Page 127 of Contempt

Pretended it didn’t come closer.

The pain was back again.

Fucking pain.

So was the floating feeling.

This is not what I asked for, he told God.

He was pretty sure he heard God laugh back.

“… Ren?”

“… Hey, Ren ….”

“… Renzo …”

“… I don’t want to hate you for doing this. Don’t make me hate you for this, please …”

• • •

“Can you … stop?” Renzo snapped.

The nurse took a wide step back from his bed, and he immediately felt like shit for barking at her like an asshole. He was just sick and fucking tired of being touched. Every time they touched him, it felt like his skin was crawling. Not to mention, the goddamn pain. With every IV change … the broken bones that were just beginning to heal … the hairline scar from where they’d cut open his head to remove three clots inside his brain from the trauma.

It all hurt.

It never stopped.

He was done with being touched.

Done.

“I’m sorry,” Renzo muttered, his throat thick and his tongue dry. “I just … been awake for two days, and you all won’t leave me alone.”

Not that those two days had done a lot for him. His vision cleared after the first day, and he could finally move today. Or … as much as was expected considering his injuries and the trauma to his brain. It was going to take a while for him to get out of this bed and even walk to the bathroom by himself, as much as he hated the very idea.

But it wasn’t this woman’s fault.

He bet this nurse took shit a lot from patients, and families. People didn’t understand the hell nurses went through on a daily basis. They were the people still at the hospital long after a patient fell into a restless sleep, and the family had gone home. They were here cleaning the patients, feeding them, and making sure they stayed alive.

Nobody understood.

Nobody appreciated them for what they did.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

The nurse gave him a smile, saying quietly, “I guess your IV does look okay—just a little bit of blood in the tube. I suppose I can leave it until just before my shift change. How about that?”

God.

That sounded perfect.

Renzo nodded as best he could against the pillow. “Thanks.”

Sometimes, his words still came out slurred or confused. Sometimes, he thought he was saying one thing, but he was saying another. It was annoying and frustrating, to say the least, but it was expected.

Or at least, that’s what the neurosurgeon explained.