After Ole Munch left him blind, Gator was assigned a full-time nurse. It had been your job to cook for him, help him bathe, work on improving his other senses, administer eye drops and pills, and just make sure he was improving his independence. It was also your job to get groceries and drive him to his weekly court-mandated therapy.

Things were rocky at first. Gator was prickly, hurting in more ways than one. He was bitter over his newfound blindness. Nightmares of hot iron and his father dumping his body alone in the ranch driveway plagued his mind. But after the first month or so, he seemed to soften. He perked up when he heard the familiar sound of your shoes on the hardwood. He let you help him when things got hard.

And then the state decided he didn't need a nurse anymore. He could live on disability, but he was independent enough to no longer need you.

You were packing up the few items you had at his house, zipping up your work bag. Gator was sitting on the couch with his head tilted toward you. Unseeing eyes that looked oddly damp. The hot iron had left both eyes red and scarred, the skin still puffy and angry. He couldn't produce tears anymore, but his eyes still shimmered when he was upset.

"Alright," you said wearily. "It was a pleasure working for you Gator."

His voice was angry again, like when you'd first arrived. "That's it? You're jus' gonna up and go?"

Your brows pinched in confusion. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be independent and not have someone hovering over you all day? My job is done--"

"It's not jus' a fuckin' job!" Gator exclaimed, his voice hitching suspiciously. "You're the only person besides Nadine who's nice t'me. And now you're jus' gonna leave because the state said so?"

"You don't need a nurse anymore," you sighed, confused by his sudden outburst.

"I don't wanna nurse," Gator admitted quietly. "I don't want you t'go."