Mommy Issues - Collection of One Shots

M.R | Hush Pt. 3

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Ratched's POV

Dr. Hanover has moved me to the night shift temporarily while they find a replacement for Mrs. Taylor. Apparently my unwavering authority and proficiency is what landed me here. I'm not sure if I buy it, but I certainly don't mind it. I enjoy the late hours, the darkness, the silence. The lack of scrutinizing eyes following my every move.

There is one thing, though. No matter what I try, a certain someone won't quit crying from her room every night around 11. Every night I have to medicate her. And every night I have to resist her. The only time Y/N was truly appeased was after she had my breasts in her mouth.

I've refrained from doing so again, only because I know I'll devour her when it happens. And I have to be careful. If I'm caught I could lose this job and end up in here along with the rest of the homosexuals. But that's the difference between them and myself. I'm clever enough to hide it, and apparently they're not.

• • •
*one week later*

"See the pyramids along the Nile
See the sunrise on a tropic aisle
Just remember darling all the while
You belong to me."

I stare at the half empty wine bottle and beg Jo Stafford to drown out my mind. It's been two days since Edmund left with that idiot blonde who shot the governor's assistant. And one day since I've been told I'm the worst lay of Wainwright's life. To say the past 48 hours have been utterly disappointing is an understatement.

With Edmund gone and all chances of his redemption dissolving, I feel unsure of where to go next. As annoying as Nurse Bucket is, I can't help but feel my work here isn't done. There are several patients, or at least one, that could still use my professional aide.

I've got about half an hour before I need to head to work. I should probably put on some coffee to sober up. The bubbling of the pot fills my ears as I strip out of my day clothes. I reach for the deep red lingerie I bought last week and run the lace between my fingers. I often feel naughty after drinking wine. I dress in front of the full length mirror, running my manicured hand between my breasts and down my abdomen. A chuckle escapes from my throat as I remember the flush I always get after drinking. It's alarming, against my porcelain skin. But I don't mind. I slip on my uniform and pour myself a coffee, sipping it slowly while the steam rises to my nose.

• • •

Your POV

Ever since the dance, everyone is on edge. I'll admit, it was shocking in the moment. But I'm too passive too care. This place has numbed me. It's funny really, the doctors and nurses here claim they can cure you. But what they really do is humiliate and desensitize you until the illness that landed you here is just a shadow of a thought in the deepest corners of your mind. You can't listen to those thoughts in here. Because if you do, you'll crack. And if you crack, they'll notice. Even if you think you're alone, you're not. So you have to lie - to yourself, to your peers, to everyone.

Apathy wins in this place. Just be a good girl, and don't get invested in anyone or anything. I've been able to shake pretty much all of the staff, with the exception of one particular brunette, Mildred Ratched. She's the coldest nurse here, but I can't help but feel warmth towards her. I have dreams about her often. They're not exactly appropriate, but I can't help that. My panties often end up soaked, so I've learned to start sleeping without them. I wouldn't want to staff to catch on and punish me.

After taking my meds, I drag back to my room and grab Mel. She's my stuffed puppy, the only thing I asked mom to bring me. I've had her since I was 5, she even survived the fire at my childhood home. She stays with me so I know I'll always be safe. I tuck myself in and start my nightly mantra of counting backwards from 1,000 until I fall asleep.