Pt 2
John slept another twelve hours and only once woke up to a quiet, darkened room. Vaguely he gathered it must be night time and what-was-her-name-again was most likely in bed and asleep. He was scared and uncomfortable and everything hurt and he couldn't move or roll over and for God's sake what was wrong with his leg and his chest and… and… and…
When he opened his eyes again, light was pouring in from outside and the sounds of the city waking up reached his ears. The air carried the smell of coffee and fried eggs.
He wasn't hungry, but his stomach churned. He needed something light to eat and as if on command, the freckled woman stepped in, carrying a tray with a bowl and a cup of tea.
Tea? Tea was for girls. John drank coffee.
'No coffee for you,' she said, which told John he'd probably spoken out loud. 'It wouldn't go down well, you'd throw up all over the place. Remember me? Milla?'
'Sure,' he lied.
'Yeah right,' she laughed and helped him sit up. 'How are you feeling?'
'Terrific,' he grunted. Gawd, his chest hurt. His back hurt. Everything was very painful, felt as if it was ripped in two every time he moved or took a deep breath.
'I reckon you've got some bruised ribs, that's why it hurts so badly,' she explained. 'Plus of course the bullet hole.'
'You think…?'
'There's no need for sarcasm,' Milla corrected him. 'I'm only telling you what is going on with you. You're free to leave if my ministrations are not to your satisfaction.'
John had the decency to feel embarrassed. Milla had helped, without her he'd probably ended up in a casket and his bitterness was his way to express his gratitude?
'I'm sorry,' he said in a soft tone. 'I didn't mean it like that. I'm a lousy patient.'
'Yes you are. But you're forgiven. For now.'
He produced a weak apologetic smile, ate slowly and quietly, nibbled on some crackers and tried to take shallow breaths. Milla had breakfast too, she wolfed down toast and fried eggs and looked like she enjoyed it thoroughly.
'Who's Dorian?' she suddenly asked. 'Good guy or bad guy?'
Dorian?
'How do you know…?' he began but she interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.
'You mumbled his name a couple of times. Is he your boyfriend?' she asked while pointing her fork at him.
'No. No!'
Milla sniggered. 'You don't need to look so uncomfortable. Everyone's entitled to their own sexual preference.'
'It's a bot I'm paired up with. Not by choice, but by police regulation. Dorian's a bot. A synthetic.'
'Ah.' Milla nodded. 'I see. An MX? I thought they're all called Max.'
John took a moment to take some painful breaths before he swallowed a few spoons full of soup. The crackers were dry and hard to swallow, the soup went down better.
'No. He's not an MX. He's a DRN.'
That evoked a surprised look on Milla's face and she said, while a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows: 'DRNs were decommissioned because of their unpredictable and sometimes erratic behavior, weren't they?'
'Yeah. But this one's been revamped, and he's doing alright. I should…' John put the spoon down and closed his eyes. He was overcome by a dizzy spell. In a second Milla jumped up, took the tray from him and eased him down. 'Hey, take it easy. That's enough exertion for now.'
Exertion? He hadn't done anything but sit up and eat. He tried to, but he couldn't fight the fatigue. Vaguely he monitored Milla scurrying around in the room and covering him gently with a fresh blanket. Soon he was succumbed to sleep.
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