Hospital of Hell

Eight

Scarlett

An alarm wakes me from my sleep. I peel my eyes open, looking at the unfamiliar ceiling. The bed is empty; just me, myself, and I.

I grab my phone, shutting off the obnoxious beeping that it is emitting.

I stand to my feet, my side sore and irritated. The door is cracked open, and I hear voices. My heart rate skyrockets as my nerves find their way back now that I have common sense.

The fucking Don, Star? Really? And I had the audacity to literally sleep with him. When all signs point to danger, my lady bits see fun instead. I open up his top drawer, rummaging for another pair of his underwear. I quickly slide it on, grabbing my phone and walking out the door.

The voices lead me to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I round the corner so I'm in eyesight.

Cameron, Matt, and Axton all sit at the small table. Their heads snap towards me, and Cameron spits out the water he had been drinking. He starts coughing and Axton begins to glare at him.

"Oh, fuck," Cameron continues to cough, looking between me and Axton. My face is beat red, and I would give anything to be buried six feet under in this very moment. "Uhm, Scarlett, right?"

"Erm, yes," I mumble out. "I-uh, can I leave now, please? I figured you wouldn't want me to call a ride because you know, you're the Don and this is your house," I ramble on, looking anywhere but the three of them. Suddenly the old ceiling seems very interesting. My skin feels hot, my stomach churning in embarrassment. I am doing the walk of shame in front of three mafia men.

"Smart woman," Axton mumbles. "I'll be back in a half hour. Don't touch shit," he grabs his keys and nods for me to follow him.

The air is chilly, goosebumps forming on my skin. From the outside of his car, you can't see into it. The tint is much too dark. Oddly enough once you're in the car you can see clear as day.

"Where to?" He asks once he starts the car up. He seems different today, gruffer and mean. Adding to my ongoing bipolar theory.

"My car is at the hospital." I mumble, looking out the window. The urge to scream is settling in my mind. I always choose the wrong men to sleep with. It's a gift, I guess. I guess it also could have to do with the lack of intention of finding love. It really doesn't matter who I fuck if I never see them again.

The ride is silent. His hands grip the steering wheel every few moments.

"Second floor of the parking garage," I mumble and he listens. We eventually find my car and I scramble to get out of his. I don't need anyone seeing me in nothing but boxers and a big shirt leaving some random car. I'd never hear the end of it.

He waits a few seconds to watch me get into my car before he zooms out of the parking garage. I grab the steering wheel and slam my forehead against it.

"Fuck!" I scream and hit the steering wheel a few times. My fucking keys are in my locker. Frantically I start to look around my car, desperate to find anything to wear other than these boxers. A pair of scrub pants lay in my backseat, and I quickly slide them up my legs.

My feet carry me quickly towards the entrance of the hospital, my head aimed down in hopes no one realizes it's me.

Once I reach the emergency department, I let my hair fall in front of my face. Two more feet and I'll be fine. I swing the door open to the break room, quickly unlocking my locker.

"I knew it was you, motherfucker." Something hits me upside the head.

"What the fuck, Sara?" I groan out as I turn to face Saraphine.