And Mark thought his high priced education kept him from doing this sort of thing.
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Mark stood and looked around. A box with a pizza was on the coffee table with only two slices eaten. Several Chinese food containers and other takeout boxes along with empty glasses and soda cans shared the space. None of the containers had more than a few bites missing. A prescription pill bottle was lying on its side with the top and a few pills scattered nearby. On the floor were several more pills. He picked up the bottle. It was the pain medicine he’d ordered when she left the hospital. He knelt beside her again.
“Kyria,” he said. “Kyria, how many did you take and when?” She didn’t answer. “Kyria, Kyria. Wake up. How many and when did you take them?” Mark tapped her cheeks.
“Take what?” Her words were slurred.
“Your pain meds.”
“When I got a drink of water.” Kyria tried to roll onto her side away from him.
“Do you need an ambulance?” Steve asked from behind him.
“Let’s see if she can walk. It might be that she just took a couple too close together. I’d rather not take her to the hospital. She’d be classified as a drug overdose and that would follow her the rest of her life.”
“Help me get her up.”
The men gently helped her to stand, Mark cautioning Steve about her injuries. They were glad she was wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Kyria protested that she wanted to sleep. They walked her around the living room a couple of times. She leaned heavily on them. Then she stopped and stood up straight.
“I need to excuse myself for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” Kyria stepped away and proceeded to collapse when her legs buckled.
“She needs to…” Steve looked at Mark. “You’re the doc. You get to help her.”
“Um, the nurses take care of this, not the doctors.”
“You’re closer to a nurse than I am. I just take care of people’s pets when they can’t.”
“Okay, but help me get her to the bathroom, will you?”
Steve beat a hasty retreat once they had her standing in the bathroom. Mark, very uncomfortable, helped her with the boxers and onto the stool. He left in a hurry telling her to call when she was finished. The men stood outside the closed door in an awkward silence.
They heard a flush then water running. Mark opened the door and peeked in. He could feel his face heating up. Leaning over the sink, her head against the mirror, Kyria was washing her hands. The boxers were on the floor and the t-shirt barely covered her bottom.
“Um, Kyria, do you need any help?” Mark pulled his head back hoping she could put the boxers on by herself.
“I can’t get my pants. Can you help?” Each word was slurred into the next.
Steve shot Mark a look of amusement. “I never thought I’d be glad I wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor.”
“Thanks.” Mark went into the bathroom keeping his eyes away from Kyria’s body. Snatching up the boxers he held them up to her. She lifted a foot and held it out toward him. Swallowing, he slipped the Tweetie Bird boxers onto the foot. Kyria put that one down nearly pulling Mark over since he was holding the shorts at arm’s length. She lifted the other foot. He slipped the boxers over it and when her foot was again on the floor he stood and exited saying, “You can do the rest. I’ll come back in a moment.”
“Man, is your face red,” Steve said when Mark was in the hall leaning his forehead against the wall.
“I’ll bet. How embarrassing. I’m embarrassed now and she will be if she remembers this. Her boxers had come totally off. The t-shirt covered the essentials, but just barely.”
The sound of her collapsing brought them into the bathroom. Picking her up between them they managed to get her from the bathroom and at Mark’s direction into the bedroom. Between them they managed to pull the covers away, lay her down, then as she snuggled into her pillow, tucked her in.
“She’s not in any danger, so I think it might be best if she sleeps it off.”
Steve looked at Kyria, Mark and then at the bedroom door. “Um, I need to get back to work. Here’s my card,” he said pulling it from his shirt pocket. “It has my number on it. Call if you need me.”
“All right, thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome. Ms Metcalf is a model tenant. I hate to see her like this. Oh, that one’s Mini and the other is Cece,” Steve said pointing to the grey tabby cats who had jumped onto the bed and were snuggling close to Kyria. “I can let myself out.”
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Sophie Dawson is my pen name. The real me is the wife of a farmer in western Illinois.
I have two grown sons, one of which is married to a wonderful young woman. They gave us the most wonderful granddaughter ever in November of 2010. I'm not the least bit prejudice. :)