I count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I count one to eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I say, count. I tell myself to count to eight. I count one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I tell myself I am counting too fast. I count one to eight, one to eight with each breath and if I was counting out loud I think only the dogs would hear me. If I was counting out loud, I’d probably be counting too fast for even them to hear me and I’d be running fast away from animals of any kind. I watch the ceiling be much larger than I am and try and make myself blank like it is. I pretend I am outside with my girlfriend in that big, white, waiting room that is made of ceilings like this. I pretend I'm in her bed and she's the one touching me. I am sobbing and tears are filling my ears, but I am in her bed.
I repeat my girlfriend’s name in my head and I hope she will hear me crying for her. I hope she is holding my hand out in the waiting room, or her room, or anywhere. I hope I am anywhere else.
Stay there, or hold on, there can't be too many one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eights left.
I feel his body brush against my right foot and I listen for him to flinch away or be embarrassed or say sorry. Should I say sorry? My foot is tingling and rotting and I'm not sure if I should move so I don't. I lay still like the metal frame of the hospital bed I'm on and I might be counting still, but it doesn't feel like I'm breathing any more.
I turn my head, and away from the safe, blank ceiling he is reaching under the sheet, between my legs and his wiry doctor-dressed arm is moving like I'm sure mine does when I'm touching my girlfriend's cunt. His face is blank turned away from mine, but his arm keeps reaching and his shoulder keeps jerking like he thinks he could be doing more and if he keeps clutching around between my legs he'll find whatever that is. I try and see if he can feel my eyes searching his, but I can’t stop looking at his shoulder moving, so I look back to the ceiling where I can't see anything moving at all.
I wish he would hurry up and find whatever is wrong with me so he can stop touching me and I can go home and not be sick any more.
Wet and slimy slides away from me, out from between my legs and when I turn my head again I see his index finger glossed in something wet and I am embarrassed. He puts a box of tissues on the table next to my head and I think they are to wipe the wet away from my cunt, which I'm sure I can smell because I'm sweating so much. Then I realise I am crying and maybe they are to wipe the tears from my face so no one knows I was crying over this. I am too scared to ask because I think he will think I am stupid, or a whore.
I pull on my underwear quickly. I want to go have a shower in Dettol and change my underwear because they are the same pair I was wearing yesterday. I think he will tell me to go to the bathroom again. If he does I might be able to wipe my cunt and put folded toilet paper in my underwear so I don't feel so close to myself, like I am a walking, sobbing, vagina.
Instead he asks if I would like a blanket. I must look cold. Am I shivering? Am I cold? I don't think I am. I mumble 'errrriuum okay' which comes out 'I'm okay' and 'um okay' all at once which seems to be the right thing to say because he puts a blanket on me. He doesn't want me to get cold. Am I shivering? I am shaking.
I am wheeled out to the waiting room and I watch my girlfriend from when I turn the corner, until I get to her and I cry. I am two years old and I have grazed my knee and I know I'm making a scene but it just hurts so much and I don't know why and I don't know how to say it.
