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 Post subject: New fic: Leaving Scars
PostPosted: Wed Sep 07, 2005 8:31 pm 
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2. Floating Rose

Joined: Sun Aug 21, 2005 3:30 pm
Posts: 36
Location: scenic chicagoland
Hi, all. Brand new to the site. Have been enjoying the other original & fan fic's on the site & thought I would post one of my own. This is a novel I've had in the works for about 10 months now. Hope you enjoy it.

Title: Leaving Scars
Author: tcurti3
Distribution: please just ask me
Feedback: please, please, please
Rating: R at this point (gratuitous yet amusing profanity), will go to NC-17 for hot all-girl action eventually. Woo hoo!

Wrecked

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lizzie bit her lip and looked up at the neurosurgeon. “Are you sure?”

Dr. Soren squinted at the MRI results posted on the lighted board. “Yep." He pointed his pen at the elongated ‘Z’ pattern made by the fifth, sixth, and seventh cervical vertebrae. “So you have no idea how this happened?”

Lizzie sighed. A thousand images from the past months rushed through her mind: lifting 50 pounds of video equipment last week; helping Sam move his newest garbage find, a 70-pound bookshelf, up two flights of stairs to the apartment they shared; drunkenly falling down on the sidewalk in front of Sidetracks; trying to climb that damned tree in Lincoln Park. “None whatsoever." She scratched her head. “Must've been this bad car wreck I had when I was 16.”

Dr. Soren shrugged. “Unlikely, but I guess it doesn’t really matter." He scribbled on her chart. “So, how soon can you report for surgery?”
Lizzie ran her hands through her brown hair. “Hmmmm…gonna have to check on that." The pain’s not too bad, she thought. I can take it a while longer.

“Well, the longer the wait, the more potential for permanent damage." Dr. Soren placed a different MRI image on the screen. “See that?" He pointed to a cross-section of the fifth cervical vertebra. In the middle a blob encroached on the right side of what Lizzie knew to be the spinal cord. “If that gets much worse, you’ll start losing function in your right arm and hand."

“I’ve just been having some…uh…issues with my job and I’m not sure when they’ll allow me to take a leave of absence." "If" would be the more accurate word.

“We can get you in here within the week." He snapped Lizzie’s chart shut. “Why don’t you call scheduling as soon as you work that out?"

Lizzie winced as she pulled on her jacket. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her short brown hair peeked out from under her Cubs hat. Her normally bright blue eyes were dulled from a combination of pain medication and sheer exhaustion. “How long will I be out of commission?”

“That all depends on you." Dr. Soren said. “Some people heal within a few weeks, but you have three severely herniated discs. What I’m proposing is that we perform the full discectomy on all three, replace the discs with cadaver bone, and then perform fusion from C5 to C7." He tapped his pencil on the closed chart. “I’d say you’ll be able to go back to work in about three or four months.”

“Months?" Lizzie zipped up her jacket, ignoring the numbness she had been feeling in her right hand for the past week. “I don’t think I can get that kind of time off work.”

“You can go back earlier, but I really don’t think you’ll want to. This surgery is pretty taxing. We make an incision in the front of the neck here," Dr. Soren said, indicating a line just above Lizzie’s collarbone. “And then we move over the windpipe and do all the work from the front.”

Lizzie shuddered. “I’ll see what I can do about work, but I’m not 100% sure it will be anytime soon." Lizzie shook the doctor’s hand then walked to the waiting room where her best friend, Sam, was waiting for her. She smiled at the familiar face, his dark hair contrasting with pale skin and light blue eyes. She coughed to get his attention. Sam looked up from the 2-year-old copy of “All Terrain Vehicle Quarterly" he was reading. Lizzie shook her head, sure that Sam could read the expression on her face. “So?" he said, rising to meet her.

“Surgery," she said. “Four fucking months recovery.”

“Shit," he said. “Recovery like traction?”

“Oh man, I never even thought to ask that." Lizzie cursed her inattention to detail. “I don’t think so. I mean, wouldn’t he have mentioned it if that were the case?”

Sam shrugged. They walked out the front of the building toward the parking lot, Sam scanning for the green Jeep Wrangler. Even though it was technically Lizzie’s Jeep, Sam drove it virtually every time they were forced to leave the confines of the near North side. “Wanna get some lunch, whore?" he asked, tapping the brim of her Cubbies hat so it tipped back on her head, not quite falling off.

“How about I just cut your fuckin’ head off and eat that, bitch?" Lizzie took off her hat and swiped it at Sam. This was their profane twin bit, the language they had used with each other since puberty.

Sam laughed. “I always knew you had a secret desire to give head." He slid into the driver’s seat.

Lizzie made a gagging sound and pulled herself slowly up into the vehicle. “I think I saw a pancake house a couple of blocks back.”

“Do you think they have warm jism syrup?"

“Seriously, man." Lizzie laughed, imagining making such a request of the invariably Greek waitress. “That is just nasty." Usually Lizzie was the one to take the dialogue to the worst possible place. The muscle relaxants and lack of sleep had dulled her senses to the point that everything seemed to happen in slow motion. By the time she thought of a response, they were already in the restaurant looking at the menu. “They could just stick a vacuum up your ass." She popped the top off of the giant bottle of Vicodin. She separated three pills with shaking fingers and swallowed each one with a gulp of coffee.

“What?" Sam asked, looking up from his menu. “How many of those did you take this morning?"

Lizzie laughed weakly. “None. These are my first of the day." She dipped her napkin in the small glass of water in front of her and wiped at her forehead. She looked up at Sam. “You know, stick the vacuum up your ass to get the jism for the syrup?"

“Do you know what you want?" The waitress shot a withering look at Lizzie. It never fails, Lizzie thought. The wait staff always hears my side of the profanity, never Sam’s.

“Number seven," said Sam, shooting Lizzie an amused look.

“Number five," said Lizzie. The waitress, whose nametag not surprisingly said Athena, snatched the menu from Lizzie’s hand. “Cunt," Lizzie hissed as the waitress stormed off toward the kitchen.

Sam giggled and pointed to Lizzie’s right. She glanced over to see an impossibly old man watching “The View" on the TV suspended overhead. “Does Java man really give a shit about Britney Spears?" Sam whispered.

Lizzie snickered, then winced. The pain was back, searing through her right shoulder blade and shooting down her arm. “Son of a bitch," she muttered.

Sam poured two creamers into his coffee. “So, what are you going to do about work?"

Lizzie gripped a creamer in her left hand, trying to force her shaking right hand to remove the paper top. “I guess I’m just going to have to chance it." Sam reached across the table and dumped a creamer into Lizzie’s coffee. She gave him a slight smile of gratitude. “While I still have insurance."

“Any word on the situation?" Sam asked. Rumors had been flying since 9/11 that Concordia would be filing for bankruptcy. Now, in late September 2002, it seemed even more inevitable than it had been on that terrible day.

Lizzie shook her head. “My contacts in Legal still say that it’s coming, but they’re unsure of timing." Lizzie sighed. “When it does, IT will be the first to go." Lizzie had worked as a systems analyst at Concordia for the past eight years. She had once enjoyed the challenge of designing and implementing reservation systems modules, but the burgeoning bureaucracy and tight budget at the company made it virtually impossible to install any new development. “Mother fucking assholes." Lizzie mumbled as the waitress placed a platter of eggs and bacon on the table in front of her. Lizzie was careful not to look up, sure of the look of judgment being tossed at her by Athena.

“Making friends today," said Sam, gesturing with his fork toward the fast-retreating Athena. “I guess that means no second cup of coffee.”

Lizzie shrugged, trying not to gag at the smell of her breakfast, still waiting for the Vicodin to kick in. She picked up the fork with her left hand, pushing the eggs around. “Remember the Sizzler-san in Tokyo?" she asked Sam.

Sam laughed. “How could I forget?" He swallowed his pancake. “That stupid bitch trying to use a fork upside down to scoop up peas!"

Lizzie laughed at the memory. She and Sam had taken advantage of her flight benefits the previous March and flew to Tokyo for ten days. It had been the most fun they had in years, constantly making wisecracks about shoddy construction standards and suggestively shaped Kanji. Sam had gotten really sick of the all fish/all rice diet and had demanded that they go to Sizzler halfway through the trip. It turned out to be the most expensive meal of their vacation, but by far the most entertaining, thanks to the fork-impaired locals.

“Eat something," Sam demanded.

“Kiss my hairy ass, douchebag." Lizzie glanced around, sure that the grey-eyed goddess Athena would be at her shoulder. Lizzie abandoned the eggs, opting for a piece of overdone bacon. She had virtually no appetite during the past month thanks to the constant pain and a steady diet of Vicodin.

“So I guess I’m going to be playing the role of Nurse Ratchet?" Sam pushed his plate towards the edge of the table.

Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t know if I trust you around all that pain medication." She tossed the remnant of the bacon into her water glass. How do you like that, Athena? Lizzie stared at the bacon flitting around the bottom of the glass, a light film forming on top of the water. She sighed. “I’m not sure what the Hell I’m going to do." She tore her napkin into tiny pieces, rolling each piece into a ball then dropping the balls into the water glass. She spied Athena heading toward Java man with a fresh pot of coffee. Lizzie shoved the glass behind the ‘Specials’ listing on the table. Athena swished by, stopping to fill up Sam’s cup and drop off the bill. Lizzie normally would throw a fit at being ignored, but barely noticed the slight, thanks to the spasms wracking her back.

“We could put you in a home." Sam suggested. “Or an asylum.”

“Yeah, you’re real fuckin’ funny, cunt." Lizzie raised her voice a little on the last word, to ensure that Athena heard. Lizzie looked at the bill. She laid out a twenty for a bill of $17.65.

“You want me to get that?" Sam asked. Lizzie shook her head. It was a little game they played. They both knew that Lizzie was the one who paid because Lizzie was the one with a job. Sam had been sharing Lizzie’s apartment, car, and food for the five years since he moved from Florida.

She steadied herself against the table while rising. She took the bacon/paper water and poured it into her plate, filling the liquid up to the point where it would be impossible to move the plate without spilling it. “No, I think our work here is done.”
------------------------------------

_________________
"It's when somebody likes somebody of the same species." -- my friend's 10-year-old when asked to define homosexuality


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