The American Doctor

I got in early, set up my clinic in the motel room, put my instruments out in neat rows, and waited. My nurse staggered in later, stinking of booze.

“Would it kill you to have a little respect for the job?” I asked. She growled something nasty at me in Ukrainian, took an Oxy and got to work prepping Depo shots. “Nice to see you, too.”

I heard the girls in the hall arriving for their check-ups. The door opened and the first girl was pushed in.

The new ones all looked alike, with scared eyes and fresh bruises. She was quiet, shaking as I checked her for signs of STDs or anything that might limit her money-making potential. As usual, I ignored the bruises on her wrists and thighs where she was held down and…broken.

All done, the nurse gave the girl her birth control shot and led her out. The girl turned and said something to me in Ukrainian, pleading and desperate.

“I don’t understand,” I lied. “I’m so sorry.”

The nurse led her out as I put my instruments into neat rows, slumped into a chair, and waited.

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