,” she says and disappears the way she came.
Looking around the room, hoping to distract myself from the growing pain, I see the furniture looks newer. A TV is on in the corner, its volume nearly muted as infomercials play. My eyes catch sight of the clock, where I see it’s nearly one in the morning.
“Rivera?” a nurse asks from my left.
