text: fingers through her hair. Her muscles flexed as she plowed under the weight of all that black hair. She rubbed her scalp back and forth, feeling the skin shift over her skull. She felt something peculiar - a pimple sized bump. She picked at it, scratched it until it came off under her fingernail. *Bugs...*she thought, bringing her hand in front of her face, waiting for her eyes to focus in the pre-dawn light. She didn’t see anything under the fingernail. She reached back into her hair and tried to find another bump. Through the window, she saw the first light of morning bleed red into the dark dome of night sky. Thirty minutes later and the courtyard outside the window was washed in pastel colors. Long shadows started their slow retreat into the trees and buildings of the dormitory cluster. Shubra hadn’t found another bump. *Not bugs...* she concluded. She turned away from the window and looked at the man in her bed. He was snoring softly, lying on his stomach, his face turned sideways on her pillow. Light through the window cast an oblong rectangle over the fine white skin of his upper thighs. Shubra stared at the rectangle of light until the sun rose higher and it moved to his buttocks. Then she had another thought - *Nice ass.* She shook her head slowly, chasing the numbness away. She went to the bathroom where she splashed water in a coffee cup and drank it down. She filled the cup again, and again drained it with a breathless series of gulps. She took one look at herself in the mirror, realized in a split-second that she wasn’t ready to deal with that yet, and stepped carefully back in to the bedroom. Her eyes went from the muscular form of the man on her bed, to the nightstand where a pile of joints lay cold in an ashtray, to the bottles of Stoli on the floor, and finally to the kit that contained the paraphernalia they had used to shoot up heroin last night. Shubra saw the needles and thought - *Aids....* But no, this guy seemed pretty clean. From Norway, actually. Hadn’t he said he was some sort of royalty there? Not bragging about it, almost embarrassed. Like he had to have an excuse for being so rich. Shubra’s eyes fluttered involuntarily, and a blast of pain tore through her head. She sat back down on the windowsill and wrapped the curtain around her naked body. She shivered even though it was already growing hot outside. The worse of the migraine finished fast leaving a dull ache behind Shubra’s eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She worried that that Norwegian would wake up and find her crying, think she was a case. But she just didn’t have the energy to wipe the tears away. She looked at the man’s back. He was huge through the shoulders with a narrow waist and, again, a nice, firm ass. His legs were so long, the calves and feet hung off her bed even though he lay diagonally with his head as far up as it could go in the opposite corner. He was big, no doubt about it. Shubra remembered undressing him last night, stoned and feeling sexy as she knelt before him to pull down his underwear. She actually fell on her haunches when his penis sprang free. Oh yes, he was a big boy all over the place. The head alone looked as big as a baby apple. And the shaft was as long as her forearm. He’d smiled sheepishly, almost apologizing for his size. “It is a family curse,” he’d explained, “or a blessing. Depending on who you talk to.” Thinking about it the morning after, Shubra leaned more towards blessing. It had been a little awkward when, during foreplay, he’d put it in her face - talk about intimidating - but once the actual intercourse started, her orgasms came hard and they came fast. It truly felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Like her body was being burned into ash by a sacrificial fire. Then the ashes caught a gentle breeze and blew away. Of course, that could have been the drugs. Which brought her back to - *Aids*. *No*, she concluded, *he’s the future king of Norway. He wouldn’t have aids....* The sun continued to rise, and the early-birds took to the courtyard. From the window, Shubra watched a few of her peers stroll lazily through motes of dusty, tree-filtered sunlight. They wore backpacks and munched on pastries, drank coffee from thermoses and water from bottles. Two boys passing each other stopped for some conversation; ended it with laughter and a hearty pat on the back. More tears leaked from the corners of Shubra’s eyes. *Future king of Norway*.... The truth was she couldn’t even remember his name. It was some fucked up Scandinavian thing ending in “udski”. She rubbed the inside of her elbow where he’d inserted the needle. She knew absolutely nothing about him except that he happened to be at her favorite club last night and he was uncommonly handsome, rich, and well-hung. Then another memory came to the forefront of her mind. When she had retrieved a condom from her purse and the Norwegian shook his head. “It has been tried before,” he’d said, holding his enormous penis up for her to see for herself. Shubra struggled to fit the condom over the head of his cock, wrestling with it like a child trying to fit a circle into a square hole. For his part, the Norwegian seem to enjoy the struggle until the rubber sprang away and slapped him in the chin. They had laughed and laughed. But she never did get that damned condom on the prick. Shubra wiped her face with the curtain and, after a few body racking sobs, she forced herself to stop crying. She would have to go to the University’s free clinic again. Get tested. It was just so humiliating, sitting in the waiting room with the poor students. But she couldn’t go to her family doctor. It would get back to her father. Light flashed from the courtyard. She looked out the window, scanning for whatever caused the flair. It happened again, and Shubra whipped her head towards the source. She saw her father standing between two trees, holding a machete at his side. *Impossible!* Her father was in Dallas, four hours away from Houston. It couldn’t be him.... She leaned forward and saw that, in fact, it wasn’t her father. This man was thinner and had more hair. He looked younger too, without the deep, dark character lines on his face that her father had. Otherwise, they could be twin brothers. The stranger slowly lifted his head and looked right at Shubra. She clenched the curtain to her chest. She noticed that he wore an old fashioned korta, the sleeves of which were stained brown and the skirt was horribly shredded. He bared his teeth and pointed the gore-coated machete at Shubra. Sunlight caught the helm of the machete and Shubra was momentarily blinded by the flash. Shubra flew to her feet. The curtain pulled away from her body and she stood naked at the window, rubbing her eyes. When she focused them again, the mysterious man was gone. She leaned out the window, frantically searching through the trees, but he wasn’t there. She sank back to the window sill and kept looking until she calmed down enough to figure it had been a drug induced hallucination. *Guilty thoughts, that’s all.* She closed the curtain, tied it at the bottom so no sunlight could get in, and sat with her hands between her knees. The Norwegian looked so peaceful lying on her bed. She studied his profile; the milky white complexion of his skin, the blond scruff on his jaw.... She remembered his eyes being ice blue. Impossibly blue. She had an urge to see those eyes again, to lose herself in the arctic pools. Shubra lowered herself gently on top of the sleeping giant. His skin felt sticky in the morning heat as her breast pushed against his back. She wrapped an arm around his chest and rested her cheek on his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly and Shubra saw that they were indeed blue. Very blue, but also red and puffy from a long night of alcohol, drugs and sex. He smiled though, and that was enough to melt Shubra’s heart. He rolled over and held her close. She burrowed her head into his massive chest. He smelled good; musty, earthy. He circled his hands over her back a few times, and then started snoring again. Shubra smiled and sighed pure contentment. She had been prepared to give him sex, but this was all she really wanted; to feel safe in a man’s arms. She dozed off dreaming about lush green valleys, forests full of snowcapped pine trees, cold blue waters, and a royal castle perched upon a majestic Norwegian hill. **Shubra sat in** the waiting room of the University’s free clinic. It was crowded, as always, and most of the people there shaggy looking and poor. Shubra had thought she was dressing down when she’d put on the denim blouse and stone-washed jeans before leaving her dorm, but a furtive scan of the room told her that even the sandals on her feet cost more than the entire wardrobes of the other people waiting. Feeling out-of-place, Shubra tried not to make eye contact with anybody. She looked at the posters on the wall; public service announcements warning against smoking, drinking, and - there you go - promiscuous sex. Shubra folded her hands in her lap and waited. It was deathly quiet in the room. Only the whisper of book pages being turned, an occasional cough, and the disruptive event of a name being called to see the doctor punctuated the interminable silence. Shubra closed her eyes. Time passed - hours, minutes, it was too hard to tell. She allowed herself to doze lightly, just alert enough to recognize her name when, or if, it ever got called. As she drifted in and out of sleep, Shubra heard a faint, rhythmic *ping* noise. Like a metronome. Or water dripping on ceramic. At first it was soothing, and Shubra lost herself in the sound, but after a while it became irregular, the *ping* happening out of sequence. It became jarring. Shubra lifted her head and opened her puffy eyes to look for the source. She thought it might have something to do with the air conditioning system. She checked the ceiling but didn’t find any signs of water damage. She looked to see if there was a wall clock that might be off, but there wasn’t. As she continued scanning the room, she noticed another young Indian lady sitting across from her, looking even more out of place than herself. This one was dressed like an Indian Princess! She wore a stunning silk Sari - white as cream with veins of gold sewn through the fabric - and her hair was done up in jewels and ivory. Her arms were heavy with bangles and her hands painted red with henna. *She’s in an acting class*, Shubra thought, *in costume for some stupid festival.* There, at the feet of the costumed girl, Shubra found the source of the nuisance sound. Blood dripped from under the girl’s sari, hitting the charms on her ankle bracelet. It alternated from drops to fairly heavy streams, causing the irregular pulse. Shubra noticed that the gorgeous sari was soaked through and thick with blood around the girl’s lap. It stuck to her crotch and the insides of her thighs. A puddle of red engulfed her dainty bare feet. Shubra stood up and was about to scream when the student intern entered the room. “Shubra Sastri?” a young man in a white smock asked, the door banging against the wall as he pushed it open. Shubra gasped. She looked at the young man, then back to the costumed girl. For the first time, the girl had raised her head, so Shubra could see her face. She was beautiful. Her eyes were large and sorrowful, pleading with Shubra. She lifted a henna-red finger to her lips and motioned for Shubra to *be silent!* Shubra ran to the young man, grabbed his arm, and pointed to where the costumed girl was sitting. “Help her!” she cried, “She’s bleeding!” But the costumed girl was no longer there. The seat was now occupied by a disaffected young man with a goatee and a Houston Cougars baseball cap. He arched an eyebrow at them then went back to reading ESPN the Magazine. “Who’s bleeding?” the attendant asked. Shubra frantically searched the room, studying faces, getting quizzical looks in return. “She was bleeding. There was blood all over the place....” Shubra muttered, hanging on the attendant’s arm. The pressure of a migraine headache started building behind her eyes. The attendant led Shubra into the back rooms, assuring her everything would be fine. Just fine. **“She’s crazy,” Biju** told Rachel handing her the clipboard, “Or strung out on dope or something. Look! Look at my arm!” Biju rolled up the sleeve of his white coat and showed Rachel the marks the patient had made with her fingernails when she’d grabbed his arm. Rachel noticed the half-moon crescent bruises on the bicep, but they didn’t disturb her half as much as the arm itself. “My God Biju,” Rachel held his arm up by the elbow and inspected it, “you’re lucky she didn’t snap the bone. Do you have any muscle at all on your body?” Biju took his arm back. “I happen to have a runner’s physique.” “You have a pencil’s physique.” “I am pretty sharp,” Biju joked. Rachel groaned as they came to the patient’s room. They started whispering now. “So why did she come here? Most people don’t come to the free clinic because they are ‘feelin’ a little crazy today’.” “She wants testing for STD’s,” Biju summed it up succinctly, “specifically AIDS. The ‘Morning After’ pill too. I asked if she was using drugs and she said ‘no’, rubbing her elbow the entire time.” “Shit,” Rachel frowned, raising the clipboard to her face. “I hate when they lie....” “What’s wrong?” Biju asked, noticing Rachel’s expression. “I think I know this girl. Shubra Sastri. We went to the same church.” “You want I should get a different resident?” “No....” Rachel answered slowly. “No.... I guess not unless she asks for one.” “Were you friends?” “Quite the opposite, actually. There is some sort of feud between our families, so I’ve never even really talked to her. I assume she hates me though; she always looked down her nose at me when we were growing up. What the hell is she doing at the free clinic anyway? Her family is loaded.” “She probably doesn’t want anybody to know she’s a strung-out slut-junky.” “Biju!” Rachel snapped. “Well, she surely didn’t come here for our fast and courteous service.” “And nobody ever will as long as you’re around.” Rachel sighed. “I’ll give it a shot anyway. If she doesn’t want to deal with me, she’ll just have to wait for the next resident to come available.” Rachel waited until Biju disappeared around the corner before grabbing the door knob. She looked at the clipboard one last time and flashed a wicked grin. “Shubra Sastri,” she whispered, “my my my.” Rachel squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and stepped into the room with authority. Growing up in the close-knit Indian community of Dallas, Shubra Sastri had always been the pretty one, the popular one, the rich one, the one who was going to lead a great life. But in the examination room of the free clinic, pretty, popular and rich didn’t mean a whole lot. It was all about who wore the white coat in here. At first glance, Rachel assumed it was a different Shubra Sastri. The girl perched on the edge of the table, hunched over with her arms hugging her stomach, a mess of tangled hair obscuring her face, looked far too wretched to be the bitch-on-wheels Rachel remembered from home. But when the girl lifted her chin, Rachel recognized the unmistakable features of her schoolyard rival. Even without makeup and hair style, and with the stress of emotion lining her face and leaving her complexion spotty, Shubra Sastri was still a strikingly beautiful girl. She had the fine-boned features of a fashion model; sharp cheeks in an elegantly angular face tapering to a dainty chin. Hell, she even had the ridiculously perfect beauty mark hanging just above and to the right of her sensual lips. To Rachel, as well as most other women, Shubra Sastri had the type of beauty that made them shout - “Unfair!” Shubra looked at Rachel with such anguish and fear in her large, almond shaped, black eyes that the young doctor felt unaccountably guilty - taking pleasure from another’s suffering. Then again, maybe it was all just karma in action. “Shubra Sastri?” Rachel asked, trying to make her voice sound deep and impersonal. Shubra looked at Rachel, studying her, and then replied in a mousy voice, “Rachel?” “Yes. I’m a resident here.” Rachel retrieved a pen from her smock and clicked it open, putting the tip to the clipboard. “I understand you’re having some tests done today?” Shubra didn’t answer; she just continued staring at Rachel. “I, um, guess I should let you know that there are other residents if you’re uncomfortable with me.” Shubra surprised Rachel by standing up and embracing her in a tight hug. “Whoa there,” Rachel exclaimed, holding her arms out to the side, “This is.... I’m not.... I’m a resident here....” Rachel protested, until she felt Shubra’s body tremble. Then she brought her arms around slowly to complete the hug. “I’m scared Rachel,” Shubra sobbed, resting her head against the larger girl’s shoulder. “There there,” Rachel said, patting Shubra’s back. The embrace lasted far too long for Rachel’s comfort. She started thinking of ways to break the hug, but Shubra just kept sobbing, pressing her face into Rachel’s smock. Rachel felt the damp of tears and snot soak all the way through to her shoulder and decided that was enough. “Okay,” Rachel said, putting her hands upon Shubra’s shoulders and gently pushing her way, “Let’s see if we can get you cleaned up a little.” Rachel sat Shubra on the examination table. She grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped Shubra’s eyes and cheeks, then held the wad under Shubra’s nose and told her to blow. The snot was clear and watery. No signs of infection. Rachel stood at the sink, washing her hands. “Well, your mucus is coming out clear anyway. That’s a good sign. Of course, it doesn’t mean much as far as STDs go, we’re still going to have to tests for those. Have you experienced any painful discharge? When urinating? Shubra?” Shubra wasn’t listening. Once again, she was wrapped up in herself, clutching her stomach and gazing at the floor. Her shoulders rose and fell with every breath. Rachel sighed. She picked up the clipboard, drew a few circles on it, then set it down again. She stood next to Shubra and reached out a hand tentatively. She touched the back of Shubra’s neck, then slowly started pulling the thick tangle of hair away from the right side of her face until she could see her eyes. “Shubra, I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.” “There was a girl in the waiting room.” Shubra said, reaching up to clutch Rachel’s hand. Rachel sat next to her on the table. “Yes, I heard about that. You thought you saw something?” “She was bleeding.” “But there was nobody there.” “She was there.” “Shubra, you’re under a lot of stress right now....” “When she looked at me I didn’t recognize her at first, but now I know who she was.” “Oh? Well then, we can call her and make sure she’s okay? Do you know her phone number?” “It was me, Rachel. I was the bleeding girl.