Free Marie's Journey (Ginecean Chronicles) by Monica La Porta Page A

small blue pill between Grant’s lips and gave him some water from a plastic cup. Grant gulped down the pill the first try.
    Marie waited, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. “How long does it take for the medicine to work?”
    Rane shrugged. “It must dissolve in the stomach. Not soon enough.”
    “Isn’t there something faster?” Marie didn’t want to look at Grant, but she couldn’t resist the urge. His face was covered in sweat and his already fair complexion had paled to a ghostly white. “There must be something.”
     “Of course there is.” Rane gave her a look as if she had asked a stupid question.
    “Then why didn’t you give it to him?”
    “Because.”
    Marie was going to ask what she had meant with that answer, but Rane made a face and then exclaimed, “You really are naïve, aren’t you?”
    Marie was offended by her remark. “I’m fifteen—”
    “The better, faster, safer medicines aren’t to be wasted on workers,” Rane recited. “I work with expired antibiotics and barely enough painkillers to keep them alive.” She started to caress Grant’s shoulders. “Do the same to his arms.”
    “Do you want me to touch him ?” Marie choked at the end.
    “Yes, I want you to touch him.”
    Marie mustered some courage, timidly took one of Grant’s arms in her hand, and slowly stroked it. All the while, she couldn’t stop shivering.
    “The touch calms sick patients.” The woman gestured to use both hands to give the massage. “Don’t you feel better when you’re caressed?”
    Marie blushed. Of course I feel better when someone caresses me! What a silly question.
    “Well, you’d be surprised, but men feel better too when treated like human beings.” Rane gave her a pointed look.
    Maybe she’s testing me. Marie redoubled her effort, and trying her best to ignore the way she reacted to his proximity, starting with Grant’s right hand, she massaged it with an upward motion. “Is this good?”
    “Yes, it feels good,” Grant replied, surprising her. The result was that Marie dropped his arm as if it weighted a ton and jumped back at the same time. Rane rebuked her. To add insult to the injury, Grant gave her an amused look, despite the fact he was ridden with pain. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his focus on Marie.
    “Try to relax now,” Rane said to Grant, and after passing a hand through his hair in a tender gesture, she moved away from his bed to check on a man two beds on the right who had just called her.
    “Hi, Marie.” Grant hadn’t lowered his eyes. He was still looking at her.
    Marie felt a strange tingle at his words. She hadn’t seen him since Carnia had left Redfarm, and her thoughts were scattered several directions at once. “What happened to you?”
    “I got whipped.” He turned slightly on his side and grimaced in pain.
    She closed the distance between them in a second, her hands reaching for him by their own volition. “Don’t move. Let me help you.”
    “I can’t stay in this position for long. I think I’ve a broken rib or something.” His voice was a rattle now.
    At closer scrutiny, his eyes looked red and feverish and dark circles sat under them. “Don’t talk.” She could see every word he spoke forced him to expand his thorax, pushing on the broken rib. She brought a wheeled stool closer and sat by him. “I’ll massage your shoulders. Is that okay?”
    He nodded and let his head slip farther down the pillow. “Tell me something about yourself.” He sounded sleepy already.
    “Me?” The question took Marie by surprise. A worker asking about a woman’s life. She saw the sickly sheen on his skin and how much it hurt him to keep talking. “I don’t like the color yellow,” she blathered, not knowing what else to say.
    “You don’t like the color yellow?” His eyes, on the verge of closing a moment ago, now flashed wide open and focused on her mouth.
    Or so it seemed to Marie. “I hate the color yellow.”
    “But, why?” He