Lost With Lust

He didn't sleep well that night. His mind was restless and his body was tireless, though his spirit was exhausted. He tossed and turned and muttered things to himself. And as much as he tried to disctract himself, in the forefront of his mind was his worry and regret.

Suddenly the lights flickered on and harshly cast away the darkness. Groans emerged from the other people as they were forced to awaken, and breakfast trays were passed around by various nurses. He accepted his tray gratefully and whispered a forced "thank you" to the person who'd given it to him. The tray was comprised of a small bowl of grits, some eggs, turkey sausage, and a few packets of blueberry jam and butter pats. Taking the plastic fork out of its wrapper with a soft crackling, he hurriedly ate his meal. A few of the nurses had stayed behind, to make sure they ate the food they were given. This was done to prevent the depressed or overly sad from starving themselves due to their emotions ridding them of their appetites, because one man nearly starved himself to death while his daughter was being operated on.

Nigel stood and looked nervously at his surroundings--the place seemed just as gloomy during the day as it was at night. There was little talking, aside from the nurses coaxing the reluctant parents/lovers/family members into eating and the few people speaking softly among themselves. Sighing sadly, he felt it was best that he not dawdle here long and get on to work. Gathering his composure, he swiftly exited the room and walked down the long hallway, traveled down to the first floor with an elevator, and strode through the parking lot to enter his vehicle. It shook gloomily as he seated himself comfortably.

He glanced at the back seat, cringing at the sight of the bloody towels hastily discarded onto the floor. Some of it had spilled onto the soft cushions, leaving dark red blotches in the fine light brown. "That'll be a bitch to clean," he muttered.

The car groans in reluctant anger as the turned key forces it to awaken, and he pulls off behind a few cars also leaving the hospital.

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He turns the car into a parking lot of a club and takes a minute to quickly look at the people hanging out outside before turning the vehicle off in his staff spot. A sigh of relief escapes his lips. This time he didn't have the recurring problem of customers parking in staff parking, so he didn't have to be apart of any verbal, or physical, altercation. He really wasn't in the mood. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he walks through the entrance and moves to the back to clock himself in. On the way he sees a few friends and he waves to them. They gestured for him to come over for a minute, but he shook his head. 'Not now', he mouthed to them. They nodded understanding and resumed being drunk and talkative with the ladies with whom they were conversing.

The punched in card read twelve fourty-two AM. Nigel was a half hour late, but he didn't care. He walked to the back and put on his blue and white uniform, and then went back out to the front room to monitor the goings-on. Sometimes security was boring. He stood against the wall for some hours, watching vigilantly in the shadows of the room. No one noticed him--they were either too busy being drunk or just not looking for him. When no one expects to see you, no one does, Nigel was always told. By whom, he can't recall.

And then he trained his eyes on a couple of men who were obviously heavily intoxicated and arguing about who touched the salt-shaker first. "Seriously?" He asked himself incredulously. "Maybe they won't take it to the next level, I should hope." They argued frantically for a long while with each other, each of them spitting a louder derogatory remark than the other in order to get ahead. The burlier of the two, Robin was his name, shouted something unintelligible at his companion, and that threw the match in the puddle of oil, so to speak. The other man, Markus, lashed out at Robin with rage and the intent to knock him out in one blow. It sorely backfired, as Robin grabbed his arm and bent it back, holding his friend in a croc handling position. Nigel rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed.
"It's a fucking salt shaker. It's really not that serious." He strolled casually over to them and kicked the bigger one in the arm lightly.

"Hey, idiot. Stop that, now, before I throw the both of you out." He commanded.
Neither of them had noticed his approach, so they were both taken aback by his boldness. However, they had no plans to stop. Robin pushed him away and continued wailing on the helpless mook under him, shouting as he did so. He wanted to make sure the other man understood the fact that he was always right--no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Nigel groaned. He unsheathed a taser from a pocket attached to the side of his belt and pressed the button on the backside of it. A couple of barbs flicked out and stuck them, then a blue glow emanated from them along with a nasty crackling noise. He hated using this thing, it grossed him out quite a bit.

As strong as the men were, they both shrunk under the effect of thousands of volts coursing through their veins relentlessly.

"Waaiut, plesh stawp! Ah'll stawp fightin', ah promish!" Robin shouted mournfully. His friend assented hastily. "Yesshir, we b'aint gon figh no mores, honesht!"

Nigel nodded. "Alright then. Don't let me catch the two of you fighting again. Or at least, if you're going to fight, fight over something that isn't stupid. Please?" They happily agreed, hoping he was going to let them get back to their drinking. Letting out a sigh, he gestured to the mugs sitting on the counter and walked off, vanishing into the darkness once again.
Markus looked in awe.

"Ow'see do dat, Robin?" The other man shook his head. "I on't give a shit, lesh get back to er drunks, okay brah?"
Markus cheerfully agreed as they returned to their seats.