Better Man

Georgeanna practiced her speeches in the dark bedroom. Though she tried to peel her eyes away, she couldn’t help staring at the clock.

Red numbers blinked sleep out of lidless eyes, as the minutes switched to zero. It was four o’clock. The eyes mocked her, and in frustration, she tried to pull wild, independent thoughts from her mind. Instead, her fist came free with yellow and grey strands sticking out from between her fingers.

When Georgeanna finally looked away, she found herself already halfway through the speech. The dark room listened patiently. The blackness between her and the bedroom wall bore a strange similarity to him, and suddenly his picture was standing right before her – solid, just not too vivid.

The air in her lungs was running thin, but she kept up her declarations and screamed at the empty wall, “Pitiful how you think you can still call yourself a man, when all you ever have is excuses. Even if you brought her here, and I caught you red handed, you’d say it's not your fault. She made you, or, or I was neglecting you. Him. Her. Them. God. Anyone but you! It’s you! You know it is, and still pretend to be the victim! I deserve a better m-”.

Her last word caught in her chest, her near-endless supply of breath finally depleted. Or was it stolen? She heard the rattling chevy squeak to a stop on the gravel driveway.

Headlights illuminate the bedroom through cheap, thin curtains. Across the now grey-lit room, something caught the light and gleamed. Her watch. It was on the nightstand – beside the red-eyed clock. He had bought it for her when their relationship was young and full of romance. That was before they were brutalized by spats of mutual unemployment and alcoholic coping mechanisms that seemed to go on and on, until loath replaced love as their L-word. Not forever, with the help of another L-word, luck, they were able to make it through that period. Each of them found new jobs, managed to keep them, they married, and bought this home. They were going to start a family.

Why now, was it so much worse than the ‘bad times’ ever felt? Perhaps nothing could survive that era. It was too spiteful. Too violent. Yet the watch still worked; its quiet gears clicked in the dark.

She crossed the abode, her hip popping as she went, and sat on her side of the bed. She watched as the hands ticked. Seconds danced across the face as the minute hand dragged on a limp leg. Booted footfalls echoed from inside the house. How could he be doing this to her? The metal screen door rattled on crooked hinges as it slammed behind him. He said he loved her. Tiles creaked in the kitchen and advanced towards the bedroom. The day they bought this house he promised to always be faithful, always be kind to her, and to never, never again... It was too hard to think.

He opened the door, and she rolled over, pretending to sleep, as he looked her up and down.

Her dear husband stood at the edge of the bed watching her, beginning to undress. She kept her eyes veiled but could hear the shirt grip his unkempt beard, and the belt jingle as he peeled it off his bulging waist. Her whole body was shaking. Blood vibrated in her appendages. Her toes began to numb. Slowly, he got into bed beside her. Worse than the smell of liquor, was the clear fragrance of cheap perfume stinging her nostrils. Inside, she screamed, but her body had already submitted; it was determined to remain petrified.

Swiftly she began to hear snoring but still could not move. The passing minutes dragged her into a sleep, though there was no rest. She dreamed in violent shades of red. The crimson blinked at her.

Time passed in a blur for the next week or so. She felt like a stone rolling down a hill. She had made her decision, but it twinkled in the corner of her mind like it was still under deliberation. This was a lie. Nothing was true but that her decision was made, and her decision was to stay. It may have been her body that had chosen for her, but it was final nonetheless. And that was okay, after all, she loved him – she kept telling herself.

That house and its damn mortgage payments, thank god she had his second income to pay the fees that seemed to grow greater with each passing month.

She needed him.

Even if he drank and whored half his share away. And every moment at home was without rest. Cooking for him shackled to the stove. Cleaning for him like a master’s maid.

She shouldn’t feel this way.

Sometimes, work was her respite. Another cog in the machine of bed pans and urinary tracks with the other trauma nurses. Many complained about their husbands and would follow their grievances with humorous quips and doses of ecstasy. She used to laugh and grieve with them. She couldn’t any longer. It brought to mind the question. The twinkle in her mind that ought to be ignored.

She loved him. Even if he no longer loved her.

Could she blame him? No. She had let herself go. Lost her figure. The one that had fueled their efforts to start a family – before the first stillborn. That first one was so hard, she cried for weeks. The next two roused fewer tears but were far worse. Worse because they confirmed her suspicions. It was her fault; she was wrong, hardly even a woman. What good man could love her knowing she couldn’t do the one thing a woman was meant to do.

She couldn’t find a better man.

Not the doctors, to be sure. Each of them would look at the nurses in their own way. Some with lust in their eyes, but only for the younger girls. An even larger portion, however, would hold them in a gaze of superiority. Each of them treated her the worst that came with knowing her the longest. Thirteen years in the same undesirable nursing position, at the same god forsaken hospital. And yes, the hospital was cursed; no close-cases ever survived.

***

Brianna, the woman in the east wing with kind eyes, was another victim of the building's unluck. The patient had come into the hospital a few weeks prior, late into a graveyard shift. She was already unconscious when the paramedics tossed the gurney Georgeanna’s way. Brianna was, by sight, two decades older than her. Grey had already won the battle over her once-blond hair, and wrinkles had invaded over what had been eloquent cheekbones. Her lips were raisins. A minute or two of looking at the old woman, and Georgeanna let herself think she was still young and beautiful. The sharp pain in her back, as she tried to lift the thin, elderly woman onto her cot, was a stark reminder that her days of youth were long passed. Brianna had remained unconscious until the day Georgeanna decided to continue loving her husband. That morning, the patient awoke, and it was a miracle. Georgeanna let herself believe that the hospital's curse was lifted. She was wrong.

In the time since the patient's miraculous emergence from her coma, Georgeanna had grown to cherish caring for the woman. Brianna was a well of kind words and praises. These were desperately needed; days at the hospital were consistently cruel for Georgeanna, and nights with her husband – endless. Sometimes he would use her; she allowed him. Aloofly, she would roll over afterward and look into the blackness of their bedroom, waiting for the crimson veil to come over her mind and enter a semi-conscious, so-called sleep. At the hospital, the haze remained, and red eyes followed her everywhere. Clear vision only returned in the presence of the poor old woman.

Early in her shift one day, Geogeanna had stopped by the east wing to find her patient in an exceptional mood. The sun had not yet risen when Brianna greeted her with even more enthusiasm than her character generally held.

“Is that my guardian angel coming to bring this beautiful day to a start with one of those delectable chocolate pudding cups?” Brianna asked from behind the curtain. Her voice was soft, yet had a certain strength to it. This vigor had not been there when Brianna had first awoken, deepening Georganna's faith that she would break the curse.

She swung back the curtain and smiled at her patient. If before, Brianna had been a wilting flower, today she looked like a waxing moon. When Brianna was still looking rough, Georganna would approach her timidly, softly peaking her head through the curtain before addressing the sickly woman. This habit, Brianna had quickly and sternly reprimanded, saying a good mood was the best medicine – in far more anecdotal words – and demanding that Georgeanna always come to her bed with a smile.

“Pudding! It isn’t even six in the morning, I hardly expected you to be awake, and certainly didn’t take into account that you’d be hungry!”

“What? After all this time together, I thought you knew me better. I’m always hungry for pudding cups".

“Well then, I just better go get you some".

“No”, Brianna said urgently, before continuing more calmly, “it can wait, I could hardly postpone your angelic company".

“Now you are just too sweet. Truly, like I keep telling you, it's the doctors you should be thanking".

“Oh, don’t be cute”, Brianna snapped, “You still look at your toes when you lie, like a child blaming a broken vase on the dog. I hear what the other nurses say about you".

“I don’t, I… God what are they saying?”

“They say you're the best nurse in the building”. Brianna praised with a smile. “As good as any of the MDs. I even heard one claim no one would get out of here alive if it weren’t for you".

That can’t be what they say. All the girls knew she was a mess. Though she tried hiding it, Georgeanna hadn’t been sleeping, and it was affecting her work. That’s what the other girls saw, not this fictitious praise of an old woman.

“You’re just being flattering” Georganna protested, “the other ladies know me better than to say all that".

“Don’t you call me a liar". Brianna scolded, before reconsidering which truths were worth telling. “Fine. You’re right to think that’s not all of it. Some have also said you were once so lively and joyous, but that you have turned bitter and resentful as of late".

“Oh, do they now?”

“However,” Brianna said, holding up a boney finger to silence the nurse, “if you were to ask me my opinion, I would say there’s still a bit of life in you. Perhaps you just left something behind and forgot to go and pick it back up".

Georgeanna glossed over the adage, still fuming at the referenced gossipy indignation. Nurses could be as judgemental as schoolgirls. None had the right to criticize her. They hadn’t seen it yet; they still thought the world would come along for them. Georgeanna lifted her head, diligent not to look at her feet, and stared at the raisin-lipped woman, sternly saying, “Wait till they see what disappointments life has in store for them. I didn’t choose to be this way, but, hey, I’m not a young woman anymore".

“Not a young woman?! Then what do you call me I wonder? Ancient? Decrepit? Eroding?”

“No I…”

“And, don’t you dare think that I missed that tone. I’m sorry, but I am allowed to care about the woman who saved my life”.

“I was just doing my job,” Georgeanna hushed, feeling much like the kid who broke the vase.

“And, what is all this talk about disappointments,” Brianna continued. “Now I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs. Hell, look at where I am now, in a hospital bed with no one to talk to but my bitter nurse. Yet you don’t hear me going on about life's disappointments. Tell me, if something dissatisfies you, then why haven’t you gone and changed it already”.

“There is nothing to be done about it. My mind’s made up, no point fighting for the world to change”.

“Awe, an accepter. I thought you'd be better than that".

“And I thought you’d know to mind your own business. I am just trying to do my job, so stop your yapping and let me get your damn pudding already". Georgeanna said, storming off. Red lights blinked at her in the hospital’s fluorescent halls. She carried out the rest of her shift, never returning to give Brianna her breakfast.

***

Her husband left a cold dinner to rot overnight and came directly into their bedroom. He was stumbling and looked at her with a violent gaze, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes, she knew the look was saying, let me use you for the one thing it's still good for. He undressed in the same noisy way he always did after a few whiskeys, and crept towards her. Despondently, she turned over for him, happy at least that he was there. She loved him after all. Tried though she did, to focus on the mild comfort of the affection, the image of a willful infection stuck in her mind. Avoiding the tortuous thought, she locked eyes with the red numbers on the clock and watched the minutes tick by until it was done. That night, no shade of red could describe her dreams; they shifted to her patient, and she knew, somehow, that something terrible had happened to her.

***

Brianna had tumbled back into a coma.

The doctors neglected to mention this to her caregiver. Georganna rushed past the privacy curtain with an apology-smile on her face and a pudding cup in her hand. Seeing the state of the woman who so sincerely and bluntly cared for her, Georganna’s hands squeezed into fists. Chocolate splashed across the chest of her white scrubs. Disregarding the mess, she leaned in closer to her patient. She was more wheezing than breathing. Georganna had to touch her ear to the patient's chest just to hear it. Ribs rose and fell naturally, but felt as if they would disintegrate under any pressure. Georganna ran out, grabbed the nearest doctor by the arm, and dragged him to the bedside.

“Something's wrong. She’s not responding. I think she’s slipped back into her coma”.

The doctor chuckled, said “boy your observant”, and left the room.

Suddenly unable to stand, she fainted to her knees and held Brianna’s hand, crying softly.

In the presence of her redeemer, she did not dream of red, but the haze was heavy. She still felt the infection inside, like she had allowed a parasite to worm its way into her body and it would never leave. She loved him. But lying was pointless. She couldn’t keep up the ruse any longer, but what was she to do? She would never find a better man. She could only attach herself to someone more cruel if anyone at all. Who would take her? She was hardly a woman any longer.

She found the strength to rise to her feet to look her ‘sleeping’ patient over again. Her arms wrapped around her, and Georgeanna nestled her head into the elderly woman's bosom, sobbing like a child clinging to its mother. She rested there only for a moment before hearing – or rather not hearing – something that flung the haze off of her. Brianna’s whizzing had stopped. Quickly, she clicked the alarm to bring the doctor back into the room. There was too little time. She would suffocate in minutes. Georgeanna rushed to grab an ET tube stored by the entrance and youthfully sprinted back to the dying woman, vaulting past the curtain to get to her. Delicately, yet forcefully, she shoved it down the patient's throat, as only her experience could allow.

The comatose body shook, and the chest rose violently upward, threatening to break her frail ribs. The doctor and several other nurses came into the room. They had to pull Georgeanna away from the bedside to reach the patient, but before she was shoved back and the curtain pulled, Georgeanna saw eyelids pop open and acknowledged her gratefully.

***

In the light of day, the bedroom looked so much more vacant than the world outside the prison of her home. It was decorated ordinarily, generic store-bought signs with comforting words and images disguised the bare eggshell walls. She peeled the thin gold watch from her wrist; the hands had stopped. There were fresh batteries in her nightstand, but she let them lie, chucking the timepiece on the bed.

She didn’t sit – fearing her body would betray her again – but stood motionlessly in the heart of the room, truly occupying the space for what felt like the first time.

She began writing her manuscript, I deserve a better man, and it doesn’t matter if I never find one, at least I will be free of you…

He was owed more than a note. Despite the sick creature of urges and self-hatred that he had become, he was once an honest man, and for that deserved a conversation. She, however, wouldn’t be the one to give it to him. Far too much had been wasted worrying about the things he deserved. What she deserved was to be safe. For her, and her child. Neither of them would suffer his abuse or betrayal. She left the note on the bed, and the cursed home she had wasted away in, clutching her infected belly as she walked towards her new life in peace. She wouldn’t be back again.