Well hello, my friends. Sorry I'm late with this update, I really am.

SM owns.

Chapter 9

"Okay, Jasper, talk to me."

I slap his face, twice, but he keeps shaking; the bed screeches. Saliva glistens over his right cheek, and his eyes roll up while he produces really horrible noises, his foot kicking at my thigh.

"Talk to me, Jasper, this is getting scary!" He's so authentic, my stomach is in knots. "Good, stop it! Stop!" I pinch the skin above his elbow until he groans and speaks, fixating me with his ocean blue, piercing gaze.

"That's unethical, Edward. You don't pinch a patient."

"It's also totally unethical to teach a patient how to fake illness. Now shut up and wipe that grin off your face."

He does this trick, with his palm hiding his face for a second and then falling down to uncover a tragic mask, the corners of his lips so low it hurts to look at him. In another movement, his palm goes back across his features, flying up and unveiling a happy smile, white teeth and the tip of his tongue on display, one eyebrow mockingly twitching.

"Looking at you makes me smile, Edward."

Jasper's eyes sparkle.

"And how so, Mister? Am I funny?"

"Yes, you are." At that, his smile fades and he's suddenly serious, even a little sad. "You're also very beautiful, Edward."

Wait, what? In fact, he spoke so quietly, I'm not sure I got that one right.

"What? What did you just say?"

"You're so beautiful it's offensive, Edward. And you're so effortlessly gorgeous, makes me feel envy and adoration at the same time. Does that make sense?"

He can't be serious. Yes, I've been told I'm a good-looker, but beautiful? Gorgeous? And coming out of his mouth? Does he not realize he looks like an angel?

"Jasper, when did you last look at yourself in a mirror?"

"Um, this morning. I shaved, did you notice? All by myself!"

"Oh… wasn't it painful to move around?"

"Ah, I didn't move around. Nurse Stanley brought me a Remington trimmer. Now, why would you ask if I've looked at myself in a mirror? Something wrong with my face?"

"Nothing's wrong with your face, silly."

I decide not to explain that he possesses a heavenly beauty. I have the feeling he won't believe me. Instead, I change the subject.

"Your face needs my kisses."

"I need to pee, actually." It's his turn to change the subject. He smirks and narrows his eyes.

"Okay, I'll bring a bedpan, just wait here." I get to my feet, but his voice stops me.

"I'm not going anywhere, but I'd rather you send a nurse."

His request makes me shift. Is he suddenly uncomfortable about showing his dick or what? He must be aware I've seen him nude already.

"A nurse? Why can't I help you? I've been peed on, puked on, bled on, bitten, hit, and threatened. I'm a doctor. I'm your doctor."

"That you are, but you're also my possible lover, remember? I really don't want to pee on your hand. Urgh, this is embarrassing. Just send a nurse, okay?"

Something glistens in the corner of his eye.

"Okay. I'm going to find a nurse." I simply confirm and retreat, giving him the space he obviously needs.

I can resume the debate about kissing his face later.

The corridors are empty, except for a big, muscular guy. Judging by his looks, he's either a weight lifter or a fitness junkie. He's leaning against the wall a few feet away from where I stand, arms crossed in front of his huge chest. Something in the way he stares at me gives me chills, but I pass by him quickly, heading to the nurses' rest room. My man has urgent needs, and I don't have the time to ponder why that guy's been hanging in the corridor way after visiting hours.

I kill several minutes around the vending machine, selecting a soda and a Snickers bar, then go to the restroom myself. When I decide I've lost enough time of my life, I head back to Jasper.

The butterflies in my stomach are awakened by the thought of the approaching time of our escape. His health is improving with each passing day, and he will be ready very soon. The day after tomorrow looks ideal, simply because I can't wait anymore.

I have to handle this announcement carefully. He's so fragile and sensitive at the moment. I don't want to be inside his head right now. It's scary; he's gone through terrible things, half of which I probably don't even know, and I want to be a good person.

I remember a puppy I had when I was a kid, a golden retriever with the most amazing, intelligent eyes. My little, brave doggie knew me so well; he stood by my side when Mom yelled at me for what seemed like no reason. He barked at my Dad when he raised his voice when I was late for dinner; he lay still at my feet while I cried because I was disgusted by the cheerleader's bare chest exposed at me at that stupid party. My little, brave dog tried to save my life when I was about to drown myself in our swimming pool, after I had my first whisky at the age of fourteen - my first three shots of whisky to be exact. He tried to pull me out of the water, which wanted to suck me in. My drunken mind tried to get rid of him, imagining he was the enemy who wanted me dead on the spot. I hit him, I hit him hard, but in the morning he was again by my side, pleading with his eyes for me to excuse his non-existent mistake. He begged me to forgive his attempt to save my pathetic life. I tried to scratch behind his ear and gain his trust back, but he flinched and jumped away from my touch. That was the moment I hated my miserable self like I'd never had hated a living person. The look in my puppy's eyes was what broke something inside me, and made me swear to god to be a good person, always.

I was just a kid when I made my promise, but here I am, sticking to it at the age of twenty-eight, and trying to be a good person and not scare the living shit out of my patient by suffocating him with kisses.

I compose the words to announce that the date of our escape is set. I go through the corridor back to Jasper's room, barely registering the huge guy is now gone. Taking a deep breath, I press the door handle.