I guess “pretty bad” meant fourteen stitches. Gosh, when I tripped on that piece of driftwood I must have knocked my chin on a rock because sand wouldn’t do that much damage.
While I was in my room in the hospital – half of a relatively large room, divided by a curtain – a nurse who is apparently named Rena (I looked at her name tag) came to check up on me.
“Do you want some fuckin’ lemonade or not?!” she cussed.
I gave her a funny look and replied, “No thank you, I’m not really that thirsty.”
“Come on, it’s flavored with Captain Morgan’s. I know you want it now.” She says, obviously trying to get me to drink it.
“Seriously, I don’t drink.”
She paused a second, “Well fuck you then,” and left the room.
“God, what's up with her?”I whisper to myself, jumping when I hear a masculine voice reply, “She’s just a crazy old lady, don’t take it seriously.”
“Um, where are you?” I ask, confused, as I scan my side of the room.
"On the other side of the curtain." He says simply.
"Oh. Well," I had no idea what to say, "What's your name?"
"I'm Za-"
He was cut off by Rena busting in the door, "That's Aidsman. The dumb slut got aids."
This was all so bizarre. "Oh, hello Aidsman," it seemed so weird to say, "Nice to meet you. I'm Peyton."
YOU ARE READING
Private Beach
Novela JuvenilTo everyone, Peyton seems to be the the girl with a perfect life, but her life is far from that. Living with her older brother Pedro, her mother and father were both killed in a car crash, she is left to do nothing but waste the summer away with the...
