Born To Heal You (MilkCiize)

BTHY - 3 🥛🎀

I got her a new pillow. I even had the nerve to request a green bedsheet—it suits her so well, making her look more vibrant. I wonder what she looks like when she smiles. The next day, I gave her a haircut—layered but not too short, just enough to make her look handsome. Did I just say "handsome" instead of "pretty" for her? Oh, wow, I must be tired. But I never get tired. I was born a fighter. Exhaustion can't touch someone as mentally and physically strong as me.

Have I mentioned she has the most adorable set of teeth? They're so perfect, I bet she's hardly had to use them in her life. They're shiny and brilliant—any dentist would give her a round of applause. She smells so good, too. Imagine surviving six months with only body wipes—you'd think she'd stink. Is she a sleeping beauty or something? Everything about her is perfect. Rich people really are born flawless. I wish I were one of them. But no worries—I'll make my own way up.

I cleaned her nails, even her toes. Did I mention she has slim, elegant feet? I wanted to make them pink and pretty. I hope no one notices I polished them too much. I wiped her clean, changed her clothes, and even sang her a song while doing it. I wonder what kind of music rich people like. I checked her vitals, made sure everything was in order, tucked her in with a fleece blanket, and adjusted the air conditioning to the perfect temperature. I even read her a bedtime story. Why am I treating her like a baby instead of a patient? She's really something.

"Someday, I hope I get to meet you, Milk. Promise me you'll show me your most adorable smile, okay?" Wait—did I just say that out loud? Am I speaking without realizing it? Did she hear all my thoughts? Oh my, "Am I being a creep now, Milk?" I burst out laughing, knowing I shouldn't be shy around her. After all, I'm just a professional intern doctor taking care of her. Nothing more, nothing less. That's what I tell myself.

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One evening, just as I was about to leave, I noticed her having a rapid eye movement for a split second. Instinctively, I held her hand. Again, I felt that strange sensation. Though she didn't respond, I could sense something—like she was thankful, maybe even happy?

My skin started turning red. Was it an allergic reaction? "Do you even know I'm allergic to milk?" I joked. "But never to you, Milk." I think you're the only exception. I'm blushing, but not from discomfort—it's because I feel warm around her. I'm starting to act like a fool. I need to leave.

The next day, I made small talk with her, or maybe I was scolding her a little.

"Judging by how your doctors and nurses act, it seems like they've seen how cruel you were. Even asleep, they can't look at you for long. They fidget and hesitate to approach you. They even leave your medication on the table, giving me half-hearted permission to do as I please. Am I the only one not afraid of you?"

"If you were awake and tried to argue with me, I'm warning you—you'd never win. No one dares argue with a genius, you know. I'm not bragging, just stating facts. I could memorize every line you throw at me, fight back, and completely defeat you."

"I'm serious. I used to memorize the lyrics to Barbie songs from my rich neighbor's TV and then show up at the school theater auditions like I was a princess in a past life—a Barbie girl living in a Barbie world. Did you know I could also memorize all your medications and prescriptions if I could just decipher them?"

After talking so much, I realized I needed to do something. I had to figure out her true condition. Desperate, I started using my 'super brain powers' to analyze her medicines, trying to guess the dosage just by looking. I tried to identify the brand or chemical content by smelling them, even pretending to drop the medications so I could secretly pick them up from the trash and taste them. I know—it sounds pathetic. Could anyone still consider me a sane doctor? But who cares? I'm determined to do my detective work to save this one-of-a-kind person—my person. I don't know why, but it feels natural, like breathing. It feels like I was born to help her, to be with her... to heal her. It feels like she's the reason I was gifted the brilliance to become a doctor in this lifetime.

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I quit my other daytime job to focus on my intern shift and my studies—not the ones I need to pass to become a doctor, but the ones that will help me save my VIP, my very important patient. I've grown so attached to her—not in a weird way. Well, maybe a little weird, but not creepy. I just want to help.

I keep researching, trying to find ways to cure her. I watch her reactions, secretly test her medications in my makeshift lab, and analyze what they're made of. I know it's illegal, and I'll be in big trouble if I get caught. But who cares? What if they're giving her the wrong treatments? I shouldn't doubt this prestigious hospital I've admired since childhood, but I can't sit back and watch Milk convulse or lose her hair because they've messed up the dosage again. It's clear they don't fully understand her condition, so they keep trying different treatments, unsure if they'll help or harm her. Not on my watch. I won't let them experiment on my dear patient.

That's why I need to focus on being an intern. The pay barely supports my studies. I've accumulated so much student loan debt that my scholarship won't cover it all. My tuition is free, but all the other expenses aren't. I need to work extra.

As a result, I need to find a cheaper apartment—or, if I'm lucky, a free one. I'll have to cut my savings, and maybe my meal budget, but I won't give up on this mission. I want to save her life.

It's a huge sacrifice for someone I don't even know—someone who has no one else to take care of her. It's not pity; I'm just concerned.

Months I've worked here, I've never seen anyone visit her. Do rich people not care about their relatives? How sad is that? I lost my family to old age and poverty, but at least I have friends I'm proud of.

Was she really that cruel in her waking life that no one cares about her now? Or was she so aloof that no one got close enough to know her? Does she have a special someone? For someone as beautiful as her, she must have broken many hearts. Couldn't at least one admirer visit her, take care of her?

Why am I even being so nosy about her life? I really need to start acting more professional if I want to be one.