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Added: Aug 14
Poster: ib4real

Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 4
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Source: olaxali
Ivie sq££zed to an edge of the bed. The door’s squeal pinched her ears. She managed to overcome the weight of her lids and raised them to the stranger, the intruder, the Richard, her victim. The nurse’s chair was empty, and Ivie realized she lived alone in the small room with an unwelcome guest. He walked further and positioned on the nurse’s chair. She directed her gaze to the ceilings. Its white surface did more good than the man’s round, tan face or his expensive-looking suit, the kind he wore on the day of her accident. He told her the doctor said she could leave today, his voice different from the last time she heard him speak.

Her nurse previously told her she had been discharged, but shouldn’t leave immediately; her body needed rest to return to its normal physiology. If she hadn’t listened to the nurse, she would have saved herself the plight of meeting this man. She would have left the hospital and go work for some money to pay for the broken perfume, so that the next time she would encounter him she would have his money in hand.
With a glance at him, the bottled perfume burgled into her mind. It must have broken during the accident. It had. Whatever the cost was, it would be hard gathering. Nothing in that place was cheap. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she told him.

“The doctor recommends you go to a lab and run some tests. We could go there from here.”

He ought to be admonishing her, wagging his fore finger with a frown and not thinking of taking her to a lab. “No need for lab tests. They did a perfect work here,” she managed. The crack dividing her lips tore and tormented the flesh. The lower lip, she folded into her mouth and wetted with her tongue, scathing her tongue’s tip.

“It’s necessary,” he said. “What’s the essence of everything if you don’t get completely well?”

Seriousness bared in his face, the kind that showed she might not be paying for the perfume. It did not seem he would need it. But there would be no further treatment from him. Lest, her debt amassed. If a lab test was necessary, she would do it on her own. “A lab test is not necessary.”



He did not argue, allowing the room to return to its normal tranquillity.
“What are you doing about your illness?” he severed the quiet.

She swallowed the wound that rose from her throat. The doctor agreed to her discharge; it meant she was well. That shouldn’t be difficult for the man to understand.
“I’m not talking about your accident,” he said.

Her lower lip’s wound tore up itself, and the lip refused to fold into her mouth. If he meant her disorder, then someone must have informed him. People knew of it. That was the truth; people knew. And now, he knew. That explained his nice play ever since. No man would act nice or even pretend to act nice to a woman who stole from him and tried to run. “What illness do you mean?” She tried opening eyes wider, but the heft of her lids did not allow.

He gave no reply. “Was it klep—” he hung and transferred gaze to the floor.
He knew of it. The flesh lining her heart shredded. “How did you know of the dis—”
“I just thought so.” His gaze shifted to her. She tried not to maintain a contact.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Do I have a cause to lie?”
Tranquillity found its way back into the room, but this time it brought thorns along with it, thorns that hovered around the air she breathed, with their thin, sharp, slimy mouths pointing to her. “I need some time alone,” she muttered. “Please.”
“I’ve arranged with the doctor to take you out of here.”

“You are in no position to do that.” She coughed and the sore in her throat ruled.

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