Chapter 29: And he gave
Vlad sat at the small table – a square for one person, his books stacked against the wall, a notepad and two ballpoint pens in front of him while he worked on his correspondence business course – when the nurse came into the room with a hessian tote bag.
"Mister Masters? Your parents sent this a month or so ago, and the doctors finally decided you could have them, given that your general health has been getting better."
Vlad frowned and rose from his seat to get the bag and see what was in it.
It was...
Clothes. Real clothes. Not hospital gowns.
the kind of things real people wore people with a future people with prospects
He raked his brain, but couldn't remember anyone mentioning that possibility before. He'd been wearing the hospital gowns for months on end, and he could understand, given that he tended to get blood on himself throwing his guts up every other week, and that fever bouts had him drenched in sweat more often than not and of course the necrosed arms easier to access with a gown on – but things had changed, hadn't they?
He still got feverish, but it was either for a shorter time or less intense – sometimes both. In the last three weeks he'd managed to always reach the bathroom before throwing up, too.
his hands were back to normal
Vlad just wasn't ruining his clothes all the time anymore how many how many hospital gowns had it been so far stained with red and fluorescent pink disgusting with sweat and desperation torn up when he'd convulse and that meant they could let him wear real clothes.
like a real boy
The nurse nodded at him.
"I'll let you to change. You're expected to keep the gown at night, in case something happens while you're asleep and a doctor needs to treat you, but other than that, you can wear those clothes as you want. Of course, if there comes a time when you are continuously ill, we'll get back to the gowns for a while, but your health does seem to improve, so it shouldn't be a problem."
Vlad's eyes were stuck on the t-shirt in his hands – and remained there even as the thought struck him: he didn't know the nurse's name.
"Wait... What's your name, please?"
He didn't look up, didn't dare watch the man's face as the silence grew.
"Ah. Sorry. I thought I'd told you. But, it's true I was only recently assigned to your case. I'm Ziad Moore-Hamoud. I've been working in this clinic for nearly a decade now. Maybe you'd rather I call you Vlad, since we're on the topic?"
The doctors and nurses all called him Mister Masters – and so did Bianco, but it wasn't the same, the director actually talked with him when he stopped by – and while Vlad had been told the names of some of them – and been unable to remember most of them because no one would look him in the eyes and see a person not only a patient a victim someone they didn't succeed in helping their own failure – he was also certain they hadn't actually introduced themselves to him. It was more that someone else had mentioned their names to him, and by process of elimination...
"...Can I call you Ziad, then?"
Vlad still wasn't looking at the nurse, but he did hear the smile in his voice nonetheless.
"Of course, Vlad. I'll see you later, alright? Read that letter from your parents. Maybe write back, too. You could ask for more of your clothes, since you finally get to wear them."