In almost every way imaginable, my extended stay at the hospital was not a good time. An unfortunate accident involving several pounds of bacon grease and a rubber duck had landed me with a nice pair of compound fractures along my ankles—the details of which aren't something I like to recall. In the wake of that tragedy, I was proverbially marooned on a hospital bed as my island, both feet stuck in a pair of casts and slings while my bones slowly healed.

Unsurprisingly, morons who break their bones aren't exactly hospital VIP's, especially not with my cheap-ass health insurance, so after a short stint in my hospital bed I was transferred to an outpatient facility for the remainder of my recovery. To call it horrifically boring would be an understatement: the TV on the far wall was tuned exclusively to a mind-numbing rotation of home improvement shows, and it was impossible to see anything on the decade-old television for most of the day anyway thanks to the glaring sunlight which came through the adjacent window. My only other option for keeping busy was a stack of magazines on my bedside table, but you can only read so many tabloids before the feeling of your brain turning into mush becomes a tangible sensation.

The end result was something even more hellish than cabin fever. Robbed of my legs, quality entertainment, and any source of nourishment beyond mystery meat and jello, I was absolutely losing my mind. The worst part by far were the nights. Trying to fall asleep when your feet have been mummified in an inch of cloth and plaster is nearly impossible—and being stuck in a dark room you aren't familiar with doesn't exactly put your mind at ease, either. Managing to fall asleep at all was a minor miracle, so when I was awoken from a brief spell of rest on my third night in recovery, my immediate reaction was a sense of irritation.

I quickly brought that reaction to heel when I fully opened my eyes and locked gazes with the raven-haired beauty by my bedside. She was dressed in a nurse outfit, but it wasn't like any that I had seen the staff wearing before. It was a pale shade of pink, as far as I could tell in the low light of the room, and it seemed rather… risque in how it clung to the impressive curves of her figure.

"Who are you?" I asked quietly, trying my best not to sound accusatory.

"Oh, dear… I'm sorry to have woken you up," the woman murmured, revealing a voice that was rather surprising in its gentle, mellow cadence. "That usually doesn't happen."

"That's alright," I shrugged. "Just curious, now that I am awake."

"My name is Abigail, darling," she said, leaning forward so that her silky black hair swished across my arm. "And I'm your night nurse."

There was something very strange about Abigail. I should have been suspicious, maybe even afraid—considering the fact that Abigail didn't look like any of the other staff—but there was something about her which dispelled my many possible misgivings. I couldn't put my finger on it, but she seemed trustworthy, gentle, even alluring.

"My name's Max. It's nice to meet you, Abigail. I gotta say though, I've never had a night nurse before—I don't think I've ever needed one."

"And before tonight, you would have been right," she nodded, her face then adopting a look of concern, "but your condition has become a little more serious, so I'm here to check up on you, and make sure all your needs are met."

"More serious?" I asked with surprise. "I feel like I've been getting better quite steadily, to be honest."

Abigail placed a tender hand on my forehead, still looking worried. "Your body is healing quite well, but now you're suffering from a lot of restlessness, which creates an abundance of pent-up energy."

As she spoke, Abigail's hand smoothed across my forehead, sliding down to cup my chin and tilt my gaze upwards so our eye contact was frighteningly direct. Her eyes were a deep, crimson shade of red, something I hadn't noticed until that very moment. There was a bewitching quality about her stare, the depths of her eyes, that almost induced a sense of vertigo when I tried to study them. Her expression was difficult to discern, only made more difficult by how flustered I suddenly felt. Abigail's lips seemed to be teetering on the edge of a smirk… or maybe a pout, begging for kiss? It was so hard to tell.

"And all that pent-up energy isn't good for you," she whispered in the sweetest, softest voice I had ever heard. "Which is why I'm here to help you." Abigail's other hand made itself known by gently resting on my stomach, and I fought to contain the responding thrill that shot up my spine. "Are you okay with that, Max?"

Our faces were so close to one another that I could smell the bizarre sweetness of each measured breath she took, her sheer placidity creating an air of intimidation that was making me sweat.

"Y-Yeah… I'm okay with that," I answered timidly. The confidence in my voice had disappeared somewhere far away, and the feeling that my mind was being drawn into some kind of flustered haze was only growing stronger.

"Good," Abigail murmured, her lips curling into a gentle smile.

In a single smooth motion she closed the gap between our lips, drawing me into a passionate, gentle kiss, and sliding her right hand down from my abdomen to my groin.