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Barren

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She walks in the room smelling of carnations and good old Catholic guilt. A practiced smile plastered on her face as familiar as those glasses she wears around her neck like some relic. She thinks she can pass off her condensation as charity and I'll be none the wiser. Her antiquated charm might work on a bunch of horny brain dead prisoners, but it just turns my stomach.

I smile and play the game. It's not like I have anything else to do.

"So you got the short straw, Sister? Got elected to come see poor Claire in the hospital."

She sets a bouquet of flowers on the table next to me and pats my arm before sitting down. She smiles and I want to scratch her eyes out.

"Why would you say that Claire. We are all very concerned about your accident. That was a nasty fall you took."

Nasty fall for sure, but accident, my ass. That cocksucker Yoot's gonna pay for shoving me down those stairs. Of course, I doubt it was his idea. Ryan O'Reily's gonna soon find out I wasn't kidding when I said, I decide when its over and how it ends. But that will have to wait until I'm out of here and back in Oz.

For now, I smile back with as much insincerity as possible without being obvious.

"Well you can tell the warden, not to worry I won't be filing a workman's comp claim," I say with a little chuckle.

She pats my arm again and I realize she's avoiding my eyes. She knows. The cunt knows. That's why she's here. So much for doctor/patient confidentiality. I bet that bitch Gloria looked at my records and everyone had a good laugh at poor Claire's just desserts. Let's see if I can get her to admit it.

"Then why are you here Sister?"

She looking into my eyes now. Her own eyes brimming with so much sympathy that you would think I was a leper. Christ, she must think she's Mother fucking Teresa, working with prisoners during the day and now sitting at my bedside offering me her support and comfort. What a fucking bitch. Like her actions have no ulterior motives. Like she's not trying to get into heaven, one good work at a time.

"I just thought you might want to talk," She says, holding my hand.

I move my hand away. I'm not some bum on the street in need of a handout. I'm not playing her patsy. I refuse to let her save herself by saving me.

"To you? I don't mean to be blunt, but we aren't what you would call friends, so why would I want to talk to you?"

She seems to appreciate my honesty. I've somehow redeemed myself in her eyes. Well I certainly didn't mean to do *that*. Fuck.

"I realize that Claire, but perhaps now is the time to change that."

Now she's wearing that look, that "poor Claire" look that makes me want to hit something or someone. I wonder what the penalty would be for hitting a nun? I could plead undo stress as my defense. Who wouldn't understand socking such a hypocritical do-gooder right in the mouth? Another time perhaps. Today I'll just settle for making her squirm.

"All over a broken pelvis," I say, crocodile tears heavy in my eyes. "I tell you Sister, I'm touched."

Ah fuck, she catches the sarcasm in my tone. I guess I overplayed that one. She's scolding me with her eyes like I'm some insolent child. She's reaching for something in her purse. Maybe a ruler to slap my hands? Nope, just her rosary. Guess it's time to pull out the big guns to deal with the bad girl, bad seed, bad dream. Take your pick.

"I can see that you know I am aware of your condition, Claire."

I smile at her wording and it throws her off. She's horrified that I might be happy, or if not happy, at least all right with what happened. Complications, the doctor said. A piece of my shattered pelvis punched a hole in my uterine wall. The internal bleeding could only be stopped by a complete hysterectomy.

"My condition?," I say, pointing out her faux pas. "You make it sound like I'm pregnant. Of course, I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore, now do I."

Mission accomplished, a verbal cold-cock. I wish I could frame the look of horror and shock on her face. She finally breaks contact with my eyes.

"I know this must be difficult for you to come to terms with. But God."

And here it comes, the rhetoric of my childhood and every good Catholic's pat answer to any problem, God. If I let her finish, I really will have to hit her.

"Shut the fuck up Sister. I don't want to hear about God right now."

She nods in understanding. She forgives me, my outburst and continues on her course. She thinks I must be angry at God for taking away my possibility of children. Like I would want to bring a child into this shithole world. I can see now it's gonna take something more to get her to leave.

"I guess that's understandable, she says. "I just wanted to let you know that you're not alone Claire. Let me help you."

And those words set me off. I never asked for her help, nor wanted it. But here she sits offering communion or is it absolution. I can never tell the difference. Like swallowing a wafer or confessing a sin can really change the past. Or bring back what is lost. That's just another fucking fairy tale that I don't believe.

"Thanks for your concern Sister, but it's a godsend really. Now I can fuck who ever I want and not have to worry about the consequences."

Another blow to her ego. The term godsend has turned her red. She sees me as Satan incarnate and maybe I am. I don't know. All I know is I'm tired of the bullshit she's pedaling like henna from the gods. She closes her eyes and says a little prayer. For me, for her, I'm not really sure. And I know I don't really care.

She stands up to go, her eyes full of pity.

"I'm sorry for your loss Claire."

She thinks she's had the last word. She can walk out of here, knowing she did her Christian best to comfort me in my time of need. She has her righteousness to keep her warm at night. She's performed her good deed and reserved her place in heaven. But its an empty victory because she's offering me condolences for something I lost years ago.

I was barren long before the doctors gave me news. I've been empty inside since the first piece of shit cocksucker told me he loved me just to get me to spread my legs. Of course as soon as he got what he wanted, he left me high and dry and alone.

I've been put down and pushed 'round too many times to count. So now I don't worry about things like when will I be loved? I fuck them before they can fuck me and I make no apologies. If that makes me a bitch or a cunt, so be it.

You can't lose something you never really had.

 

—FIN—