Time To Go

Fourteen: John O

"Give the needle to me."

"Doctor, I don't think-"

"Just give the Goddamn needle to me, Mara, before I have to fire you... look at him."

The black-haired woman looks down at me pityingly as I thrash pathetically on the floor, blood running down over my entire frame as it dribbles from my mouth.

"Listen, Mara, he has probably popped his lungs; he has been screaming his head off for the last four hour... just give me the needle and he can go to sleep."

"No... no, please, no, he might come back," I gasp, my voice moving from its peak to its lowest. I choke on the foul-tasting liquid as it pours from between my lips. "Please... please, doctor, I need to stay away for him... please..."

But he has the needle, its point is in my arm, and I'm suddenly gone.

* * * * * *

I wake up to the smell of soap, and realize that they had washed me while I was out. I feel like a Barbie doll, being undressed and scrutinized and played with while I smile blankly, fake hazel eyes permanently open in false beauty.

I try to make a noise from my mouth but it won't quite come out properly. My chest is on fire, hurting more than anything.

"Nice to see that you're awake, John," a female voice says and Mara, the pretty nurse, appears in the doorway. She walks over to my bed and sits down beside my bed in the seat. "I'm sorry about what happened before. Do you remember?"

I nod.

"Can you talk? Make any noise whatsoever?"

I shake my head.

She nods. "You didn't pop a lung, thankfully, but you did damage one. Your rib has been fractured too. Any idea how that happened?"

I shake my head, but I know... I just can't tell her.

He throws me against the bed, my thin body curving in ways it shouldn't curve in order to accommodate the metal pole driving into my side...

"You have a button just there, if you need anything, press it and someone will come, okay?" She points to a rather comical-looking red button beside me on the table as she smiles gently. "You look so non-plussed sitting there, John. It's awful seeing you like this. You already look like you've given in." She pauses, leaning forward in her seat. "Who was that man? The dark-haired guy. He left when I came to see if you were alright."

I want so desperately to tell her about him. She seems like she's the only one who would understand, but all I can manage is a shrug and she smiles again.

"You know, if you weren't a patient, I would take you out somewhere," she tells me.