Page 21 of Psycho Killers

"I've contacted your friends," the doctor says, scribbling in my chart. "They've been incredibly worried. Your girlfriend has been here day and night for the past three weeks."

"When can I leave?" I ask, blatently ignoring his words.

"You'll be staying at least overnight, possibly longer for further tests. I know you want to go home, Mr. Moret?—"

"It's fucking Ash. Call me Ash," I interrupt, wincing at the sound of my father's name.

A shiver runs down my spine, my hands clammy; the machine's beeping escalating. The doctor places a hand on my shoulder, a gesture that feels both paternal and strangely alien.

"I understand you want to go home, Ash, but we need to ensure your safety. There are resources available?—"

"I don't need fucking drug classes, doc. It was an accident," I insist, unsure if I even believe myself.

He nods, a reassuring smile on his face, and leaves with the other nurses—all except the platinum blonde. She lingers, feigning the preparation of medication, a convenient excuse to remain in my room. When the door shuts and the voices in the hall get further away, the nurse comes over to my bedside, a loaded syringe and a smirk on her face as she sways her hips purposefully. I try to sit up, but only get so far; however, it's just enough to see the ass she's working with, jiggling in her tight red scrubs. I can already feel my dick getting hard, so I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that part of me still works.

"It's med time, handsome," she says softly, batting her long, obviously fake lashes.

Calista's are real...

"What is it?" I ask as she twists off the cap to the syringe and pops the plug on my IV port.

"A nice little dose of morphine and Valium." She winks, pushing the cold liquid into my IV, the coolness spreading through my veins immediately.

"Why morphine if I came in for an overdose?" I ask, mumbling, but not high enough to be nodding off.

"You've got a couple broken ribs from your seizures, I guess when you were held down, but anyway, it's for the pain. You should be feeling better now," she says, lingering by my bedside, gripping the bedrail with her perfect, manicured nails.

She's too fucking hot to be a nurse. Too dolled up and shit. But she's still fine as fuck, and all I can think about is fucking her.

"What's your name?" I ask, the light dancing like rays of sun in my eyes.

"Jo," she says, smiling, licking those thick lips once again.

The morphine and Valium hit me almost instantly, a wave of warmth washing over my anxieties. The sharp edges of my angersoften, replaced by a hazy contentment. Her presence, so close, so… available, becomes a comforting blanket.

I watch, mesmerized, as she meticulously cleans the IV site, her movements slow and deliberate, each touch sending a shiver down my spine. The scent of her perfume, a heady mix of something fruity and something..., fills my senses.

"You… you're fucking gorgeous... Jo," I manage, my voice thick with the medication.

She smiles, a slow, knowing smile that makes my heart pound. "Thank you, Ash," she purrs, her voice a low, husky whisper. She leans closer, her breath warm against my ear. "You're pretty cute yourself, even if you are a bit of a hot mess."

Her fingers brush against mine, lingering for a moment before she pulls away. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, a stark contrast to the dull ache in my ribs. I don't know if it's because I've been alone for three weeks or if she's really affecting me in some way. But it feels like I'm betraying Cali, and in a way I am. But if I'm going to unleash my anger, it just can't be on her. I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened to her because of me.

The room seems to fade, the beeping of the machines becoming a distant hum. It's just her and me, the world shrinking down to the space between us.

"I... I don't remember much," I confess, my voice barely audible. "The overdose… or whatever it was."

"It's okay," she says softly, her hand finding its way back to mine. "You don't have to remember. Just… rest."

Her touch is gentle, reassuring. The fear, the confusion—it all begins to recede, replaced by a strange, almost unsettling calm. But oddly enough, the anger is still there. I feel it stronger than ever. I close my eyes, the image of Cali's face—her impossibly perfect features, her knowing smile—imprinted on my eyelids.

The morphine pulls me under, a gentle tide carrying me away from the harsh reality of the hospital, the accident, the overdose. But even as sleep claims me, a nagging question remains: is this real, or is she just another hallucination, a figment of my drugged mind, a beautiful, dangerous distraction from the truth? The truth about what happened, and the truth about the woman who is now holding my hand.

With her other hand, she reaches beneath the hospital blanket and up the gown I'm wearing, wrapping her hand around my cock, already rock hard. My eyes fling open. Sleep isn't even a thought anymore. I grin, looking her dead in the eye.

"Don't be shy, Jo," I tease, putting the bedrail down and pushing the blanket off my lap. "You know you want to suck my dick, so what the fuck are you waiting for?" I ask, seriousness written all over my face, which she seems to respond to perfectly.

"I thought you'd never ask," she purrs, lowering her head to my lap while her soft hand fists my cock, sending chills through my body.

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