Blood Sport by J.D. Nixon

myself.
    The Sarge poked his head around the door and ambled into the room. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt that showcased his nice chest muscles and a leather jacket, with his utility belt slung around his hips. I looked up at him, miserable. He walked over to the bed, gently pulled me up by my hands and enfolded me in his arms.
    It was a good hug. No, scrub that – it was a great hug. It continued for a long time and only finished when I was ready to pull away.
    “Thanks, Sarge,” I said gratefully, glancing up at him. “I really, really needed a hug.”
    “I could tell from your face.”
    I plonked back down on the bed again. “I don’t want to be here anymore. And I don’t want to be on this thing anymore.” I shook the trolley. “I need a shower and clean clothes, Sarge. Please! I can’t stay in these pyjamas one second longer. They’re disgusting.”
    He strode out of the room and I laid back on the bed, trusting him to sort things out for me. I thought again that I’d grown much too used to him being around. The Super was right. He was, not too possessive as she thought, but too protective. It was making me lazy and soft. I would soon be dependent on him, but one day he wouldn’t be there in Little Town for me. He had a city-loving fiancee and he had ambitions to rise in the ranks. And neither of those was compatible with life in a small country town. I’d been angry when he arrived because he was so stiff and unfriendly, and now I’d be angry with him when he left because I’d feel like he deserted me. The poor guy couldn’t win.
    A few minutes after he left, a nurse came rushing into the room and disconnected me from the IV without any comment or eye contact.
    “Am I all right without being hooked up?” I asked with concern, looking down at my arm.
    “Who knows? I’m just trying to get rid of that cop at the desk. He’s a frigging pest.” She glanced at me anxiously. “Oh shit. Is he your husband?”
    I laughed. “No. He’s my boss.”
    She relaxed. “Thank God. Who cares about them , huh? Bunch of arseholes, mostly.”
    I laughed again. “I only want to have a shower and change out of these bloodstained clothes, then I’m happy to be hooked up again.”
    “You poor girl. Who left you in those horrible clothes anyway? Bloody night staff! Too lazy to do anything properly.”
    She unhooked me and I took a slow, hot shower. All of Red Bycraft washed away from me and down the drain. I scrubbed myself and washed my hair a second time, just to be sure. Afterwards I brushed my teeth, flossed and gargled, twice. I knew it was a psychological response, but I needed to get rid of every possible trace of Red on my body. Dressed in a fresh tracksuit, lying back in bed, sparkly clean, I submitted to being hooked back up to the IV again.
    “Is there any chance of food?” I asked the nurse, full of hope.
    “Kitchen’s closed till lunchtime now and I’m not asking the manager for any special favours. She’s temperamental and she has a drawer full of sharp knives.”
    “But I’m starving,” I complained.
    “Sorry. You’ll have to wait for lunch,” she shrugged, before leaving. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, ready to go to the cafe to get myself some food. I hadn’t eaten much lately and had thrown up most of what I had eaten. I needed food and I needed it fast. But I didn’t even have any money on me, I realised with a groan. I’d been out jogging when this whole mess had started in the first place.
    The Sarge burst back into the room. “What are you doing? Get back in bed. What do you need?”
    “Food,” I said piteously. “Lots of food. And fast.
    He sighed patiently. “What do you want to eat?”
    “Tuna salad on wholemeal with an apple and an orange juice,” I said, trying reverse psychology on him. I really wanted a bacon and egg sandwich and a couple of hashbrowns.
    He laughed. “I’ll see what I can rustle up,” he threatened and headed off.
    I leaned over to