Hard times had come for Anita Danе. After graduating, she started work at a real estate agency, but she could barely make ends meet because the income was unstable. She signed documents stating she received a salary, yet only a percentage of the paid commissions actually reached her pocket. On top of everything else, the country was being shaken by strikes, and inflation had reached monstrous proportions. She struggled to pay her rent and could not rely on help from her parents, who were barely surviving in the countryside.

Things were no better in her intimate life, which was even more painful. In fact, she practically had no such life at all, because she was different. That difference was on the verge of destroying her mentally. It seemed as though there was no chance that happiness would ever smile upon her.

Eventually, she abandoned the real estate business and applied for a job as a hospital orderly. She was hired. The pay was low, but steady. Anita had the feeling that this new occupation would offer her interesting opportunities. She intended to take advantage of them and satisfy her longings. She was not sure things would work out, but she was firmly determined to try. Her dissatisfaction had already crossed the threshold of tolerance. She had to act.

On the first day she cleaned corridors and toilets. She quickly got used to the unpleasant smells. Then she began entering hospital rooms and carrying out the instructions of the nurses and other orderlies. She was intelligent and quick to grasp things and soon learned the basics. She began receiving praise for her initiative. But praise was not what mattered to Anita. She was looking for an interesting patient—a patient who would stir emotions in her.

She found one during the very first week. She was thirty-three years old—ten years older than Anita—and was lying in room seven. Her name was Michelle. In a car accident she had suffered a severe pelvic fracture, and the surgeons had riddled her with external fixators in an attempt to stabilize the displaced bones. The sight of flesh pierced by steel was both frightening and arousing to Anita. Yes, she liked Michelle. She loved to look at her slender white thighs, always slightly parted, the delicate curves of her firm hips, and her carefully shaved intimate area. Michelle had an intelligent face with a wide jaw and a resolute chin. It was clear she was a fighter.

When placing the bedpan, Anita tried not to stare so as to betray her unhealthy interest. But all the touching, positioning, and lifting brought her immense pleasure. She did not recoil from the filth she had to clean. She avoided washing too thoroughly so as not to arouse suspicion. In truth, she did nothing different from what she had to do anyway—she simply took pleasure in it. In her imagination, however, she pictured them embracing and exploring each other’s bodies with lips and hands. That, of course, would never happen. Michelle was married and clearly had different preferences.

Anita felt guilty about taking advantage of an injured person. She told herself she was doing nothing wrong, that she was merely pleasing her senses and that Michelle was receiving good care, but the unpleasant feeling remained. She wondered whether to confess that she liked her, to seek understanding. She gave up. Michelle would probably be offended, and Anita would be fired. The hiding had to continue.

The two women became friends. In a normal way—through communication and the orderly’s dedication. Once Michelle said:

“Anita, you’re like a ray of light to me. No one—not even my mother—has taken care of me like you have. Without you ... it would have been terribly hard.”

“Oh, come on. The doctors are the important ones. I just clean shit and piss.”

“Sorry,” Michelle groaned and lowered her head guiltily.

“Don’t worry. It’s my job.” Anita bent down, stroked her cheek, and pressed her lips to her forehead. She was moved by the tears. For some reason, at that moment she wanted nothing more. Her longing for intimacy had faded into the background. She squeezed Michelle’s hand for courage, then went out to clean the corridor.

She longed to one day lay her head on Michelle’s chest and fall asleep feeling softness beneath her cheek. Impossible. They were close in a way, but in reality they lived in different worlds. Michelle did not need affection from a woman.

But Anita had no intention of stopping her exploitation. Her soul demanded it. Once she dared to take hold of Michelle’s leg and slide her palm along the well-shaped calf.

“Hey, it’s not proper for a refined lady to grow such hairs,” Anita joked, trying to hide the trembling of her hands.