Page 80 of Provoke You

23

Assume Your Opponent Wants to Hurt You

Ela

Nurse Lydia’s good bedside manners lasted all of two days. After my first attempt at escaping last night, she’d decided she couldn’t trust me. I pulled on the restraint on my wrist. It didn’t do anything, but it made me feel as though I were at least trying.

“Another one?” I asked when she plunged the needle into my intravenous tube. “You know, for a rehab center, you’re not trying very hard to get me off the cocktails.”

“Some patients need more help than others.”

What was her deal? I’d never seen so much contempt in someone’s face.

“You don’t even know me.” My eyes dropped, and I glanced at the clock on the wall. This had to be a different concoction to be taking effect so quickly. It’d taken fifteen minutes before. Almost enough time for me to bust out of here. Almost.

“If I’ve met one spoiled rich girl, I’ve met them all. Throwing away your life simply because you can. I’m glad your dad reached out to me. It was time you were brought to your senses.”

Funny she should mention senses. All of mine were completely numb since I woke up in this ward yesterday. I pulled on the restraint again to measure my strength. The chain on the bed rail barely rattled. I checked the time before I drifted. Ten past eleven. In the morning? Or afternoon? The lack of windows in the room made it hard to tell.

When I woke again, Lydia sat in a vinyl-upholstered chair next to my bed. Anyone who didn’t know us would think she was a concerned grandmother. Grans would never have allowed this. I pulled on the restraint, and my hand hit the other side of the bed. My arm was free. My inner elbow ached from where she had to reinsert the needles several times.

“I removed those so you can shower. Your dad will be by later tonight.” She shifted the tray table in front of me. “Eat first. Then we’ll tend to the washing up.”

I didn’t feel like eating, but I needed to keep my strength if I was going to get out of here. I scarfed down the insipid chicken and green beans. Nurse Lydia kept watch until everything on the plate was gone, even the apple juice.

When I finished, she pulled back the covers. My feet still had scrapes on the soles from when I tried to escape last night. If I’d had shoes and clothes that didn’t show my ass, I would’ve made it past the stairwell. I sized her up. She was at least a foot shorter than me, plump around the midsection. But weren’t those scrubs meant to be one size fits all? Her feet were smaller than mine too. No luck there.

“Hands up.” She removed my hospital gown.

I brought my legs up to my chest. I’d never been a modest person, but I didn’t appreciate a stranger looking at my nude body without my permission. More than the clothes, she’d stripped me of all choice. She decided when I ate, when I slept, and when I showered. A lump churned in my stomach. How long did they think they could keep me like this? Two days was already too long.

“Go on.” She nudged me.

I obeyed because a shower sounded nice. The last time I washed up was right after I threw up my guts the morning they brought me in. I counted the days in my head. How long ago was that? Only two days? This routine with Nurse Lydia felt as if we’d done it for months. She’d come in, feed me, rearrange my bed, then drug me until it was time for my next meal.

My bare feet slapped the cold and sticky floor. The room smelled of bleach, and my chicken dinner threatened to make a reappearance. She kept a watchful eye on me as I padded my way to the bathroom. I reached out to run the water, but she beat me to it.

“Are you going to stand there and ogle me while I wash up?”

“If you behaved, I’d trust you more. You have one minute.”

I rolled my eyes, but did as she asked, using the antibacterial soap to wash my hair and body. She shut off the water and handed me a towel. Clean felt good, even though I smelled like the hospital floor.

“Clothes.” She pointed her chin at the pile sitting on top of the toilet.

“Must be an important visit.” I grabbed the worn gown and pulled it over my head. This one was just as frayed, but it at least had strings. I tied those as tight as they would go. When nurse Lydia didn’t move to let me through, I checked the toilet again. Tears stung my eyes. She’d brought socks for me. No doubt to cover up the scrapes on my feet. Would Dad really care if they kept me in less than mint condition? I donned the fuzzy socks as quickly as I could and turned to face her.

She ushered me to the chair in the room and pushed me down onto it. I squeezed my eyes shut when she ran a comb through my hair. I wasn’t a fucking doll.

“When your dad comes in. You will keep quiet, understood?”

“Yes. That’s usually how he likes it. No talking.”

“And this is why. But we will show him that your attitude is already improving.” She set the comb down on the bedside table and gestured for me to climb back into bed.”

The sheets were wrinkled and threadbare. My back ached at the idea of going back in. I faced her. My socks slid easily on the floor, warm and cozy on my feet. How far would I be able to get with them on? I climbed back on the mattress, and she pulled the covers over me.

She sat on her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. In the pocket of her scrubs, she had a syringe sticking out. She’d removed the needles from my arm, but she was still planning on drugging me after Dad left.

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