The Oathbreaker

Chore and I had a fight. Then things got...weird.

He was helping this guy who had been stabbed with some kind of sharpened stick. Chore had helped him before, but apparently there was an infection. Not surprising, considering Chore's lack of dedication to basic sanitation skills.

Anyway, so Chore helped this guy in and lays him down on my floor. I folded his hoodie into a pillow for him and saw this weird symbol like a circle around an 'x'. I think I might have seen Chore wandering around with that symbol drawn on his scrubs, too.

Chore's method of anesthesia is to get his patients rip-roaring drunk. Stupid git didn't realize that thins the blood. This guy was lying on my floor, Chore was setting up his instruments, and when he made the first cut through the anterior abdominal wall, the pressure started.

“Whazzat?” The guy on my floor started bleeding from his ears. The antiseptic smell, the voices, a shimmering in the corner of my eye.

I reached out for his forehead, and Chore grabbed my hand.

“What are you doing, you crazy bitch?”

I wanted to scream, to cry, to tell him that I didn't know what was going on, to rail against this compulsion. Instead, all I said was: “Filth.”

The mark on Chore's forehead turned bright red and he screamed and grabbed his head. The drunk guy between us laughed and pointed. “Oathbreaker!”

“Filth.”

“I'm not!” Chore yelled, falling back on his ass and scooting across the room into the nearest corner.

The stranger sat up, clutching his stomach, but it didn't keep his intestines from spilling out. The odor of decay fought with the antiseptic smell for dominance. “You missed your chance, Choroba.”

He cowered in the corner, hiding his face in his arms. The voices in my mind clamored, pushing me to my feet. Maybe it was the constant exposure over the past week that enabled me to move while everyone else was pinned down. I stepped over the stranger and staggered to Chore's side. I reached for him and-

Chore grabbed my hand again. Gripped it so tight that the metacarpals ground together. Spat in my face. “Don't touch me!”

The shimmering behind me was empowering me. I was invincible while the Doctor stood at my back.

“Filth!” I grabbed Chore's shirt and pulled him forward with all my strength, slamming my forehead into his nose. Behind me I could hear the stranger laughing. Chore bubbled nonsense through blood and snot, letting me go to hold his broken nose.

“Oathbreaker! Oathbreaker! Take your medicine, Oathbreaker!” The stranger chanted as I shoved Chore out the door and slammed it in his face.

The stranger fell back on the floor when the door closed, as if a switch had been flipped. I went back and knelt at his side, but he had gone into septic shock. There was nothing I could do for him exept use the hoodie as a makeshift bandage keep his insides as insides, not outsides.  I dragged him out of my place and laid him in front of Chore's door.  I pulled a ding-dong-ditch with the guy, I'll admit it.  He was just walking dead at that point anyway.

As soon as I returned to my apartment, I collapsed against the front door. I could feel the blood pouring out of my ears, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even wipe the spit off my face. Through the mugginess in my head, my only thought was that I was going to have to clean for hours when I woke up.

My hand is killing me. I didn't think he could be that strong. I think he might have fractured something.