“Something wrong?” She flicks my vein. “No. You should be used to this.” I know what she’s insinuating. Needles. Syringes. Shooting up. “I don’t get my blood drawn on the regular,” I say lightly, eyeing the B2 door. Luna. Racing after her is the only thing that makes sense to me. “I meant the needle,” she states, wielding a needle. I’m taken aback by how forward she is. “Not used to those either, Nurse Becky—fuck,” I curse as she stabs me outside the vein. “Sorry, and it’s Macy.” Apologies aren’t on her face. “You sure it’s not Ratched?”
