Thorns & Oranges

Actions Have Consequences

Chapter Five

I didn't have my cell on me so I used the pay phone by the main entrance. Dom picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Where are you?"

"Where do you think? I'm still at the cop shop."

He cursed and I heard him snap his fingers. "Are you ok?"

"No." I rubbed my hand down my face. "I'm not feeling all that great."

"Rey should be there in a few minutes and he has an emergency kit with him. Go outside and wait for him."

I hung up without saying goodbye and left the station. The place was pretty big and the steps were made of white stone. There were a total of twelve and I made it to the sixth before sitting down. The world was spinning, a blur of colors like when I was younger and riding the carousel in the park. The nauseous feeling hit and I was forced to I put my head between my knees, hoping my knight in shining armor would break a few speed limits to get here.

This never happened when I was up at college. Everything was on a schedule, perfect, and now suddenly I was back here and everything was thrown off course. I felt like I was a child again, trying to grapple with having an incurable autoimmune disease and failing miserably.

The rumble of a motorcycle came from off in the distance and got louder until it stopped at the curb in front of me. The growl died as the machine was switched off and without looking, I knew who it was. Cops rarely road motorcycles let alone parked them in front of the station.

"Oranges, you ok?"

I groaned. "Do I look it?"

"Actually you have this green tint." The sound of his bike groaned as he got off and I looked up. "Yeah. Definitely green."

He opened one of the saddle bags and pulled out a red pouch. My salvation. He climbed the six steps, taking two at a time, and sat next to me after handing the pouch over. I quickly unzipped it, seeing the tools of my disease laid bare was a little disconcerting but I ignored it.

I winced when I saw the old fashioned vial and syringe instead of my usual delivery system.

"Sorry. No pen this time. Do you want to go to the bathroom?"

I pricked my finger, not wanting to tell him if I got up I was definitely going to barf. A perfect, little red drop formed above the puncture and then I let it flow into the test strip. Thirty seconds passed and the meter beeped, blinking the numbers up at me.

"Shit," I muttered. "Can you measure me out..." I tried to remember how much I needed when my sugars were this high and I hadn't eaten but it wasn't working out too well. My headache was getting worse and keeping me from doing what I needed.

Without being asked, he pulled out the calculator and typed everything in.

"What's your ratio?"

"It should already be in there. Vin makes sure they're all programmed with it." He nodded in understanding. When the dosage amount popped up he quickly took out the vial and filled the syringe to the right dosage.

"Lift up your shirt." I did as he asked and he sighed. "You don't have much fat on you, do you?"

He pinched my side, gathering up all the flab he could muster, and poked me. I hissed and shut my eyes. You forget the feeling after not having to do it for a year and I hated it. After going through rehab, I detested the feel of a needle in my skin. I was thankful when the insurance approved the pen after I finished rehab.