Holstaurus Monstergirl Adventure 1: Chapter 9

Not wanting to think of what kind of death waivers or final wills that the doctor will want you to sign, you decide to think of the good times you had with Kara in the short few weeks since you first spent time together while you ride the bus to the hospital. You think of how pleased she was when you invited her over and how much she liked the dinner you cooked, and thinking back on that night it was probably the water you boiled the noodles in that made it overly salty. You thought it was adorable when the holstaurus fell asleep in your lap later that night and how sexy she looked when she rose the next morning with her hair all over the place and her shirt bunched up, exposing her toned midriff and expansive cleavage. You also recall the following weekend how much she wanted you to help her even though she wouldn't tell you what with, and when you got to her home she wanted you to milk her. It's as if that was something extremely personal and intimate to Kara, and she wanted you to be alone with her. There's still the blank spot between that night and the next morning though, but you think the cowgirl was involved in some way.

Smiling halfheartedly, you begin to think of Kara herself. You were practically infatuated with her the moment she started working the front counter; the subtle movements of her lush brown hair as she moved back and forth; the enticing motions of her pert and robust bosom; how her hips rocked from side to side as she walked, her exquisite rear end contracting with every motion of her hefty thighs and glorious legs. Her jade eyes always had some sort of sparkle to them, as if they were pure gemstones. She was always loving to whoever came in the front door, and she never seemed to mind that you originally treated her as a walking pair of tits. Kara cared about everyone, especially you, and you now realize that you felt the same way without knowing it.

A few minutes later the bus rumbles to a stop a few blocks away from where the monstergirl is, and you get off. The despair that's been hovering over you for the past week grows heavier by the second as you round the last corner before the hospital, its towering gray walls and unwelcoming entrance mocking you as you get closer. You wait in line for an excruciating amount of time before getting to the front desk. You dully give her your name and Kara's, and the woman sitting behind the counter gives you a quizzical look before you regurgitate it again, this time stating that she's a holstaurus. The receptionist's eyes light up as she finally knows who you're talking about and instructs you to sign here, here, and here before taking a place in the waiting room a few dozen feet away while a doctor comes and sees you.

Sighing, you scribble your name where she points, a lackluster chuckle escaping your lips as you imagine the cowgirl chastising your poor penmanship. Trudging over to a vacant seat, you drop into the bland cushion and look around. It's everything a hospital would be: people standing in line impatiently at the front desk; a mother sitting in a corner trying to quiet her crying newborn; some guy who looks like he's homeless is sleeping in a chair; people in medical scrubs, all the same dull, boring color, walking to and fro with clipboards in their hands as if they're important; the smell of antiseptic and other medicines stinging your senses. It's what would be in the dictionary of metaphors. You wait, and wait, and wait, until a man in a lab coat comes up to you after the receptionists points in your direction, and addresses you.

“Are you a Mister, uh, Anon?” The physician asks, looking at his own personal clipboard for a second to read your name.

“Yes.” You croak out, not bothering to look up from the table of magazines who's covers you've read hundreds of times over already.

“Come with me please.” The doctor states professionally, not bothering to make sure you get up before revolving around to walk down a hallway. You get up, wondering why you aren't just signing all of the legal paperwork for the deceased monstergirl in the room you were just in. You're escorted through fluorescent hallways for a short time before the man in the coat stops in front of a numbered door.

“I don't understand, is this an office of some kind? Are we not allowed to sign paperwork in a public area?” You inquire, looking into the face of the man who probably was the same one who called you down here.

“No, nothing like that.” He chortles before merely opening the door. Inside is not an office or lab room, but one for a patient. The light blue walls are a godsend to the earlier renditions of the other chambers and corridors. The flat tile reflects the cheerful light from the ceiling, giving the entire room a healthy glow. Various surgical and medical equipment are scattered around the room; an electrocardiograph here; a breath monitor there. There's also a privacy curtain drawn around where  you understand a bed would be, and a faint *beep* *beep* *beep* can be heard from behind the white cloth. You stare with wide eyes, and look back to the man holding the door for you. He simply smiles and nods his head in the direction of the unknown being sitting behind the shroud. Heart pounding harder than it has ever before, you gently wander into the space behind the doorway, getting closer and closer to discovering who is in that bed. You can almost make out a humanoid shape behind the curtain and when you at last reach the other side, you're met face to face with the gorgeous visage of a familiar cowgirl.

“Hi Anon. Miss me?” Kara says, beaming harder than you thought possible. You can't wrap your mind around what you're seeing right now. Kara's right here, very much alive, and very glad to see you. “Heloooo? Anyone home?” The monstergirl teases, tapping a few knuckles to her own head. “Ow, that hurt.” She declares to no one in particular.

“K-Kara?” You finally stutter out.

“Yes Anon, I'm fine.” She reassures. You don't even manage to voice anything other than her name before you're embracing Kara, tears streaming down your face.

“Oh god, Kara. I thought you died. I thought I'd never see you again.” You sob, face buried into her shoulder.

“It's okay, Anon. It's okay.” She asserts, affectionately stroking your hair and holding you close.

“W-what happened Kara?” You beg through reddened eyes.

“Well, I remember you calling out my name, and then I slipped on something, and then I'm here. The doctors told me that I had a serious concussion and that I can't use my arm for a while until the tendons and ligaments heal.” She indicates by raising up her bound appendage as far as the sling holding it will allow. “As for bleeding all over the floor, it was only a minor cut from some broken glass. Nothing too bad.”

“Did they tell you about up here.” You explain, indicating to where the now shortened horn is, the end filed down to make it smooth again.

“Yes, they did.” The holstaurus begrudgingly affirms. “It grows back though. It just takes FOREVER.” Kara expresses, emphasizing forever with a loud groan.

“When can you leave?”

“Well they want to keep me here for a few more days to make sure that I don't have a minor case of serious brain damage, but after that all I have to do is rest and let my arm mend itself.”

“You damn well better call me when you do get out Kara.” You irritably state, although you notice the cowgirl smiles at your fictitious rage. “And you better do it yourself, not have this guy or any of his friends do it for you.” You call over your shoulder, pointing at the doctor who was standing in the doorway the entire time as you walk out of the room.

An immense wave of relief washes over you as you leave the hospital to go home. Kara's not actually dead, and she was immensely grateful that you came to see her. The next day you come back to visit Kara, bringing a cheesy Get-Well-Soon card and a bouquet of roses for her. After nearly being crushed in the monstergirl's vice-like grip when she saw your gift, only spared by her left arm in a sling, you spend an hour or two just hugging each other or holding hands talking about whatever you can think of before you're rudely booted out of the room so the physicians can run some more tests on the cowgirl, disregarding your two objections that she's perfectly fine and can, in fact, go home right now if she wanted to.