"How is she doctor?"
"I don't know, Sharon. She's unresponsive. We'll do a full neurological work up tomorrow, but for now there's not much I can do. Can you see that she's comfortable please? I need to check on Ms. Andrews in room 318."
"Certainly doctor."
The door closes and the doctor's heavy footsteps disappear down the hall. You try to move, to open your eyes, but your muscles don't respond. You hear Sharon's footsteps as she wanders around the bed, fiddling with knobs and switches, her pen scratching the paper as she writes down numbers and figures. She places the chart over the end of the bed and checks the door. You can hear everything, every breath, every little sound. You can smell the recently washed floors, the stink of a thousand sick, bedridden people, the freshly cut scent of sunflowers on the bedside table. But you can't move.
The nurse's light footsteps become closer. A cool hand presses against your forehead for a moment, then runs down over your hair. You hear her bend over you, feel her warm breath on your skin, goosebumps forming as soft lips embrace yours. As they linger you find your fears melting away, the intrusion not as unwelcome as it was at first. The nurse moves away, cool air caressing your lips.
"Thank you," her gentle voice sighed, "I needed that. I'm sorry, it was unprofessional I know. You're just so beautiful. Do you remember me? I remember you. Our future would have been so bright if only you'd stayed with me. It's strange that this is how I get you where I wanted you." She giggled to herself, and her voice took on a more seductive tone, "They tell me that patients in a coma may still be aware. I hope so. I wouldn't want my delicate sponge bath to be wasted. Don't worry. If you're in there, you'll enjoy this. I think I might too."
Slowly the thin sheet that covers you is pulled down, and your gown removed down to your navel, exposing your nipples to the night air. A soft breeze from the window hardens them to buds. Sharon's warm hand cups and strokes your breasts, your nipples softening from the attention. Her hands leave you.
You hear splashing. Suddenly warm drops of water fall onto your belly, running down your sides. A moist hand, warmed by the water, runs over your left breast, tweaking the nipple as it brushes past. A sponge, slightly scratchy, rubs against your neck, warm water flowing down behind your head. You feel like you're floating, hands exploring your naked body, and you are powerless to stop them. Fingers trace along your stomach, sending lightning through your veins. You strain, your mind screaming, trying to move your muscles, any of them, to greet Sharon's beautiful touch. Nothing gives, and your mind resigns itself to the pleasure.
