Page 25 of Kill Me

“There’s nothing that could find me in the dark that doesn’t find me in the daylight. Which way do we go now?”

“Straight ahead.” I follow Darla through the jungle of weeds, and the movement triggers the light to come back on. I take the opportunity to look in the opposite direction from last time before the light inevitably goes out again. Just ahead of me, I can see another building. It’s dark inside, but from where I’m standing it looks derelict.

“What’s over here?”

“This is where your room is,” Richard answers.

“But… It looks abandoned.”

“For you to understand the privilege of good health, you must first understand the basics. Privilege is something automatically assigned to someone at birth based on the circumstances they’re born into, the family they have, and the money they are provided. It seems that, despite being born into a good family, being given everything you’ve ever wanted, and being financially provided for, you’re still an ungrateful little bitch.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I just did. Who are you gonna tell?”

He’s got me there. Because there is no one. Well, there’s Harley, but he’s barely known me for twenty-four hours, and unless my dazzling personality made a lasting impression, the bullshit that is my life could seem to any untrained man that this is more hassle than it’s worth.

I refrain from commenting, which is so unlike me, but I’m starting to realise I have no leverage here. The best way forward is for me to pay attention to my surroundings, absorbing all of the information in order to make a plan. A plan that I probably won’t be able to execute, but at least I’ll feel like I’m not just wasting away and doing nothing.

Once we reach the building, I’m close enough to take in the details. Windows are broken, paint is peeling, bricks are missing. Now, some would assume my parents didn’t know about this part. From the front of the property, it looks just like you would assume a private hospital to look like, but this part, this part tells me that the only people responsible for me ending up here were Eric and my mother. This would have been a selling point for them to ‘knock me down a peg or two’. But still, I can’t help but try to put my case forward.

“What about me tells you that I’m an ungrateful little bitch, Richard?”

“Quinn, don’t—” Darla interrupts.

“No, let her dig her own grave.”

“Now that’s an interesting comment. Do you have a lot of patients dying on you, Richard?”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that?”

“It’s just your name. What’s the problem?”

“Well, stop it. It’s nurse to you.”

“Couldn’t cut it as a doctor, then? Or do you just like getting up close and personal with your victims? Sorry, I meant patients.”

“Has anyone ever told you your mouth gets you into trouble?” Darla whispers next to me.

“Yes, they have, but unfortunately for them, it just spurs me on more. Just because I’m a woman, it doesn’t make my thoughts, feelings, or opinions any less important than his. He’s acting like he’s superior to me based on limited information. Your job is to help people—it’s the literal definition of a nurse, is it not?”

“Well…”

“No, answer the question.”

“Of course we want to help people, but when someone is mentally ill, it makes it a harder process,” she responds.

“So, instead, you take the information given by the people that put them in here as gospel and whatever the patient tells you is a fabrication because of their mental illness?”

Darla looks contemplative. Like my words have hit somewhere, and she’s remembering why she started this job in the first place. Richard, on the other hand, looks pissed.

“It’s called a mental illness because it’s just that. All in your fucking head,” he scoffs as his face contorts.

He’s not a good-looking guy by any means. If I had to compare him to anything, it would be a mouldy, bruised peach. His face is reddened/ Whether that’s from exertion or sun exposure is anyone’s guess. He’s balding on his crown but has a tuft of hair still growing at the front, and it’s styled in one of those faux combovers, to make it look like he has more hair than he does. His eyes are sunken, his lids hooded. His entire appearance represents a blowfish, to be honest. He’d definitely be Nemo’s enemy, probably for kidnapping Dory and trying to turn her into a fish fry. His belly hangs over his trousers, and his nurse's tunic is bunched up on his chest where it can’t quite stretch over his stomach.

Darla, on the other hand, is a stark contrast. She has a body I would die for, curves in all the right places and the perfect height to be thrown around the bedroom and have a prime view at a concert. The best of both worlds. She has waist-length, dead-straight dark brown hair with bangs that frame her face. She’s naturally pretty, no enhancements, and not so much as a dab of makeup on her face. Uniforms are supposed to make a team cohesive, but I don’t think anything could achieve that with these two. It’s very clear that he calls the shots and she cleans up the mess.

“Ahhh, Dicky. Dicky Dick. Dickard. You poor, ignorant man.” He slaps me across the face. The sting is enough to shock me, but as it fades, it becomes quite pleasant. I feel cool liquid trickle down my chin and stick my tongue out. The taste of blood doesn’t surprise me; this isn’t my first rodeo, after all.