Page 60 of Sebastian

I was out of tears, though the urge to cry remained. The logical part of my brain said that it was probably a sign of dehydration, but it was easier to think that I’d simply used them all up.

Surely there had to be a limited number of tears a person could shed.

Why did people cry anyway?

From a biological standpoint, it made no sense. When a person was distressed, unnecessarily wasting water and vital nutrients seemed counterproductive to human survival.

The door to the room quietly opened. I didn’t bother looking away from my staring contest with the ceiling, assuming it was either Frankie or Damien coming to check on me. Or maybe even my sister. So many people had come and gone through the door today that I’d stopped keeping track.

The person went over to Sebastian’s bedside, so I assumed it was Damien, but the footsteps were too light. At first, I dismissed this observation as paranoid, until I realized the sound of the person’s shoes on the floor didn’t sound right. The shoe had too much of a heel to be Damien. The man was already over six feet. He didn’t need to make himself taller.

As I looked over at Sebastian, the room was dark, but the curtains were open. Early morning light gave me a clear view at the woman standing over Sebastian.

It was Miss Constella, the hospital’s administrator. The square glasses and tight bun she always wore were easily recognizable.

“Administrator Constella, what are you doing here?”

She flinched, but quickly calmed herself as she turned to look at me. “Nurse Clary. Forgive me. I thought you were asleep.”

I shrugged and sat up, pulling the blanket away so my legs weren’t tangled. “It’s hard to sleep right now. So, what are you doing?”

“Oh,” she gestured back toward Sebastian. “Just administering his medication. We’re short staffed today, so I’m helping out where I can.”

I laughed as though we were merely chatting in the break room. “When are we not short staffed?”

Even as I said it, my eyes zeroed in on her hands. Her gesture had been strange. The way her body was angled put her right side closer to Sebastian, but she’d gestured toward him with her left hand.

That’s when I noticed the syringe held in her right hand.

“What’s that?” I nodded toward the syringe while at the same time letting one leg dangle off my bed so my bare foot touched the cold floor.

She didn’t raise the syringe to give me a better look, but she also didn’t try to hide it either. “Just some extra steroids, to help his lungs heal faster. They were pretty badly damaged from the smoke.”

I nodded, keeping my eye on the syringe. “They just administered his meds an hour ago. I’m surprised the doctors are prescribing more. He’s already being given a high dose of corticosteroids. Are his injuries worse than we thought?”

One of the things I found most annoying when I’d been studying to become a nurse was the fact that so many medications looked the same. Pills were fine, but liquid medication was almost all clear. As a visual learner, it had made memorizing the different medications very difficult. However, after many hours of work I’d finally managed it.

Now, these seemingly similar medications no longer looked the same. Slight differences in the clarity and viscosity of each liquid were nearly as telling as the name on the label.

Looking at the syringe now, I didn’t know exactly what it held, but the liquid inside was definitely too thin to be corticosteroids like Administrator Constella claimed.

Our eyes met.

We both moved at the same time. She lunged for Sebastian while I dove at her.

Sometimes being small had advantages. I could move quickly in tight spaces.

I grabbed her arm when the syringe was only inches from Sebastian’s chest. The two of us tumbled to the floor together. I landed on my back in the space between the beds with Administrator Constella’s weight on top of me.

She still held the syringe. Realizing her plan had failed, she changed tactics and plunged the syringe down toward me instead. I caught her wrist before the needle could touch me. We fought for control of the syringe, but the position didn’t give me much leverage. I could only push against her with my arms while she bore down on me with all her weight.

Slowly, my strength failed, and the needle inched closer.

“Crazy bitch,” I spat through clenched teeth. My legs flailed. I accidentally kicked one of the beds, but I barely noticed the new pain in my foot.

“It’s your fault,” she said as she pushed the syringe closer. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

“And you shouldn’t have tried to kill my boyfriend.”

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