“She’s a feisty one, isn’t she….yes…she’ll defiantly do well” a rough voice says, barely audible.
I let my eyes flicker open. The sharp stabbing sensation on the side of my head doesn’t hit me immediately, but when it does I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning in pain.
I slowly become aware of my surroundings. The white, speckled ceiling comes into view.
“Ah, will you look at that…nurse! She’s awake! Please do take good care of her, I need her good as new by tomorrow morning. Same with the others” the voice says and then I hear the receding sound of strong footsteps exiting the room.
I roll my head carefully to the side. A stark white bedside table sits there on which tissues, books, and pamphlets are staked upon. The floor is white with a glossy finish and I can hear footsteps ringing off of it. The room is small, about the size of my bedroom at home. Everything is pristine and white. White curtains, white door, white bed sheets covering me, and the white metal bed I’m lying on.
I try to pull myself up into a sitting position, but my strength fails me. My hands and legs feel weighted down and I can barely move my head without intense pain.
I let my eyes trail to the door of the room as movement outside draws my attention to it. The handle turns and I don’t know what to expect. It swings open and a woman emerges, walking backwards and dragging a metal cart through the entrance.
She turns around after shutting the door and grins at me brightly. The amount of fake enthusiasm in her expression is painful. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled tightly into a bun that sits on top of her head neatly, not a stray wisp in sight. Her eyes are twice normal size and heavily lined in black eyeliner. Her perfectly straight teeth are blindingly white and enhanced further with the florescent red lipstick that overpowers the rest of her face. Her white uniform contains no wrinkles and she gently smooth’s it down before walking over to me, her heels click irritatingly on the floor.
“Hello, Darcie! My name is Blair” she says in a high pitched voice that sounds as if it’s aimed at preschoolers.
“Are you sure you’re qualified as a nurse? You don’t seem to fit the profession” I ask her, still slightly groggy.
Her act falters for half a second, but she regains herself, blinking madly.
“Um..yes..yes, Ms. Augustine. As I was saying, I’m going to be taking good care of you today. Don’t be frightened, everything is going to be okay. I promise” she says.
I almost throw up. Instead, I laugh. Everything is going to be okay? She promises? Now, if that’s not the funniest joke I’ve ever heard, then I don’t know what is.
“How is it going to be okay? Let me ask you that. Now, I’d rather you drop the happiness act and give me the cold hard truth because that’s a whole lot easier to handle then sitting here being lied to, okay?” I rant, raising my voice.
She furrows her brow and the glow in her eyes goes out. I almost feel guilty.
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I assure you that I am going to make your head feel much better, at least” she sighs.
I narrow my eyes at her as she reaches out her hand and brings it up to my head, bringing it up to my injury and touching it gently. The contact hurts so much that tears well up in my eyes and spots appear in my vision. I yell and hit her hand out of the way.
“Please, you just have to let me help” she begs and I shake my head angrily.
“No! Just go! I don’t need you or your help! I’m going to leave right now and I’m going to go home” I tell her, trying to get up.
