A/N: This isn't connected to my chapter story, just a sick little one-shot I came up with while re-reading the book. This one isn't in Nadsat because Alex isn't the narrator.
The young man should have known better than to try knocking on a door to ask for help. These days, the good Samaritan was a vanished species, whose death was brought on by drunken boys trying to trick their way into strangers houses, or desperate girls pounding on doors begging to be let in, please sir, before the lads catch up with me. The standard answer to either of these was for the shades to be drawn and the door to be bolted.
So it seemed like a stroke of luck for poor little Alex when a kind-looking woman opened the door for him.
"Why, you poor thing! You look a mess!"
"The police", he choked out. "The horrible, bloody police."
The woman scrunched her face sympathetically. She bent down to help him up, and led him into the house.
"Would you like something to drink? A glass of milk, perhaps?"
"No!", Alex cried, his hands clutching at his stomach. He gasped for breath, the very idea of his former drink bringing on sick spasms. The woman simply smiled understandingly and helped him into a chair. She went back and closed the door.
Alex shut his eyes and heard the locks being turned.
"There's no need to explain your situation to me, dear. I've seen your picture in the papers. You're the poor boy who went through that horrible government program. Shameful the way the law works these days. My husband must be turning in his grave."
"Your-"
"My husband. Lord rest his soul. You see, some time ago he and I were attacked by a group of hoodlums. I was...badly hurt, but I survived. But I'm afraid the shock was too much for my poor husband."
The woman's face remained the same kind picture as her young guest moaned and clutched at his stomach.
"Oh, I do apologize. Yes, I now remember reading that the mere mention of violence could cause you pain. Or drugs. Or music. Or sex."
Her fingernails tapped rhythmically against her glass and she-perhaps unconsciously- started humming an old tune.
"Please, Misses. I don't like that song."
"So sorry. Perhaps I should call for an ambulance?"
"I thought you didn't have a telephone."
Alex bit his lip and the woman turned, smiling.
"We've gotten one since. It's been a long time, hasn't it, Alex?"
She waked over to where he sat, her heels clicking on the tile.
"My husband's death left me very lonely. I've been hoping for a visit from you for some time now."
The woman's hand began to unbutton Alex's jacket. Normally he would have welcomed her advances, but the treatment had scarred him, and he tried to turn away. He couldn't even push her, the way he now reacted to violence.
"Please, Misses. Please don't do this."
"Why not?
"The treatment. I can't."
"I think you can. It's just a question of whether or not you want to."
"Alright then, I don't want to!"
The woman laughed. She didn't even need to say another word. Alex understood the irony perfectly well. He slammed his eyes shut and squirmed in his seat as she took off his jacket.
Fin