- Can I do something for you? - She asks a little bored.
- I wish. - The words slip out of my mouth.
I see the look in her eyes, and I hasten to pull myself together as I take the gauze away from my cheek. - Yes, no, you see, the problem is that I have this little wound here, nothing serious, just a scratch. - I try not to look like a wuss. – I think it needs a stitch, or something like that. -
She got closer as I was speaking, and now she's looking at my wound. - Well, a stitch would be too much and it would leave a scar. Some surgical glue should be enough. -
Surgical glue? Is she going to super glue me? I was just joking about it earlier!
- Sit down and stay put, – she says.
I instantly sit down on the stool behind me. She looks at me with a raised eyebrow, surprised by my reaction time after having received an order. She crosses her arms and nods. - Obedient. -
I shrug. - I am used to it. -
She begins to rummage in the cabinet. - Got a girl with an iron grip? -
No, a mother, I say in my head. By the Gods, I can't talk about my mother. I steer the conversation in another more useful direction. - I don't have a girlfriend. -
She says nothing. Either she didn't hear me or she's ignoring me. I bet on the latter. She returns with a little bottle, takes another stool and places it in front of me, she then sits down.
- Now I'll close the wound to make the cut match, it will feel a little uncomfortable. -
I nod. But when she moves forward I instinctively move away.
- HEY! - She protests.
- Don't HEY me! It's not uncomfortable, it hurts! - I protest.
She rolls her eyes while raising one eyebrow. Then she bursts out laughing. – Where did you come from? -
- What do you mean? - I mumble.
She laughs again. - Everyday I take care of injuries of all kinds. I put stitches, I put fractures back together without anesthesia, and no one says anything. And then here you come with just a scratch and you complain that it hurts? If I disinfect it, will you tell me that it burns? - She's really enjoying herself.
How annoying. - Look, if everybody who comes in here plays tough in front of you just because you're a girl, it's none of my concern. If you hurt me, I'll tell you, okay? Besides, you said it would feel uncomfortable, but it actually hurts. If you had told me the truth, I'd have been ready. - I sound a little querulous.
She stares at me, containing another burst of laughter. - Fine. This is going to hurt a little, then. And the glue burns a bit, but just a little, okay? -
I nod. - Okay. -
She goes back to work on my face. - And if you're a good boy, I'll give you a candy. -
I flicker an eyebrow. - I could use a kiss. -
After a few minutes, she goes back to the med cabinet and comes back with something that I only recognize when she puts it in my hand.
A candy.
She chuckles.
My eyebrows flicker again. - Well, thank you. - Now, why on earth would the Confederation's infirmary hold candies!? I shrug and eat it. - Good. - I get up and follow her. – Why do you have candies in here? -
She shakes her head as she sits at her desk and fills out something with my ally code on. - Those are mine, I couldn't let you leave without one. -
She's seriously pulling my leg.
- Well, as I said, a kiss would have been fine. -
She puts her pen down and looks at me sighing. - Have you got any idea of how much testosterone passes through this infirmary? If I gave everyone what they wanted... -
- I got the picture. -
- HEY, NADJA! - I turn and Tears is at the door, his hands in his pockets, widely grinning. - Got time for a gyn exam? -
By the Gods, I'll pretend not to know him...
She calmly opens a drawer and pulls out a nasty looking tool. - Tears, let me know when you want your prostate checked. -
I see his grin crumbling away.
And I'm in love with this woman.
****
If he keeps on talking, I'll wedge his head in the window and finish the trip back home as if I had a blue Labrador on board.
- I don't understand! There was a woman like that at the Confederation and you never told me? - He's fidgeting all over the passenger seat.
- Why, you're interested in women now? I thought you were gay, - I answer.
He looks at me, squinting his eyes. - Even if I were, with a specimen of a man like you at home, I would have turned straight. -
I sigh. - Look, Nadja doesn't give in to anyone. The whole Confederation tried to get her laid. -
- I don't want to bed her! - He protests.
- Fag, – I say.
- Dickhead. Maybe she acts like that because everybody is only trying to have a go at her, instead of trying to get to know her a little better. -
Jeez. - If you say something sweet now, I'm gonna puke on you. -
An headache is coming, I can feel it.
- Well, excuse me, didn't you have to get to know Electra a little before you had sex with her? - He asks me.
- No. - Meanwhile I turn to go down the descent leading to the underground house garage.
- I don't believe you. -
- We slept together the day we met. -
I park the car.
****
- Huh. – I get out of the car and shut the door. Tears puts the alarm on and calls for the hoist. - How romantic, - I murmur while I open the wooden hoist shutter and enter the house. I wasn't expecting such an answer.
- It's called pragmatism, - he says while closing the shutter and entering the living room. He throws the holster with the Beretta in it on the couch and automatically opens the fridge.
When he gets home, he always goes through the same routine: he throws the gun, goes to the fridge, takes a beer, drains half of it and burps. Then he crushes on the couch and turns the TV on.
One of these days I'd like to place an obstacle on his path or, maybe, I don't know, block the refrigerator door or move the sofa, just to see how he reacts. Maybe he would just sit on the floor where the couch used to be.
A simple fauna study.
****
It's been two days since I took him to the Confederation to be medicated and, in the meantime, I had to take him back another three times, first to have that fucking tiny scar checked, then because his back hurt, and then his head. If he comes up with a new excuse, like a toothache or a stomachache, I'll give him a real reason to go back to the infirmary.
That's what I'm thinking when I hear the gunshot.
And it comes from the rookie's room.
I snap up and jot down the door, holding my loaded Beretta. I look to the right, then to the left. All clear.
Zen is at the desk, his head is tilted on the table top and he's holding his Glock.
The window is closed, the door was closed... What the hell is going on?
I shake him. - HEY! What the fuck happened? -
He raises his head slowly. His eyes are red. Is he crying? He's holding his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. I look down and I see the blood. I understand what happened and I can't believe it. - SHIT! DID YOU JUST SHOOT YOUR FOOT? How the fuck did you do it? -
He still holding his hand over his mouth, it must hurt like hell.
I squat down and check it out. A perfectly vertical shot. - What the fuck were you doing? Were you cleaning your gun? -
He inhales and exhales, maybe he's getting his ability to talk back, or maybe he's just about to give birth, I don't know.
He shakes his head meaning 'No, I wasn't'.
I look at him and he looks back at me. I get up slowly. - Tell me you were cleaning the gun. -
He opens his mouth but I hold up a hand to stop him. - Tell me you were... -
- I did it on purpose. -
- NO! Damn it! - That was not the right answer! - Holy shit, for Nadja? - He nods. - THEN WALK TO THE CONFEDERATION, MORON! -
I get out of the room without even being able to slam the door, since I have unhinged it coming in.
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