LITTLE DID DORIAN KNOW HE is still doomed to days of post-operative care but here is he now, getting passively force-fed with pudding and strung up on antibiotics and electrocardiograms. At this point, he has grown a little too accustomed to the porcelain-white walls of the human sanctuary, the doctors that carry themselves like gods just as much as their jobs.
“How are you doing, Dorian?” Stacey or Sarah or whatever her name is; the nurse lilts with glee from across the room. Dorian spares her a glance from where she advances towards his sleepy body; partially stoned on morphine and looking like he has sniffed the balls of a hundred racehorses.
“Same as yesterday, but of course you should know.” She raises a brow as she places the aluminum tray on his bedside table with a soft clang. She looks happy today considering it is the last day of the month and even Dorian knows the smell of payday when it is at hand. “Y’all were in my guts some hours ago so maybe that question needs a redirection.”
Sandra or Sharkesha pouts. “I guess this is the morphine talking but I gat you boo.” She inspects the drip stand, her sandy eyes trailing down all the way to the syringe vein-deep into his muscles.
“Maybe, and maybe not.” Dorian sighs, his head reclining further into the pillow. “I just have not been myself these past few weeks.”
“No shit Sherlock, you; a growing teenage boy literally just had his uterus and baby removed.”
That sounded funnier than it should have to Dorian and he lets out a groggy chuckle. “Are you seriously allowed to talk to me this way?”
The nurse who Dorian now remembers as Sonia places a hand on her hips and throws him a painless pitiful look that for once, does not trigger Dorian. “We are humans too, you know. Unless it is an emotional wound that can extensively affect your post-op care, I will not tell on your doctor and have you dragged to the psych ward this second.”
“Nah,” Dorian drawls, rolling to his side and facing the wall. “I don’t think an army of PhD holders prodding into my head can do anything but salt this wound.”
“Wanna talk about it then?” She opens up in a friendly, pearly smile just enough for Dorian to appraise her good looks. Dorian does not mind getting a rectal exam from her any day. She can fuck his shit up to be honest.
“While sitting on my face all day? Deal.”
Sonia gasps, taken aback for just a jiffy before bursting into laughter. “Oh no, you would not.”
“Um yes, will do,” Dorian snaps back with a hint of sass. “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer.”
“What happened to the good mummy’s boy Dorian that used to sulk like someone just killed his baby?”
That lowkey hurt Dorian but he immediately decides she can go scot-free and only because she is hot. Ginger hair, equally ginger eyes and freckles lathering her simulacrum like a thousand suns.
“Funny, but that Dorian is gone. Obliterated with all the uterus and ovaries. This is my perfectly masculine era. I am Andrew Tate without the money but all the melanin.” Dorian cannot stop smiling from who-knows-what. A strong guess is the fact that he has mot has a decent, proper conversation in centuries and now, maybe just for this moment, he will savor the normalcy.
Sonia clips her nose and scrunches her face comically. “No wonder the room suddenly started to smell of douchebag.”
“Touché. So, what do you say, Nurse Sonia?”
She raises a upside-down-Nike-shaped eyebrow. “How smooth. My name is Tonia.”
“Good then, Tonia. What do you say about me being your used tampon for a day?”
YOU ARE READING
TORPEDO ✓
Roman pour AdolescentsGirls have always been enough for Dorian Ayuba; until they weren't. Now, he is a hurricane in a box, all the while piggybacking scholarships, bills and his broken mother. Then there's rich, sickly Giovanni Price whose life expectancy is just as shor...
