I Want To Make You (Eyeless Jack X Prosthetist!Reader)

Chapter Thirteen

        "Fuck, (Y/n). I didn't- don't get yourself in trouble like that." A familiar voice sputtered as they slammed through the door, their voice held the same familiarity but with a little more gruffness to it. Her voice was crackly and shaky as she stomped her way over to the hospital bed I was laying in. "Jesus. I wake up in the middle of the night only to hear you were unconscious on your apartment floor. Not only that, but you were out for a day!"

When I didn't say anything, her brows furrowed and she continued. "I can't believe you've been neglecting yourself to the point where you'd pass out!" Her shoulders were shaking, whether from anger or worry I couldn't tell. Jazz ran her hand through the uncared for strands of her hair. She had no right to tell me to care for myself when she'd been doing no better. I stare away, suddenly the potted plant on the window sill becoming much more interesting. She pursed her lips and huffed in frustration. I couldn't bring myself to face her fury. She threw a ragged bunch of flowers on the table in the corner and scowled at me. "I'm worried. You were acting strange, my brother dies, and then you pass out." I feel my face flush in anger, my cheeks turning red as the anger boils up in my system. I remain quiet, biting my tongue and swallowing the words that I wanted to say. Throwing her hands up exasperatedly, Jazz acts as if I were the one being difficult. Christ, I "passed" out, am being stalked and threatened; and on top of all that, she's not in any state to be worrying about my problems. A shiver wracks up my spine remembering the instances of that night, remembering it could've ended up much worse than it did.

"(Y/n). If this happens again, I'm going to make you fucking tell me what's going on. So you better get your act together or suck it up buttercup and confide in me." Jazz sneers, a fed-up look in her eyes telling me that she isn't joking. She glanced towards the drip bag and IV that suck out of my arm; the one they had stuck into me because I'd been severely dehydrated.

Sighing at my lack of response, she storms out of the hospital room in an angry huff. I feel frustrated, not getting my own two cents in, but when being confronted I find it difficult to articulate. Shortly after, a new face peeks from behind the door. Awkwardly, they step through into the room, another few people following behind them. A good chunk of them were coworkers or tenants from the apartment complex. One of them, though, was the medical director.

"Dr. Miller-" I spoke, only to be interrupted.

"Yes, Dr. (Y/l/n). It is good to see you." he spoke, glancing over to where I was resting.

"I swear, I never expect to see my own doctors end up in my hospital due to their neglect on their own health; but let's skip the pleasantries shall we?" eyeing me down as he speaks, he seats himself in the chair beside me. Everyone else stood there awkwardly, waiting for a cue to leave.

"Oh, pardon me. I'm the hospital director, I don't mean to make things awkward, but I'd like to speak to Dr. (Y/l/n) in private for a minute. Is that okay?" he gestures over to everyone else, them, finally getting their cue to leave, all shuffle out the door.

"Now that they're gone. I'd like to talk to you about taking medical leave." he spoke, sending me an expression full of pity.

"I understand that most want to continue life on like normal, but you need to give yourself time to cope. Especially now that you're overworking yourself to the point of passing out. I am completely aware of the situation now, your friend, Jazz, filled me in." he awkwardly stared at the wall behind me, apparently feeling nervous about bringing up such a sensitive subject.

"I'm completely fine to work, Director." I lied, I just didn't want to be stuck at home and be at risk of whoever was breaking and entering into my apartment. It felt suffocating at home even without the ever-looming threat anyways.