Sugar And Spice // Ratched

Best Regards

"Richard Hanover!" Amora burst through his doors without an ounce of respect nor grace. She came in with fists balling at her sides and an overwhelming feeling of sadness brewing in her chest.

Amora's head snapped in the direction of the bar to the right of his office. There, Dr. Hanover was seated in a plump chair of blue with a look of absolute worry and surprise.

"Miss Amora." he sounded scattered. She stormed inside only to become just as flustered and taken off guard as Dr. Hanover. His beady eyes staring back at her in a brewery of worry and relief.

"Oh..." the sound was almost inaudible as she collected herself and straightened her physique. "I didn't expect you to have a guest." she remained docile, unamused with him still, but for the sake keeping her composure, she obliged to being sentimental and considerate of the man sat across from Dr. Hanover.

"I'm with a patient." he stated sternly, yet he was clearly too afraid to move from his seat.

Her eyes scanned the man before her, who too expressed surprise, but unlike Dr. Hanover, he looked pleased to see her, and even hid his smirk with dazed eyes, like he had be hopped up on drugs which made his head all fuzzy and incoherent.

She was drawn to him, for he looked too ordinary to be a patient, and too in control to be in a one-on-one therapy session in Dr. Hanover's office, with no chains, no restraints, and no supervision. She felt conflicted to the news of his province in the hospital.

Amora furrowed her brows and shook her head, trying her best to remain on target with her mission and ignore the handsome man across from her. "Expect me in an hour." she spat bitterly, walking back into the corridor to attend to a few more patients before having words with Dr. Hanover.

She sighed angrily and stalked into the locker room despite being on the clock. She took a moment to herself to think back on the recent events that would leave the world with her. She hated seeing that kind and beautiful woman in such agony. She hated being forced to follow those orders at which evidently hurt the patients more than they assisted them. She hated working under a man of such controversial methods.

However, the reason she stayed was for the few success stories she was able to hold close to her heart. The reason she dealt with all the trauma in the hospital, was because of her need to help others. The smiles she'd receive when patients were able to live a better life. The tears in their eyes when they were able to walk into a room and feel at ease with their inner thoughts, it was what fueled her. Amora needed those smiles, those happy tears, those breathes of fresh air. If she was to keep that, she needed to deal with the opposing side of things.

The death, the blood, the fear in patients eyes, the pain they'd endure only to receive no positive outcome, the disappointment in some people's eyes when they couldn't be cured.

That was life. But when she knew there was no reason for such pain to be endured by a patient, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. There was no way she would be able to let that kind of treatment continue.

After working with people who are seeking help, she knew how to read people better than most nurses and orderlies there. The way Mrs. Cartwright would look at her, the plea in her eyes; they weren't adoring eyes of eager peace. They were ones of desperate weeping, ones screaming for someone to say something, to do something. She didn't truly want to be there, that was evident to her.

That smile, that weak smile. She knew Mrs. Cartwright's intentions were pure, that everyone around her forced her to think she was ill. But that wasn't the case.

How could something so biologically rewarding be a crime? How can love be considered a sickness? How could people have such control over people's lives that they resort to this? In return for an intense kind of love, they shall receive a tortuous pension in acts of expression? How dare they? How dare Amora take part in that? She couldn't; she wouldn't.