"I'm sorry." I say sincerely through the phone.
Her beautiful eyes bloodshot and her nose reddened from crying, she looks at me wearily.
"I'm...I'm so tired." She sighs, her voice muffled through the static of the line.
"We're going to fix it oka...
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Killian Rubis Andrade St. Thomas Hospital London, UK
"Uhhh that's not necessary Meens. The test I took last night was negative." I look between her and Oakley, so he could back me up.
"You got 100 on your test. Let's not do this." Ameena says deadpan, and I take the slightest bit of offense to her tone.
"Oakley?" I look at him so he can speak the fuck up, any other time he can't seem to shut up.
"I'm not the doctor." He finally speaks, sitting back. The man constantly front and center, back seating it now, ridiculous.
"I'm not the doctor." I mock, fuck this. Pulling the blood pressure cuff off, and the oxygen tube in my nose and I go to get off the bed.
Ameena steps in front of me, her arms crossed and a look she's never given me before. "51-fuckin-50" Then pulls her pager from her hip.
The stethoscope around her neck looked so pull-able to move her, "You're the fucking crazy one. What the fuck do I need 51/50 for?!"
"Sit. Down." She's stern, and Oakleys silence wouldn't save me.
"Fine! Do your little ultrasound, and when the both of you see there's nothing there, I want to fucking leave." Looking down, blood stained my legs and I wanted to throw up. "Can I have a moment please?" I sighed frustratingly, my hands begin to shake.
