BOSOM. |Bang Chan

Eight.

Alana never liked the rain, but she hated thunder. She loathed it. Something in its deafening sound made her get scared. Something in its roars made her want to hide underneath her bed or in the arms of her few trusted people. Something in the lightning that comes with it made her feel jolts of electricity run through her body.

Alana's trembling hands moved on their own. One approached the bed as she bent down to it to get some support, and the other went straight to the right side of her neck to clutch it. Her mark was exceedingly irritating. No, it wasn't tingling anymore. It was stinging badly. She knew that rubbing it or trying to calm herself with a lullaby wasn't going to work.

All of her body started feeling the jolts of electricity that she was afraid of. Her head started spinning in circles as her eyesight blurred. She started wincing in pain, hissing as if she was being bitten over and over. Her hand started pulling on the collar of her sweater, shoving it away from her neck. By then, Alana was gasping for air. Her mark was suffocating her. The extended branches of this stupid tree felt like claws piercing through her throat.

It couldn't get any worse, she thought.

Couldn't it?

It did get worse when the lightning started illuminating the dimly lit room, sending the last ounces of Alana's sanity very far from where she was.

Alana was a panicking mess. She was trembling, crying, praying, and pleading for help as the storm raged outside. Another deafening thunderclap almost broke Alana's eardrums as the poor girl screamed in fear. It didn't only make the girl scream that loud, but also made her trembling body jerk forward, to bury her face in the bed's sheets.

Alana wasn't having any control over her body. The thunder had. It certainly had all the control and power over her body cause Alana wasn't the girl to cling to a stranger. And surely, not the girl to cling to her patient.

Singing to him, holding his hand in assurance, or patting his chest, were just her ways to try and grab his attention, his sleeping soul's attention. But clinging to him like that wasn't on her list.

She clearly wasn't thinking straight when she threw her upper body on his bed, poking his side with her head as her face was buried in the sheets. She clearly wasn't thinking straight when she encircled his torso with her arms, clutching the sides of his gown tightly.

She wasn't thinking straight. She wasn't thinking at all.

Alana stayed clinging to her patient for more than she should have. Her lips kept mumbling incoherent words. Moreover, she started rocking herself, not aware of how she was hitting the poor sleeping man. In process of rocking herself, she kept fidgeting her way upwards, ending in her head being on top of his arm, almost by his shoulder. Her hands moved too. One clutching the front of his gown, the other holding his hand.

And that's when everything around her started to get clearer.

She slowly was coming back to her senses. She still could hear the storm outside but it was less magnified in her head and ears. She was still trembling but she could get a grip of herself. She was still crying her own rivers but at least she could breathe normally again. She was still mumbling, but she could tell she was singing her rain lullaby.

Alana felt shivers run through her left hand that was holding his right. She slowly lifted her head up to look at her patient. Blinking, gulping, and sighing, she realized how close she was to him. That didn't feel right. No, it did feel right but it was unethical. She shouldn't be hugging a patient like that, especially when he's sleeping and can't give her his consent. She shouldn't take advantage of his comforting presence for her own sake. That wasn't right, but deep inside of her, it didn't feel wrong.

Shaking off the odd thoughts she was having, she backed away from him. She wanted to apologize but her mouth was irrationally dry to talk and she didn't have the energy to form a proper sentence. Alana stood up to her feet, adjusted his winter gown that was scrunched in multiple spots, and then pulled his covers again to tuck him properly.

Alana then, walked to the switches to turn the lights on. The storm was still doing its job perfectly outside and she didn't like how the lightning kept attacking the dim room. So, fluorescent lights were a good option to mask the lightning effect.

Walking into the ensuite bathroom, Alana shut the door close behind her. She stood facing the mirror, looking at her disheveled state. Her hair was a mess and her damp crying face was nothing better. Alana's shoulders rolled back, slipping her white coat down her arms to meet the bathroom floor. Her hand held the hem of her sweater then she yanked it over her head, tossing it to the cabinet by the sink, leaving her facing the mirror in only her bra. Her eyes started trailing down the mark running from her right neck to the base of her chest. The mark that never looked normal.

The freaking tree didn't look like a scar or even a tattoo. It couldn't look like either of them because of its color change. It would change from time to time but never it deviated from the shades of orange and red. It wasn't only the color that made it abnormal, it was the glow that comes with it.

Alana's eyes stayed at her mark, inspecting how its orange color was having different shades at the same time. How it had pulses of ember passing through it. How it looked like someone set this freaking tree on fire.

It was burning up.

And it always does when the sky goes crazy.