Hunger

Austin: Dissociate

I'm sitting on a bench outside the ER, still bleeding, still holding Pixie. I took off and tossed my vomit and blood-stained shirt and threw on my hoodie so my face would be obscured. The night has turned rainy and dark, which might help my cause. People feel sorry for you in the rain, and I need them to feel sorry for me if this is ever gonna work. On the way over here I tried to think of ways to get treatment for Pixie while still hiding our identities. The only way I could think of relies on trusting a stranger.

Pixie has fallen asleep again. She's a heavy, overly-warm bundle on my lap, making me sweat. I want to take my hood off but know I need to stay hidden. I keep my eyes on the sliding doors that lead out of the crowded ER. Finally I spot my target: a middle aged man who's obviously tired but put together enough that he doesn't look like a patient or a worried loved one.

"Excuse me, sir, are you a doctor?"

The man pauses, and I see the surprise register on his face when he sees us sitting on the bench. Up until I spoke to him, we were invisible.

"Yes... I'm leaving for the night," he says, frowning at me. "And I don't give money to people like you."

I just want to smack that smug look off his ugly-ass face, but I hold it together for Pixie.

"I'm not asking for money. My sister has a fever of a hundred and four degrees. It's really bad," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice from shaking with anger.

"So go into the ER and get yourselves checked in," the doctor says, like I'm stupid, and he's already walking away from me.

"No I can't. Wait, please!" I call, and he pauses and turns around. I hurry on when I see I've gotten his attention. "That's the thing. I can't check her in... for a lot of reasons."

"I'm guessing those reasons involve some kind of illegal activity?"

Bastard.

"I'm not a criminal. All I want is to get her treated without any questions. Please, she could die."

The man sighs and walks over to Pixie. He puts a hand on her forehead.

"God, she's burning up!"

"I know. Please help us," I say, and I can hear myself choking back tears. I'm not about to cry in front of this jerk.

He pulls his hand away. "You need to take that little girl inside now and get her checked in or I'll call the police myself."

"I'll pay! If you treat her and don't ask any questions, I'll pay anything," I say.

The doctor hesitates, and I can read his face like a book. This bastard is greedy and dirty. All it's gonna take is a little manipulation on my part. The right words.

"How much money do you have?" he asks.

Nothing, I think, not anymore. "Five hundred. Cash." I swallow, trying to look sad, desperate and pathetic, which really isn't that hard considering I'm all of those things right now. "I can pay tonight as soon as you treat her."

The man studies my face. I can tell he's working it all out in his head, weighing the pros and cons. Then he seems to come to a decision.

"Fine. Follow me."

I take Pixie and trail behind him. The huge waiting room is full of people. There are sick kids, teenagers pressing ice packs on sprains and bruises and old men holding bloody bandages over unseen wounds. I try not to look at any of them. My hood is still on, and I keep my head down and Pixie's face obscured.

The doctor leads us to one of the small treatment rooms behind the front desk and closes the door.

"Put her up here," he says, and I lay Pixie gently on the paper-covered examination bed.