Lycan Alpha Claim 3 by Tamara Rose Blodgett, Marata Eros Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tamara Rose Blodgett, Marata Eros
through the slot.
It bears a doctor's name: Dr. Clive Matthews.
I give Sue a sharp look, and she shrugs, giving my hand a maternal pat. My eyes burn with tears from the spontaneous gesture.
Sue notices my emotional struggle and ignores it. “He got rid of my migraines. Miracle worker, I say.” She nods and glances at the card significantly.
I notice the appointment time and sigh.
Sue doesn’t drop her gaze. “How much longer are you going to struggle through those bone crushers?”
I don't answer, and she nods in her knowing way. “That's what I thought, Miss Mitchell. You'd have just come in suffering worse than your own patients.”
Sue’s right. She knows it, and I do too.
I take the card and stuff it in the pocket of my smock, Dr. Seuss cats cover it in a smear of red and blue.
“Thanks,” I say grudgingly while I grab my coat.
“Welcome,” she shoots back in triumph as I hear the door whisper closed behind me.
I look at the card again as the cars, people, and city noise encapsulate me in the comforting rhythm of downtown. The smell of fish, food, and sea mingle, and I begin the short trek to the dank alley with the entrance to my apartment.
I have two weeks to prepare myself to go back into a hospital. I hate hospitals. They're all about death.
The thought of returning is almost enough to get a proper panic attack going.
Almost.
~2~
I tenderly brush the hair off her forehead, though she doesn't feel it. She never knows when I'm with her. The rain coats the window, distorting the outside world and making this room a bubble of reality. The space is dim. That's a must, since too much light causes her to thrash. On some level, she rebels. It's my deepest regret that her rebellion couldn't have been sooner, when it could have saved her.
It's a good day when I don't cry when I visit.
Today my eyes are dry but the next time they might not be. I squeeze her hand, speaking softly. I lean forward to press a kiss on the tissue-thin skin of her forehead. It's translucent, the body inside, still and soft from lack of movement.
Life.
My mother lives but not as she should.
I rise like I have hundreds of times and move to the door of the clinic that takes care of catatonic, high-needs patients.
I have a new job.
I do cry then.
No one notices my tears anymore. They're used to them, and I don't bother to see their sympathy.
I have a date with Kiki.
*
Kiki swivels in front of her makeup table and smirks at me. My trench coat drips water onto the floor.
“Gawd!” Her full lips pout as she swipes another layer of sparkly crap on her lips. “You look like a drowned rat.”
Her face softens. “See your mom?”
I nod. Kiki knows it always sucker punches me to visit. It kills me not to. I face the evil I can bear.
“Well, let's get you in the slut suit, baby.” Kiki moves through the hanging costumes until she gets to my size, and she frowns slightly. “I don't know how I'm going to stuff that gazelle body in the average getup.” She taps her nail against her glossy lip and scowls when some of her handiwork comes off.
“Damn,” she swears softly, making the hangers move with an angry swish of her hand.
“No.” A blue outfit sails to the end of the size eight rack.
“No.” A glossy green spandex number with a painful looking strip of butt floss floats past.
Her eyes narrow to slits as a beige '20s flapper-style dress with cut outs at the nipples appears. “Fuck no!”
I laugh, and Kiki glares at me. “It's not funny, bunny. You need to look spanktastic this first time out of the gate.”
She's so serious I giggle again. “I'm not a damn horse!” I hold my sides as laughter peels out of me, and I feel closer to normal. I'm so grateful for the levity she brings that I don't know what to say. Even if I'm about to strip down to nothing in a roomful of strangers, Kiki makes it better.
She finally grins as her eyes light on something red.
I mouth no, and she says, “Hell
It bears a doctor's name: Dr. Clive Matthews.
I give Sue a sharp look, and she shrugs, giving my hand a maternal pat. My eyes burn with tears from the spontaneous gesture.
Sue notices my emotional struggle and ignores it. “He got rid of my migraines. Miracle worker, I say.” She nods and glances at the card significantly.
I notice the appointment time and sigh.
Sue doesn’t drop her gaze. “How much longer are you going to struggle through those bone crushers?”
I don't answer, and she nods in her knowing way. “That's what I thought, Miss Mitchell. You'd have just come in suffering worse than your own patients.”
Sue’s right. She knows it, and I do too.
I take the card and stuff it in the pocket of my smock, Dr. Seuss cats cover it in a smear of red and blue.
“Thanks,” I say grudgingly while I grab my coat.
“Welcome,” she shoots back in triumph as I hear the door whisper closed behind me.
I look at the card again as the cars, people, and city noise encapsulate me in the comforting rhythm of downtown. The smell of fish, food, and sea mingle, and I begin the short trek to the dank alley with the entrance to my apartment.
I have two weeks to prepare myself to go back into a hospital. I hate hospitals. They're all about death.
The thought of returning is almost enough to get a proper panic attack going.
Almost.
~2~
I tenderly brush the hair off her forehead, though she doesn't feel it. She never knows when I'm with her. The rain coats the window, distorting the outside world and making this room a bubble of reality. The space is dim. That's a must, since too much light causes her to thrash. On some level, she rebels. It's my deepest regret that her rebellion couldn't have been sooner, when it could have saved her.
It's a good day when I don't cry when I visit.
Today my eyes are dry but the next time they might not be. I squeeze her hand, speaking softly. I lean forward to press a kiss on the tissue-thin skin of her forehead. It's translucent, the body inside, still and soft from lack of movement.
Life.
My mother lives but not as she should.
I rise like I have hundreds of times and move to the door of the clinic that takes care of catatonic, high-needs patients.
I have a new job.
I do cry then.
No one notices my tears anymore. They're used to them, and I don't bother to see their sympathy.
I have a date with Kiki.
*
Kiki swivels in front of her makeup table and smirks at me. My trench coat drips water onto the floor.
“Gawd!” Her full lips pout as she swipes another layer of sparkly crap on her lips. “You look like a drowned rat.”
Her face softens. “See your mom?”
I nod. Kiki knows it always sucker punches me to visit. It kills me not to. I face the evil I can bear.
“Well, let's get you in the slut suit, baby.” Kiki moves through the hanging costumes until she gets to my size, and she frowns slightly. “I don't know how I'm going to stuff that gazelle body in the average getup.” She taps her nail against her glossy lip and scowls when some of her handiwork comes off.
“Damn,” she swears softly, making the hangers move with an angry swish of her hand.
“No.” A blue outfit sails to the end of the size eight rack.
“No.” A glossy green spandex number with a painful looking strip of butt floss floats past.
Her eyes narrow to slits as a beige '20s flapper-style dress with cut outs at the nipples appears. “Fuck no!”
I laugh, and Kiki glares at me. “It's not funny, bunny. You need to look spanktastic this first time out of the gate.”
She's so serious I giggle again. “I'm not a damn horse!” I hold my sides as laughter peels out of me, and I feel closer to normal. I'm so grateful for the levity she brings that I don't know what to say. Even if I'm about to strip down to nothing in a roomful of strangers, Kiki makes it better.
She finally grins as her eyes light on something red.
I mouth no, and she says, “Hell