Medical Degree (eyeless jack x reader)

I want drugs.

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She waits for another nod, and continues.

"Your roommate, Rena Marks, is the one who called in. She woke up to a loud noise and when she turned on the lights, she saw you in your bed covered in blood with your shirt cut down the center. Miss Marks did not see anybody else in the room."

Greeeaaaaat. Burlesque gone all wrong.

"On the way to the hospital, EMT's found the stitches, and physical examinations revealed that your kidney had been surgically removed. Traces of multiple anesthetics were found in your system, and now we're here." Officer Morris finishes.

There's comfort in knowing most of your questions were answered with that long winded report, but that's the only comfort. Nobody saw that creep, so there's no way you can tell the truth. Again. Your life would be ruined. Like, worse than impromptu nephrectomy ruined.

"Miss (L/n), do you want some water before we continue? You're not looking so good." Officer Morris's voice is low and steady, cautious of your next actions. Can't blame her, who knows what to expect from a person who just had a kidney removed without their consent? She probably expects you to explode.

"Let's just finish this." You manage to rasp out, throat tight with the threat of oncoming tears. By some God-like means you keep them held in, and acknowledging your resolve, Officer Morris offers a tight lipped smile.

"Let's start with the anesthetics. Do you recall eating or drinking anything strange? Did anybody make a drink for you?"

Nothing comes to mind right away, but something eventually strikes an odd note in your head. You grab onto the idea of coffee and rack your brain for deeper meaning. The coffee you were drinking started off sitting on your right. Right-handed habit. After you left to grab a pop-tart, was the mug possibly placed on your left? Or are you just conveniently creating a memory? Given how unsure you are, in any other situation you'd brush it off. You can't even actually remember, but if there's even a chance...

"My coffee. I'm not sure, but I think it was moved when I left the room? I didn't wash it before bed if they can do tests with that?" You offer up the last bit unsure of yourself. It would make sense if it was your coffee though, remembering how exhausted you became after drinking it. You could barely move properly.

"I'll have some officers look for it and send it to forensics just to be sure." The red head declares, writing notes on a pad that seemingly came out of nowhere.

"Now my next question. Do you recall anything at all? Anything between going to bed and waking up here?"

You were waiting for a question like that. The answer all depended on what information they had gathered. There's no point letting on what they don't need to know, especially now. That monster has your kidney now, so what more could it want from you? With all of the attention focused on you now it'd be stupid to attack again for any reason. A kidney is a hefty sacrifice, but if it ends here, you can't complain too much.

"I remember waking up to a weight sitting on top of me, and when I opened my eyes I saw the shadow of a person." Attention: no pointy teeth or creepy blue masks were used in the retelling of these events. "It was too dark to see them clearly. They stuck me with a needle and then everything went completely black."

Officer Morris gives a contemplative nod before she quickly jots down some more notes on her pad of paper. When her eyes meet yours again, they hold a serious tone. The piercing effect leaves you squirming uncomfortably.

"That will be all for today Miss (L/n). We're investigating rumors of local black market dealings that may be related to your case. I'm going to leave you my card in case you need anything, and I will contact you if we find out more." Officer Morris keeps a professional tone as she hands you her business card. "I hope you feel better soon. We will do our best to bring you justice." She states from the doorway before turning on her heel and leaving you alone.

Heaving a deep sigh of relief it quickly turns to a gasp of pain. Your wound pulses sharply, and you grit your teeth.

"I don't want justice, I want a doctorate." You mutter to yourself.
With a brief downward grimace at your abdomen, you realize there's one more thing you want.

"I want drugs." You pout sadly.

The devil seems to be working like clockwork today as Damien the nurse is the next person to enter your room with a cup of pain medications in one hand, and a cup of water in the other.

"You're so beautiful." You tell him with watery eyes, earning a confused stare.

Three to six weeks of recovery, here you come.

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