Prescription For Submission

“Your vitals are dropping, Lunette,” Dr Ansel says, his voice gentle as he paces about my bed. Yet the pity in it makes my skin crawl.

The heart monitor next to me beeps in a slow, pathetic rhythm, and I wish it could just blow off, marking my final breath.

I keep my Apple Pencil pressed to the screen of my iPad and don’t dare to look up.

“Your left ventricle is struggling to pump, and at this rate of decline, we cannot guarantee you will make it past the next forty-eight hours.”

My fingers pause.

“Two days,” I spit out, as I trace a hard, black line down the digital canvas.

“Yes.”

“Is my father flying in?”

It is a stupid question to ask, but I have already asked it anyway. There is no going back.

Ansel shifts his weight, acting all fidgety all of a sudden, refusing to meet my gaze even when I level him a hard stare. The silence stretches for three painful seconds before he finally sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The chairman sent his regrets. The board meeting in Tokyo is running long. He will not be making a visit.”

I scoff. A sharp, ugly sound scrapes my dry throat, and I drop the stylus onto my lap, giving a proper look at Ansel.

“Are you making excuses for him?”

“Yes—I mean, no! Absolutely not!” he immediately raises his hand in refusal, shaking his head, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, and I can’t help but let out a painful giggle.

Of course…

He isn’t coming…

Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down just like I push back the tears that threaten to fall.

I am not a little girl anymore; these tears are useless.

My father stopped looking at me the day the lawyers realized a girl with a dying heart was unfit to take over a billion-dollar empire.

But he checked out of being a father five years ago.

He is just waiting for the flatline so he can finally be rid of the guilt and regret of having me.

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the ache that builds there.

“Lunette…” Ansel starts, a strangled whisper in his voice, and I grind my teeth in rage.

“Just give me a goddamn painkiller, I don’t wish to die while in pain!” I lean back against the pillows. “If I have two days left, I am not spending them screaming and strangling myself in pain.”

“Lunette…”

“Please… Doctor Ansel… this is my final wish,” I mumble in a soft tone, looking down and gripping my iPad tightly for fear that if I let go, my sanity will flip.

Ansel seems to understand, because soon the sound of the door clicking shut echoes beside my ears.

I look at the walls of my room, at the bags of clear liquid hanging from the IV pole, and the oxygen gas. I press a hand to my oxygen mask and take deep breaths in and out.

I have zero reasons to stay alive now…

No one wants me…

I look at the window and watch as the sun looks back at me and slowly dips below the skyline. The hospital suddenly becomes quiet, and I am left alone with my dying thoughts.

I wait until I can see no movement outside my door before I push my blankets aside.

My legs shake when my feet hit the floor, but I am able to grab my IV pole, pull the monitor clips off my fingers, and take deep breaths of my oxygen, making sure I have enough to feel clear-headed.

All these fucking things! I curse internally as I struggle to stand up. My vision blackens at the edges, but with a shake of my head, I am able to see clearly again.

I take another huge bout of air in until I feel it is enough before I remove the mask and take in the hospital’s sterile air.

I cough a little, but it is just a little pain, a little sacrifice to feel human for my last night.

The hallway is freezing, yet I walk calmly through it, taking my time to digest the place I have been staying at for months now.

The third floor is always reserved for terminal patients, which means it is always quiet.

Too quiet. It is eerie.

I wrap my thin cardigan tighter around my ribs before continuing my walk.

The massive floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the corridor frame a massive, silver full moon.

Beautiful…

Is all I can call it as I look through the glass and stare at the moon.

At that moment, it feels like the moon is smiling back at me, and my heart and whole body feel light as paper, as if it is trying to take me there and then.

I lean my shoulder against the glass and just breathe. The air smells like bleach and old flowers, but I welcome it either way.

If only life could take me here, I would be forever grateful.

A wet, heavy crunch echoes, jolting me from my thoughts.

What… what is that?!

I straighten, panicking. The sound comes from the stairwell to my right, and my breathing spikes, but I steadily take in huge bouts of air.

It sounds like a thick branch snapping in half, but the sound is coming from inside the hospital instead of outside.

I hold my breath as I slowly and quietly step closer to the fire doors. The small glass window in the door is smudged, but the stairwell lights are flickering on and off.

Someone is there.

I gasp, stepping back immediately, but I mute myself halfway. My eyes bulge, and my already dying heart races. I stifle a cough as I take a step forward again.

My eyes must be deceiving me.

But truly, there is someone still there, and it is not a figment of my imagination.

He is wearing a white doctor’s coat, but the fabric is completely soaked in something black?

My eyes widen in horror; my body trembles.

Blood…

He is gripping the railing so hard the steel is bending under his fingers.

This is my cue to run, but why can’t I move?

Fucking move, Lune! Move, goddamnit!

He arches his back, and another sickening crack rings out. What the hell is he doing? His spine stretches, and my eyes follow all his movements. The white coat rips straight down the middle.

Thick, black fur erupts from his skin, tearing through his scrubs.

His shoulders bulge, snapping bone and muscle into a completely different shape.

My chest tightens. And just when I finally find the strength to move, this monster turns his head sideways, and two glowing, yellow orbs stare right back at me.

“FUCKING CHRIST!” I say in a strangled whisper.

Run.

That is the first instinct and it fires through my brain, but my body is broken. I turn, my grip socks slide on the floor, and I stumble, catching my shoulder hard against the wall.

A burning spike of pain shoots straight down my left arm. I gasp for air, but I feel no air in the hallway; it feels like I am trapped underwater and a giant shark has opened its maws right behind me.

I force my legs to move.

One step. Two steps. Every human instinct inside me screams at me to reach my destination, forgetting the fact that my death is closer.

The hallway stretches out like an endless tunnel. Room 412 still stretches miles away.

My vision grows fuzzy at the edges. Black spots swarm my eyes. Behind me, I can feel movement, but I refuse to turn back.

I drag my hand along the wall, leaving a streak of sweat against the paint. Every step costs me a piece of my failing heart.

But I must reach my room.

Finally, I hit the doorframe of my room, practically falling inside.

I slam the door shut with every bit of strength in me and hit the lock. My knees hit the floor, and I crawl painfully, gasping for air, coughing, towards the bed.

My fingers claw at the mattress until I reach the oxygen mask hanging off the monitor. I pull the mask over my face, twisting the green dial on the wall.

Cold oxygen blasts into my nose and mouth, and I suck it in for dear life.

I am able to get to my feet again before slipping into bed and collapsing back against the edge. My chest heaves, and the pain in my arm slowly dials back from a stabbing knife to a dull ache.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe twenty.

The hallway outside is dead silent. No alarms, and then I think perhaps I am really hallucinating.

What would a creature like that be doing inside a hospital?

I pull the mask down around my neck, wiping the cold sweat off my forehead with the back of my trembling hand.

Rational thoughts start creeping back into my brain.

Is this one of the many symptoms of death?

Hallucinations?

My iPad is still sitting exactly where I left it, and I pick it up, tapping the glass. My screen lights up, and I remember I was working on a sketch.

One I have been working on all week. A dominant man pinning a girl to a bed; his hands are huge, and his eyes are dark, filthy raw, and completely unhinged.

It is a kind of intimacy I have never been allowed to have or even feel my entire life.

I stare at the drawing, and it stares right back at me.

If I only have a day left, why am I hiding in this room?

If the Angel of Death is actually wandering the halls tonight, why am I running from him?

I am already dead from the very beginning.

I click my tongue, my brows angling to form a frown. If that thing is out there for real and is here to take my life, can’t he at least give me something first?

Something that feels real, so real that death feels well-executed and deserved.

I look at my drawing for a second, and the perfect idea comes to mind.

But then a sudden gust of wind blows in, and the lights suddenly flicker off.

My eyes snap up, and right before my very eyes is a wolf so huge his fur is almost reaching the ceiling, making the hospital room feel like a tiny box.

A low, vibrating growl rattles the whole room, and I gulp in fear.

So I am not hallucinating…

I am not going to die in pain.

“Big bad wolf,” I start, my voice steady for the first time all day. “Have you ever had sex before?”