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Some days it’s barely noticeable. You mask well enough, you can make it through the day, you’re finally good enough, but a few slips here and there makes you suspicious. You’ve been clawing at your stomach, you hunger, and coffee can barely fill that hole. It’s less of a solution and more of a scuffed remedy. You think it tastes bitter on your tongue. You can feel your long tongue gliding against your sharp teeth. One of the Secretary just took the last coffee right before you got to the reception room, but it’s fine, the purple sheep needed it more than you. You’re anything but deserving. A worthless excuse of an animal. Useless bunny. You’re just an Intern, what do you contribute? And worse, you’re an Anomaly.
You’re so hungry. You’ve wandered into the emergency wing, into Room 8. It’s fine, Surgeon was already done for the day, so any extra transplants after the elk left were up for grabs.
…is what you would have thought if there were any transplants left. Damn it. Maybe the last patient in here needed the two organs, which you’ve realized you didn’t think the plan through. It’s fine, the patient definitely needed it more than you. You tug on your rabbit ears. You’re starving and there’s no transplants. Fuck.
Okay, maybe you can figure this out. Maybe trying to swindle some mint tea from Harlow, you can tell there’s something up with him, you can smell it on him. Your stomach growls. But there’s no time.
You collapse to the floor next to the counter, dizzy. You curl in on yourself, hugging your stomach. It’s fine. It’s your fault and it’s fine. You should’ve thought ahead of time. Maybe you shouldn’t have been a worthless Anomaly in the first place. You shouldn’t have let it happen. You..
You were biting down on your paw. You didn’t realize it until you tasted the black blood on your tongue. This calms you down a little, you realize. Kinda gross though. You gained enough strength to pull yourself up the counter. In doing so, you see the scalpel. Perfect.
You look at the surgery schedule, double checking. There’s still no more surgeries today. You snag the scalpel, and start searching the drawers until you find a small blue towel. You take one more glance at the window in the door before going behind one of the counters, crossing your legs as you sit against the counter.
You roll up your sleeve and take a deep breath, exhaling. You settle the blue towel under your arm, on top of your knee so the blood doesn’t get on the floor (or your clothes). You haven’t done this in a while. You thought you were getting better. The last time you did this was before you got infected… whatever. Doesn’t matter. You don’t matter.
You glide the scalpel across your forearm, a nice, clean cut. You watch the black blood flow out, before making another. Before making more. You continue this. You always thought styros was pretty, but you’ll never admit it, you know you’ll be ostracized. They’ll put you back there. Harlow will…
You continue with the cuts, occasionally dabbing your arm with the towel. The smell of the blood was good enough to satiate you, as well as this well deserved pain. You’re dizzy and it’s fine. You feel like crying and it’s fine!
Now that you think of it, aren’t animals supposed to cry when they’re in pain? You’ve been tearing your fur open for a while now and not a single sob! Another thing that separates you from regular animals. The towel is completely soaked with your black blood. You toss it in the waste bin and get another tiny blue towel from the drawer and return to your spot.
Maybe you should stop now. Moving your head too much makes everything blurry. You drop the towel on your forearm and it quickly turns to black. Huh. That might not be good. You were about to go retrieve another tiny blue towel (the hospital had an abundance, a small amount can be wasted on you) when your rabbit ears could hear the footsteps before the door clicked open. Shit.
You press your back against the counter, hiding while putting pressure on your numerous wounds with the towel. You recognize those footprints, the formal shoes of the black cat. You know the way his shoes click on the ground lightly.
Sentinel. You have a feeling that’s not his actual name but everyone goes by their job names due to hospital protocol, including you. He’s from the Corporation, hired to take care of Anomalies. Anomalies like you. He’s licensed with a gun, unlike Security. You can hear that he stopped walking by now.
“Intern?” He asks. You nervously press your back against the counter further, doing your best to hide. “Intern, I can see your ears.” Fuck.
You duck your head like that will do anything. No Intern here! If Sentinel goes to where you’re hiding, this would be very bad on you given you have black blood. Only Anomalies have black blood. The sink is near the door and Sentinel will definitely see your arm. Maybe you can shove the towel under your sleeve, yeah that will do the trick—
In your overthinking, you didn’t realize the black cat had already made his way to you, and you stupidly flinched when you see him standing in front of you. He kneels down. He’s looking at the towel on your arm soaking up the black blood. Fuuuuuck, he’s gonna gun you down now for being an Anomaly. Aw man. Apparently you were visibly scared because as he was about to peel away the towel, he backed away a little, putting his paws up in surrender.
“…The others were wondering where you went.” Sentinel says calmly. You can see him tracing over the wounds not covered in the towel with his eyes. You glance back at the gun. Well? The color of your blood is glaring proof you’re an Anomaly. Why isn’t he shooting you yet? Is he gonna torture info (that you don’t even have) out of you? Is he gonna make it painful?
Maybe you should stop watching thriller movies with Nurse. He sees your gaze on the gun and he shifts his belt so it’s out of your view. With his yellow eyes still on you, you watch him get one of the blue towels from a drawer (he looked at the drawer itself for too long. You think you might’ve accidentally left some blood on it) and he soaks it with water in the sink. He makes his way towards a different counter for the bandages.
Finally, he comes back to you. You forgot you were supposed to be scared of him when you remember that his job is quite literally to kill you when he gently tugs your blue towel off. Yes. Your blue towel. You’ve bonded with this one for too long that it’s yours now. You can see his eyes soften at the sight of your cuts, your tan fur stained with black blood, just barely visible old scarring underneath it all. And he cleans.
You don’t know why. Why is your natural enemy so caring? For you of all people? You don’t deserve this. There’s other animals out there going through things worse than you. You’re not worth anything compared to them, yet he’s dedicating his time to you here.
“I noticed you going in here on the cameras while Security was getting something from the shop.” He murmurs. “Head Nurse was wondering where you were since you were still clocked in. I’m the only one who knows you’re here right now.” Shitttttttt man he’s gonna gun you down with no witnesses!
Despite doing your best to cope in your head with humor you really can’t control your facial expressions and he notices. He looks back at you before wrapping your forearm with bandages. He carefully ties it off and sits back. You look at him confused.
“I won’t tell anyone.” He says. You’re unsure if he’s talking about you being an Anomaly or the cuts. You hope it’s both. “Take care of yourself. Maybe clock out early.” He wiped the tears out of your eyes with his paw. Wait, you were crying? You were crying. Anomalies aren’t supposed to cry. You sit like this for a few minutes, quietly sobbing as he does other things.
He stands up and walks out the room, leaving you. And he STILL didn’t gun you down somehow. You stand up, using the counter as support as you look around. While you were sobbing your (non beating) heart out, he disposed of the evidence of everything that went down in the surgery room. Everything’s clean. You look back at the drawer where the blue towels were kept. It was recently scrubbed.
You then remembered you had the scalpel in your hands, you must’ve lost it at some point because it does appear it’s no longer in your hands. Maybe Sentinel took it, who knows, you were out of it.
You roll your sleeve back down, careful not to disturb the bandages. You exit Room 8.
You make it back to the reception area in hopes of some coffee when you look and the coffee machine is empty. Fuuuuuck. You began searching for the culprit when a certain black cat passes the mugs into your own paws. You watch him not mention anything and leave again.
“Oh yeah, he like rushed in here and immediately hogged the coffee but didn’t drink it. Dunno what that’s about.” The sheep Secretary mutters. The bunny Secretary nods. Huh. You sip the coffee.
It’s sweet on your tongue.