Freak - A Dark Medical Romance

Electra

I hate that woman.

I can hear Tom nearby. He’s come into the room, no doubt to tell me that I should mind my manners and treat the woman with respect. But she doesn’t deserve respect. She deserves death.

“Are you alright there?”

“Go away.”

“I can leave you be,” he says. “Come out when or if you want to talk.”

He leaves me be. I don’t know if he’s already sick of me, or if there’s something else going on. He works for the Head. That means he is on her side. That’s why he is taking care of her, telling me to go away, sending me to this room with its flimsy walls. I could punch through any one of them. I discovered that when I punched through one of them when I first entered. Tom didn’t seem to notice that. I don’t know if he’d care. This isn’t his place. This is a pretend shell of a home.

I do find it interesting, the way people seem to live. These little rooms that don’t truly contain anything that wants to get out – or in. What’s the point of that? Why even make a room if you know the walls mean nothing? I’m used to stone and steel, usually at the same time. A wall should be a wall. It shouldn’t be waiting to disintegrate.

I expect him to come for me, but he doesn’t and after a while, I become deeply bored, so I get out of bed and go and find the doctor. He is in the kitchen, putting soap and water on the walls.

“You’re making all the cooking go everywhere.”

“Mhm. Just cleaning up after dinner,” he says. “You did a lot of cooking today.”

“Looks like you’re trying to get rid of my food.”

“Well, it’s customary to clean up after eating. That way when you do more cooking, you’ll have clean surfaces to work on.”

“Why do I care about cleaning?”

“Germs.”

“Germs?

“Germs.”

He keeps saying that word as if I know what it means.

“Germs,” I nod. “Germs are… good?”

“Germs are not ideal in a kitchen,” he says. He has the warmest smile, and it almost makes it feel as though he’s not talking down to me, but I know he is. There’s an expression I already recognize that he gets on his face when I don’t know something I’m supposed to know.

“Well maybe I don’t give a fuck about that.”

“I bet you don’t,” he says, his brows drawing down. “But you’re going to have to watch your language.”

“Or what? You’re going to punish me again? You’re gonna spank me?”

“Are you taunting me?”

He has rubber gloves on his hands. They’re oversized and yellow and they look kind of funny in the way it makes it difficult for him to come across stern while he’s got them on.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Seems to me like you’re trying to get a reaction,” he says, going back to scrubbing up a storm. He’s pulled his shirt sleeves up to do so, and I can see his forearms rippling above the gloves and below the rolled cuffs of that pale blue shirt. Mmm.

“Seems to me like you’re undoing everything I did. Seems to me like you’re a pawn for the Head.”

“I work for her, yes. We both do.”

“I don’t work for her. I’m kept captive by her. And you.”

“Mhm. It’s an unfortunate situation, but it’s improving, isn’t it.”

“Is it?”

“You’re not currently chained in a cell, so you have that going for you.”

“I guess I do.”

“Want to help me clean?” He offers a wet sponge to me. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it, but I take it and do my best to approximate what he’s doing.

Tom

She just made everything ten times messier, but I don’t have the heart to correct her as she slops soapy water over everything, including areas which aren’t even in the kitchen. She’s trying, and she’s interacting with me in a human way, and nobody is getting stabbed, which makes this a win.

I’m glad the Head insisted we stay on campus. Electra really is far too feral a creature to be allowed in public. She has much to learn, all the little things we take for granted having been socialized to the outside world.

It’s hard to remember sometimes. She’s adorable with her soft curls and her big blue eyes. I could easily slip into trusting her with things she’s not ready to be trusted with – like her own personal domestic safety.

“Why are you doing this?”

The question comes suddenly out of soapy silence.

“What do you mean? Cleaning?”

“No. I mean, why are you doing whatever it is you’re doing with me. It’s because she ordered you to, isn’t it. It’s because she owns you.”

“She does not own me,” I say, not entirely sure if that is true or not. I am one of the very few people who came to work at this facility of their own free will. However, having come here, I’m fairly certain that the retirement policy will largely be comprised of lead.