Purposefully Coincidental ✓

1. Hospital

Leo

Why do hospitals tell you to be here at a certain time, only for them to say you have to wait twenty minutes to be called in?

Who's responsible for making the appointments? They're probably double booking and should be fired, in my opinion.

Yeah, I'm bitter.

I've been here for over twenty-five minutes when I should be on my way to my next appointment.

Mom said that they'll treat me better here at Monaro Medical. Since my family basically owns the hospital, all my family gets treated here. Even though the government redirects the military to general hospitals.

This room I'm in is bigger than it's supposed to be. I'm sitting on the bed or bench or whatever the fuck these things are called. The examination table thing that doctors make you sit on like a little child while they touch and prod your body. There's a rack with medical supplies on my right and a computer screen on the other side.

It looks like a fancy prison cell, if you ask me. All the walls are white and there're no photos to give it some life. Not even posters for disease awareness. Or of cute babies or some shit. But who am I to talk? I'm not an interior designer.

If I have to sit here another minute, I'll lose my shit. My shoulder blade has some stitches that need replacing from a gunshot wound. I'm not getting into surgery, so why am I still here waiting? I would've replaced the stitches myself if I knew I had to wait this long.

Just as I'm standing up to leave this fucking room—to hell with the stitches, I'll remove them myself once I get home—the door opens.

A petite woman, early twenties, in blue scrubs enters. She has a clipboard in her hand that she's looking at.

"Hello, I'm—"

"Finally!" I exhale. "Look, I have an important meeting in ten minutes, so can you please hurry?"

She finally looks up from the papers and I can tell she's trying really hard to keep up her smile.

I know I sounded like a douchebag, and I should know better than treating her like this. Doctors and nurses are the ones who brought me back to life when too many bullets entered my body. Or when an explosion so huge left me unconscious for a couple of days and they nurtured me back to health.

It's probably that stupid meeting I have after this. The sergeant could tell me I have to go back to war. Even though I'm injured. It won't be the first time it happens. So I have the right to be stressed, in my opinion.

"Of course. I'll work as fast as possible." She puts the clipboard on the table to my right and comes to stand next to me at the end of this bench. I already took off my army jacket the minute I entered the room, thinking someone would walk in right after me and replace the stitches in a matter of minutes.

Her eyes do a quick sweep across my bare chest. She probably hasn't seen someone with this many scars. Fellow soldiers go to Miami General Hospital. I must be the only soldier to come to this fancy private hospital.

Up close, I can tell she's young. She probably finished college this year or something. She has a round face, but her cheekbones are still sharp. Her hair is brown but lighter near the ends and long bangs frame her face. And her lips... damn. I guess it's true when they say that those lips were only made for kissing. And sucking—stop.

What is wrong with me?

I focus my eyes on the ugly room to stop my dick from hardening.

She shifts her face to look at the little plastic cup with a few pills in it next to my thigh.