I'd only been working at the hospital for three months. I was twenty-two years old, a fresh-faced nurse in a white coat that barely covered my bottom when I bent over. Everyone said, "The head doctor is strict, but fair." He was a mature man, about forty-eight, tall, with gray hair at his temples, always wearing a perfectly ironed coat and with such a penetrating gaze that it sent shivers down my spine. I thought he was just a serious boss. Until I saw the way he looked at me when no one else was looking. That evening, the shift dragged on. Everyone had already left, only the light in his office was on. He called me briefly on the intercom: "Kovalyova, come in." His voice was like an order. I adjusted my stockings, straightened my robe, and went. My heart was pounding. The office smelled of coffee and his cologne. He sat at his massive desk, folders spread out, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Lock the door,” he said without even looking up. I obeyed.... continue reading

It was one of those night shifts that starts out like any other. A hospital after midnight is a world unto itself. Silence punctuated by the beeping of machines, dim light in the hallways, and a feeling as if the rest of the city had died out. I, Sveta, had been working here as a nurse for five years. I knew every corner, every creaking linoleum. That evening, there was a corporate party celebrating some anniversary of the head physician. A modest drinking session in the staff room on the second floor. Champagne, cognac, cheap snacks. I sipped a little, then another, the tension of the shift slowly dissolving in a light, pleasant alcoholic haze. I wasn't completely drunk, but rather warmed up. My body felt light, my cheeks were flushed, and playful, warm shivers ran through me. I threw my white robe over the short black dress I'd worn underneath—I planned to pop into a club after my shift. The robe came unbuttoned, revealing my cleavage and the slightly trembling, firm breas... continue reading