Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Five: Are You Calling Me Ugly, Morgan?

Chapter Five: "Are You Calling Me Ugly, Morgan?"

"THREE. . . TWO. . . ONE. . ." The nurse counts down, and without me paying attention, she puts the needle in. Well, more like jab. I wince, and start feeling numb moments later. If looks could kill, this whole place would be dead.

"See? That wasn't that bad, right?" The long black haired woman says. I smile my perfect sarcastic smile. Not bad my ass.

"Of course," I grind my teeth, "that didn't hurt one freaking bit."

It did. It really did. It felt like I was being stabbed.

I decided mid-moment when I was rushed into the ER that I was not going to watch myself get put back together. Not like the my-leg-is-on-the-table-staying-hydrated type, but the thought of it made me queasy and it was then that I realized about my insecurities that made me feel lightheaded, so I closed my eyes, trying to hold in the cries, but just came out just as easy as holding them in was.

"Can I have my clothes?" I shiver as the doctor starts stitching.

"I can't stitch you up if you have clothes on." He says rudely.

"I never said I was going to put them on. I asked if I could have them. I'm cold. The hospital isn't exactly comfort temperature."

"It's summer, lady. It's supposed to be cold in here. It's to feel refreshed after being out in the 30 degree weather. Plus, we have patients with fevers, obviously, so they need the breeze."

I sigh. "I understand that, but with the extra air flooding through the cut I feel like I'm exposed to arctic weather. I just want them."

"Then ask me when I am done." He doesn't look at me as he says this, instead he keeps his eyes grossly glued to my chest. I know being near doctors things aren't supposed to be awkward or uncomfortable; and I would know with the amount of hospital visits I have a year. I'm basically considered a local there.

However, I know burning eyes when I see them and I definitely know that this guy is being a little too observant and not keeping his eyes on the stitches, but what is above them.

"Can my friend at least come in and bring me them?" I ask in a hostile tone, and get no response for a few moments. He tenses his neck and sighs.

"Why?" He asks finally.

"Because I'm cold and want my best friend? You know, someone who I don't want to punch in the face?" I can't help my snapping. I'm getting extremely agitated by the minute and this guy is really starting to make matters worse. The way he is acting is definitely questionable, too.

"So?" He interrupts my thoughts.

So? So?!

"Look Mr. DoucheFace, my insecurity level is kicking in and I am really detest you, if you really had to know." I growl. If he didn't have a needle pierced through my skin, I probably would have lunged at him. Why is he being such a jerk? I mean, doctors should be the total opposite. They should be nice, gentle, and considerate of what the patient wants. This one is rough, judgmental, and questions everything. Not to mention he's staring at my breasts like a kid stares at double chocolate fudge brownies.

"Then don't be insecure. Suck it up and I'll be done when I am done." Dude, you did NOT just go there.

"No. You're going to get my friend! I want him here. Now." I demand. He ignores me and continue stitching my side up hesitantly. "Get me my friend or else!"

The guy growls and is now stitching up my top half. I swear, he better not touch my boob and enjoy it. "Go get the friend," He says to a nearby nurse. He then has the audacity to roll his eyes, giving me an annoyed, strong, hateful look. The nurse walks out of the room. She reminds me of the paramedic, with the same features: long black hair, the cold green eyes.