This is bad.
This is worse than I thought.
Desperate tears begin to pool in my eyes. How am I going to do anything in this state, let alone move a body? And where do I move it to? My mind spins with options, and the machine that’s attached to me starts to beep a bit faster.
We don’t even own a shovel, do we? Am I supposed to buy one? How much do they cost? That’s going to cut into this week’s groceries. Nix better not even try to complain. This isn’t her fault, but God if I wish things didn’t play out differently.
The doctor comes in quicker than expected, and I realize it’s probably because the nurse warned I’m a flight risk. He’s older than God, with frail shoulders under his white coat and heavy bags under his eyes. He’s most likely who they allocate to the welfare patients.
I don’t bother with any niceties.
“How long have I been here?” I ask, forcing myself to sit up again.
“Kira Noland?” he flips through a chart with painful slowness. “You came in early this morning at four a.m., and it is now,” he checks his watch, “seven p.m.”
My chest tightens. That’s over twelve hours. Twelve hours of Nix sitting with a corpse, or panicking, or doing God knows what. Fuck. I wish I had thought to grab my phone before the ambulance came. Did Nix actually go inside, or did the cops force their way in? I would assume everything is fine, or I would be cuffed to the rails right now, wouldn’t I?
“Can you unhook me, please? I need to leave.” I start tugging at the rails again.
“Ms. Noland, are you aware of why you are in the hospital?” the doctor asks from the center of the room, making no effort to stop me.
“Yeah,” I huff. “I had a heart attack.” I give him a quick look as I continue rattling my cage.
He places the clipboard under his arm, brows lifting subtly. “To be more precise, you had a spontaneous coronary artery dissection,” he says. “It is a tear in your artery, possibly brought on by your birth control or stress. Have you been under significant stress lately?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That a real question?” I shake my head. “Can you undo this?! I think it’s stuck.”
He seems unfazed. “I cannot, in good conscience, release you, Ms. Noland.”
“Well, it’s not on you, pal. So, if you could just—”
“The tear needs to heal,” he cuts me off. “And we need to monitor you. A few days, and then if all looks well, you can go home. But you will have to take it easy. I know you are young, and you think you are invincible, but this is quite serious. You will have to follow up with a private cardiologist. We have you started on a statin and beta blocker, which—”
The rail finally gives, sliding down with a clatter.
“Just send it to a pharmacy,” I say. “I’ll pick it up.”
“Ms. Noland, I really do not think you understand…”
“Look, man,” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, “I get it. I’m fucked. But I’m leaving. Consider your conscience clear. I’m signing myself out. But if you could get this thing out of my arm, that would be great.”
In one painful sweep, I manage to gather all the wires from my chest and yank them off. “Where are my clothes?”
He sighs, and it’s the sigh of a man who doesn’t have any more patience or energy. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hope whatever is so urgent is worth your life, young lady.”
Worth my life?
My sister rotting in prison for the rest of hers?
Yeah, that’s worth my fucking life.
Chapter Three
Kira
Memorial Hospital isn’t too far from home, and my first instinct is to walk. My beat-up Chevy breaks down enough times that I end up walking more than driving anyway, so I’m no stranger to having to hoof it. But I make it half a block before I’m panting, leaning against a grimy light pole as black dots prickle in my vision.
The doctor said if I took it easy, I could recover and gain back all my strength, as if that’s something I can just pencil in. I don’t have time to take a fucking medical sabbatical. I have a sister. I have bills. I have a corpse in my house. And Ineedto get home.
