Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Salma picked up the cup, but at Autumn’s question, she hesitated, the cup halfway between the tray and Autumn. Her eyes tilted downward, and an expression came over her face Autumn didn’t know how to read. “Dr. Heathrow won’t approve of that,” she said almost woodenly. “He’s very, very insistent on the cocktail protocol, and the sleep medication is a part of that. I’ve requested tweaks based on specific cases, but the answer has always been absolutely no.”
Salma’s gaze lifted slowly, meeting Autumn’s, and Autumn stilled. She swore the look in her favorite nurse’s eyes was grief. Then a flash of anger that melted into something that appeared to be resolve before she looked away.
Autumn blinked, wondering if she’d read far more in Salma’s gaze than had actually been there. Or misinterpreted it. “Do you…do you think a different drug protocol might be better for me, Salma?”
Salma hesitated, but then shook her head. “Dr. Heathrow’s an expert, sweetheart. I’m just a nurse.” Just a nurse. Salma apparently didn’t understand how big the word just was in that particular sentence.
Autumn thought of Dr. Heathrow with his cold eyes and distant expression, the way he seemed to look through the Mercy kids rather than at them. The way his lips moved silently as though he was forever calculating things in his mind. Yes, she supposed he was an expert—a genius she’d been told—and one who kept many of them alive far longer than life alone would have allowed, but she was forever thankful that Salma and the other nurses were the dispensers of his drug cocktail rather than him. She’d prefer he stay locked in his lab, far away from her.
“Anyway,” Salma said, handing the paper cup of medication to Autumn. “These are your sleep medications. You definitely wouldn’t want to halve the dose for a week and then halve it again for another week before doing away with them entirely. That would be against protocol.”
Autumn blinked as Salma stood, taking the few steps to the sink against the wall and turning on the faucet. She began humming as she washed her hands.
Autumn looked down at the tablets. There were two of each. Halve the dose. She quickly removed one of each type and shoved them under her bony hip. Then she tipped the cup to her mouth, reaching for the glass of water on her bedside table and swallowing them just as Salma grabbed a paper towel and turned around. Autumn handed her the empty cup.
“Good girl,” Salma said, taking it and tossing it into the trash near the sink. She picked up the second paper cup, this one filled with six pills and capsules, and handed it to Autumn. “And you definitely, definitely don’t want to stop taking the yellow and blue capsules. Those make up the Mesmivir. The other ones are simply medications that expedite its delivery. Alone, they’re harmless.”
Harmless.
Which meant the other ones caused harm. But she already knew that. It was part of the trade-off she’d so recently considered.
Salma handed her that cup and turned away, walking to the sink and washing her hands again. Autumn’s heart gave a jolt. The sleep meds had been one thing. She’d inquired about cutting down on those but…was her nurse giving her instructions on how to wean herself completely off her medication? Why? Why would she do that? The medication was keeping her tumor-free. The medication was keeping her alive.
But it was also keeping her half-dead.
And Salma loved her. Autumn knew she did.
Do it. Live. No matter how long.
You have that ability where others don’t.
Mara flashed in her mind, her friend’s scarred and tumor-riddled body. What would she give to feel healthy, even for one day? A wild thrill moved through Autumn, and it practically made her gasp. That was within her reach. She could have that if she wanted it.
Autumn removed the Mesmivir from the cup, stuffing that under her hip where half the sleep meds had gone and downing the useless, harmless pills that remained, swallowing them with water.
Salma turned back again, taking the cup, and Autumn saw that her hands were shaking. “Good girl,” she repeated, and this time, she sounded slightly breathless.
She’s scared. For herself or for me? Or maybe both. Autumn was scared too. Scared but…strangely elated.
Salma leaned forward and took Autumn’s face in her hands, kissing her forehead. When she leaned back, there were tears shining in her eyes. “My special, beautiful girl,” she said. “Grow strong.” And with that, she picked up the tray, turned, and hurried out of the room.
Chapter Four
Autumn’s morning nurse was a thin-lipped shrew, ironically named Joy, who had only been at Mercy for a few months. Thankfully, she was rarely on Autumn’s floor, and her type of unpleasant personality was the exception rather than the rule when it came to the staff. Autumn took the offered paper cup of morning meds and feigned a minor coughing fit as she palmed the same ones she’d slipped under her hip the night before. Thankfully, joyless Joy looked away as she fake hacked and didn’t notice the—unpracticed—sleight of hand.