by KC Decker
“Does it involve licking your penis?”
He drops his chin to his chest and gives a sort of snort-laugh. “No, but I wouldn’t turn you down.”
“What would I have to do?”
“How about skip wearing panties for the party?”
“Now, you missed the memo.”
“I’m not sayin you have to show me or anything, I just think I’d be really sexy. And my sister bakes a mean birthday cake.”
“I’ll think about it. King me.”
***
After a horrible loss at checkers and nearly a whole puzzle, I’ve decided that Wes is a great guy. Not my guy, but a great one. It turns out he was the passenger in a drunk driving accident that killed a young mother. He struggles with it because he fed his buddy shots all night before getting in the car with him. That’s a lot to have on your conscience.
He is here voluntarily, which I told him is a good place to start, but I don’t really have any words of wisdom for him—even after clocking all kinds of time here myself.
He should talk to Colleen, even though she doesn’t run any of the groups, she has a way with words. Plus, she backs everything up with God’s weigh-in, so her nuggets of wisdom are all the more powerful. Colleen would tell him that he can’t change the past, but that he can choose to move forward and make a positive impact on the world every day. I think that’s where he should focus his energy, and I told him as much.
Chapter 15
Wes certainly delivered on the cake. It’s a two-tier creation that may or may not have originally been for a little girl’s Frozen birthday party. It’s blue and glittery and dusted with shredded coconut made to look like snow. There is also an Elsa cake-topper suspiciously close to the cake, but no longer on top of it.
The staff, no doubt encouraged by Colleen, has also delivered. They have supplied a cucumber facial mask, a manicure set, some hair chalk designed to make bright pink and blue streaks in your hair, and some scented lotions. Let’s not forget the men, they will be distracted from the concurrent festivities with popcorn and orange Fanta. That seems fair enough.
I have heard that Sutton will be in attendance this evening, as well. Which is unusual because he will stay late now and then, and he is always on call for when I suffer in the night, but a full evening basking in his glow sounds pretty amazing. I don’t know where he plans to ally himself, with the guys or us, but I have been sucking on nervous excitement all day.
In case you are wondering, I haven’t decided about the panties—or the lack of panties, I should say. Wes’ sister brought the cake to visiting hours, and in a way that obligates me to go without. However, I never fully committed to the trade-off, I merely said I would think about it.
I don’t want to give Wes the wrong idea, but if I’m honest, he has loosened up a bit since I told him I am interested in someone else. He has respected the boundary and now sits aptly in the friend-zone.
Since I’ve admitted to my friends that I’m hot for Sutton and spoken my secret to the universe, the wheels of fate have been in motion. On the advice of my friends, I have presented myself, not as a vulnerable patient, but as a sexual being. I’ve seen Sutton put aside his doctor persona more and more, but damn-it, he still feels a responsibility to me as his patient. His morals have been tested, but they haven’t exactly wavered.
There are times that I zone out when he is talking and hone in on his lips. I’m endlessly curious about what it would be like to be kissed by him, and I feel an almost primal need to be touched and explored by his mouth and hands.
I’ve been staring at the same paragraph in my book for thirty minutes when Matty plops down next to me. He has just come from his session with Sutton, so there are a million ways our conversation might go.
“I heard it’s my birthday today.”
“Yeah, one for the record books, apparently.”
“V said Sutton will be in attendance. You know what that means, right?” he asks as he conspiratorially scooches closer to me, so he can keep our conversation quiet, and just between us.
“That he will get overtime? What the heck are you saying?”
“Just that he won’t really be here in a professional capacity. Do you think he gives a shit about watching Monday night football with all these clowns? He will be here casually, so it will be a perfect time to flirt with him.”
“Matty, I don’t know how to flirt,” I hiss, more in fear than anything.
“Lord have mercy, MERCY. You really are a baby deer, aren’t you?”
“I really prefer the term, novice, but I’m a quick learner, so hurry up.”
“All I want you to worry about for tonight is looking hot—don’t worry, I got you. And you need to smile at him no less than five separate times. There is an art to it though, you need to let him catch you staring at him. Then you smile and turn away shyly…but only briefly! Then you look back and do it again. After an hour or so of that, you let him catch you looking at him, but you don’t look away, you wink at him.”
“Matty! That’s bush league, I flirt more than that in my sessions with him.”
“I know, but asking about his cock-stands is too overt. I’m saying you need to appeal to the predator in him, he is stalking you right now. As soon as you look vulnerable, you are going to start running—and he is going to chase you down. Got it?”
“And you don’t think winking at him is too overt?”
“Not at all, it’s playful…and it sets a trap that he can’t help but walk into. Plus, remember, he won’t be here as your doctor. Now, where are we with Wes? I heard Lyla talking to him about breaking you in a little, here and there.”
“WHAT?”
“Shhhh, I didn’t say you had to serve him up your V-card, just shake off a little chastity, maybe learn how to kiss with your tongue.”
“Lyla asked him to break me in here and there? What was she thinking?”
“Her heart is in a good place. Listen, this might be hard to hear, but you need to understand that it’s not all that attractive to be a girl when Sutton wants a woman.”
Matty’s words scorch themselves across my brain and leave a charred path in their wake. I have never thought about the fact that Sutton most likely will not want to teach me everything from the ground up. There is truth to Matty’s words. I am a girl, and Sutton most certainly wants a woman.
***
While we are all in daily reflection group, the nursing staff makes an attempt to decorate for Matty’s birthday party. They do the best they can within the parameters of the hospital, which means, no latex balloons, no ribbons to hang ourselves with, and no banners—for the same reason.
They have utilized a single roll of crepe paper streamers, and in order to maximize the effect, they have only placed them over our little area of couches by the windows, where we read and gossip about Sutton.
Speaking of Sutton, he is not here yet, but my friends have done my hair and makeup, and Lyla has dressed me like her own personal doll. Which translates to me breaking about five different dress codes, and calling all kinds of attention to it from the ten pounds of makeup I’ve been dipped in.
We don’t actually have mirrors on the unit, but we have these metal-like trays above our sinks that serve as mirrors. So, besides feeling like my face cannot breathe through the occlusion of spackle and facial contouring, I’m not entirely sure how I look. My hair is fluffier than I like it, but that may just be because it’s brushed and styled. Usually, I leave my hair wavy and just run my fingers through it because I like it all piece-y and separated—not beaten into submission.
My clothes are one-hundred percent Lyla’s, even the thong that’s currently riding up my ass crack. She decided that I would feel sexy wearing a pretty bra and panty set, which would be fine, except that the lace bra is chafing my nipples, and the ass floss is wedged where it will remain for the duration of the evening. I’m also wearing a skirt that is too short and revealing for the pale state of my legs, and a shirt that feels too sm
all for me because Lyla’s tight, sexy style is not even in the same zip code as mine.
As ridiculous as the outfit is, it was all sufferable until she demanded I take off my Chucks in favor of her sandals. The shoes are cute…but they don’t fit, and I can all but promise you I will leave a lip-skid down the hallway at some point this evening.
Now that it’s dark outside and I can see myself in the reflection of the window, I sort of like what I see. I don’t so much like the look on me, but if I saw someone else that looked like I do, I would think she was really pretty.
One of the meatheads watching the game calls out to me from across the room, “Where ya headed, Mercy? You’re all dressed up, with no place to go—Well, I’ve got somewhere for you to be, why don’t you come sit right here next to me?”
“No thanks, short-timer. Your hand down your pants will have to do.”
“Maybe my lap would suit you better?” he tries again. I open my mouth to respond, but that’s as far as I get.
“Maybe you should shut the fuck up,” Wes yells as he stands up and charges toward him. Two different guys extend their arms and bodies to prevent Wes from getting any closer to the loud-mouth.
“What’s the matter, puppy? You think defending Mercy will bring back that innocent woman you killed?” Now, no less than five guys stop Wes’ launch toward the guy.
Both Lyla and I are already in motion to retrieve Wes when one of the nurses asks if she needs to turn off the game in favor of the home shopping network. The boys heed the threat and calm right down, and we swoop in and lead Wes by each bicep back over to the estrogen heavy side of the room.
He is ramped up and still has murder in his eyes when we roughly push him toward the spot on the couch next to Veronica.
“Easy, tiger, that jug-head only wants to put the focus on you in order to deflect his own issues. Repeat after me, I will not give him the power to disrupt my recovery,” Veronica says as she stiff-arms him into staying put.
He is panting with rage, but he repeats her as well as he can with his teeth clenched, “I will not give him the power to disrupt my recovery.”
“Good. Now, say it again.”
“I will not give him the power to disrupt my recovery.”
“Excellent, now look at Mercy and tell her she looks beautiful.”
“Mercy, I’ll be jacking off all night thinking of you.”
“Awww, you’re so sweet,” I say before I laugh out loud. I don’t think anyone has ever masturbated to thoughts of me before. It’s kind of a potent thought. I’m starting to realize I have a tiny bit of power over some men in that way. Too bad it’s the wrong one.
“I still might accidentally on purpose pop that douchebag in the jaw,” Wes says, only partially distracted by us.
“Revenge is beneath you. How about you try living your best life, and forget all about him? Huh?” Matty says perfectly before he adds, “I appreciate this cucumber face thing, but look at all these synthetic ingredients. I’m not putting this crap on my face.”
There is enough nail polish for us each to have our own, but while Veronica, Lyla, and Matty do their toes, I fumble with the hair chalk because my skirt is too damn short to put my heel on the seat of my chair like the others.
“I think my hair is too dark for this to show up, want me to give you some pink and blue streaks…or, more like pink and blue tips?” I ask Wes.
“Only if you have to touch me to do it,” he says with a smile. We have all accepted this kind of talk as normal for Wes, so it doesn’t bother me. He isn’t skeevy about it; he is more teasing than anything.
I’m standing in front of Wes, trying to open the tube of hair chalk. In order to be close enough to reach his hair, I’m straddling him. Actually, not— the stance is from more of a distance, and technically, only one of his legs is between mine.
“Wes, this is the perfect opportunity to show Mercy your cock, none of the staff can see you,” Lyla says. I jerk my face over to look at her because she did not sound like she was kidding.
“You know you want to see it too, Ly,” Wes says, completely undisturbed by the suggestion. “What do you think, Mercy? Want to see a dick for the first time?”
“Why am I all of a sudden everyone's pet project?” I ask, avoiding the question entirely. The truth is, I do want to see it. I want to see it soft and hard. A girl should have knowledge of these things.
“You are not a pet project, think of it more as a survival guide. You don’t want to pass out the first time you see one of these hogs, do you?” Wes asks. Matty’s words blaze across my mind again, Sutton wants a woman, not a girl.
“I’m pretty sure you can’t just whip it out right here,” I point out, as I squeeze a little sticky, blue chalk onto my fingers.
“I have more finesse than that,” he says as he shifts his position a little. I know he is maneuvering himself out of his jeans, so I am suddenly very interested in putting blue chalk on the tips of his hair. That, and my cheeks are blazingly hot, so I don’t want to face anyone.
“Mercy, look—I can’t stay like this forever, I’m going to get busted,” he says, halfway between amusement and general concern for getting caught. I look down, he has it in his hand. It’s less aggressive than I thought. Completely non-threatening.
“Ok, I saw it. You can put it away now.”
As he tucks himself back in, Veronica asks, “So, what did you think?”
“It looks like the pictures from human anatomy class, but floppier and more circumcised.” Everyone chuckles at that. I don’t know what I was expecting, but maybe more bells and whistles.
“Mercy?” Wes whispers, “Are you wearing panties? My sister brought the cake.”
“Kind of. It’s a thong, so I’m not sure if that counts.”
“I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”
“There is no way to do that without getting caught,” is what I say, but the part I keep to myself is the, no fucking way am I showing you mine.
“How about you let me touch it then?” he asks as his fingers tickle the inside of my thigh. Then, slowly, they make their way higher, and under my skirt. I open my mouth to stop him, but it’s someone else’s voice I hear.
“Mercy!” it’s Sutton, and the baritone of his voice trickles down my back and melts in my panties. “Do you have a second? I want to discuss that life skills class we were talking about earlier.” Wes’ hand is long gone, but I let go of his hair in slow motion, before turning around even slower. I’m not sure when Sutton arrived but based on the sharpness of his tone, I’m pretty sure he saw Wes’ hand under my skirt.
Matty rumbles the first few notes of Taps under his breath, “Dun, Dun Dunnn.” I shoot him a glare and swallow my heart back down my throat.
When I get to the nurse's station, Sutton is explaining how we have to squeeze all these life skills classes in, or I won’t complete them before I leave here. They are the night nurses, and like me, have no idea what he is talking about.
“If we hurry, we will be back in time for cake,” he says while casually leaning on the nurse’s station. Then he says to one of them, “I don’t actually know how long the class is, since it’s an evening one, I’m assuming it’s accelerated.” Then he looks at me, “You should put on some different shoes.”
“I wouldn’t want to be late for my life skills class, Dr. Sutton. My shoes are fine.” My voice wavers a fraction, but only because I can see the fire in his eyes. He’s able to hide it from the nurses behind the concerned doctor veneer, but I can tell he’s ready to burn the place down. I don’t dare look back at my friends—or at Wes. Purely out of self-preservation, I start walking.
“Where are we going?” I ask as Sutton slams down the elevator button.
“I told you, life skills class.” Then he clams up because the doors open, and there are other people on the elevator. I can see his jaw knot up and release in a rhythmic pattern. I know he is pissed, but he won’t look at me.
Weirdly enough, we take th
e elevator to the basement and then step off. He gives me a series of frosty looks as we make our way down the empty hallway, and then a wave of his badge in front of the sensor opens the automatic doors to the bowels of the hospital.
“This is kind of shady, isn’t it, Sutton?” I ask. He gives me no sort of reply beyond a grunt and keeps walking down the long corridor.
“Sutton?” I stop walking and cross my arms across my chest the way a defiant teenager would. Standing with one hip popped to the side, I hold my ground as Sutton wheels around and charges back toward me.
“Yes, Mercy?” he asks, his patience holding on by a thread.
“I asked you where we are going. Fume if you must, but at least tell me where we are headed.”
“Your life skills curriculum requires you to know how to do laundry before you are released. Don’t you think you should learn how to wash your clothes?” When he asks this, it sounds smug and hateful, mostly because he has his teeth clenched and looks like he would rather dispose of me through the laundry chute than teach me anything at all about separating lights and darks.
“Yeah, but are you sure the catacombs of the state hospital are the appropriate place to learn such things?”
“Let’s go, Mercy. You are not in a position to be too choosy at this point,” he says as he grabs my elbow and encourages me to start walking again. This hallway is exactly what you picture when thinking about the basement of an institution—flickering lights, concrete walls, and all.
I can hear the hum of machines in the distance, which only intensifies the dank basement setting. However, I can also hear the muffled sound of voices, so I know we are not completely alone down here.
When Sutton finally stops walking and waves his badge at the sensor next to a set of large double doors, I realize he is serious. The automatic doors open up to the humid expanse of a giant laundry room, complete with wretched florescent lighting and rows of industrial-sized washers and dryers. Throughout the vast room, there are cream-colored canvas carts that range from empty, to brimming with soiled hospital linens. There are also oversized stainless steel folding tables peppered about. I get the distinct impression that the room bustles with activity during the day, but has been stripped of the usual chaos at this hour.