CHAPTER7
What in the fuck did I just do? My panties are drenched, and I’m standing in the shower stall like a fucking idiot. Did that man just make me come, giving me such an intense orgasm that my legs feel like jelly, in a gym shower? Not only did he make me come, he didn’t ask for anything in return, and the last thing he said before he left was you’re welcome.Fucking you’re welcome.
He definitely did what I asked. For those ten minutes or so, every thought was gone, and all my stress and fears were alleviated. All I could feel was him and his all-consuming presence.
I’m not sure if I regret it or not. It felt good—no, it felt amazing. I’ve been in the world’s longest dry spell, and that was exactly what I needed to help clear my mind. But it’s Alexi.
This isn’t some one night stand at a nightclub. This is the man I’ve actively avoided because I seem to lose every functioning brain cell when he’s around. I take a few deep breaths and text the one person I know who can help me through this. I have a long shift, and I know I’ll be dead on my feet. But if I don’t work through this with someone, I’ll probably overthink everything and go into an even deeper spiral than I am now.
S.O.fucking.S.
Charlotte: What? Are you okay?
I need a girls night. Tonight.
Charlotte: I have Katie, but we can order pizza and hang out.
I’ll bring the booze.
Charlotte: I’m pregnant.
I’ll drink for the both of us.
* * *
I’m with Dr. Mayfield again, and all I want to do is scream. All of her patients lately have been the most depressing cases, and I’m not sure how much more loss I can take. She seems to not even be affected, just onto cutting the next person’s brain open.
I’m organizing her charts when she stands next to me. “You know I was in residency with your father?” she asks. I swallow thickly and shake my head. I don’t like to bring up my dad, for more reasons than one. But I can’t help but wonder if that’s why she’s been requesting me for her service as of late.
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Peter has always been extremely talented. He reached out to me to see how you’re doing.” I try to hide any major reaction, especially because Mayfield doesn’t give away much with her facial expression. “You know, you could use your name to get more around here.”
“I don’t want to use my dad’s name,” I reply, and Mayfield gives me a small smirk.
“Good. Now where are we with today’s surgery?”
I hand the file over to her, showing that I’ve already checked with nurses and everything is good with his pre-op. It’s another younger patient with an incredibly hard tumor to remove. I breathe in and out and think back to all of my training thus far.
Try to remain impartial, don’t get emotionally attached, and stick to the medicine.
All three of those things are so incredibly hard and unrealistic. I’m not sure why I seem to be the only one in my program struggling this much. Shuana can talk about a casualty as if it means nothing, along with other people in the program. But every death, every near-miss, hits me right in the middle of my bleeding heart. It feels like every loss I’ve experienced while working at this hospital just keeps piling up.
The pain doesn’t go away, and it just keeps getting worse. Like each loss is a brick and I’m inside as I build the structure; each loss is another step toward suffocating me completely.
But quitting isn’t an option. My life was planned out for me before I was even born, and I have to stay the course. I’ve already put nearly two years of my life into this program, not to mention all my time in medical school. This isn’t something you can just up and decide you don’t want to do anymore.
I’ve got to find new ways to cope. At least that’s what I tell myself as I walk into the patient’s room.
Dr. Mayfield nods at me to present. “Mitchell Vermette, age twelve, was diagnosed with a pineoblastoma one month ago, and it has already increased in size.”
“Are you ready for surgery, Mitchell?” Dr. Mayfield asks.
“I’m ready to fucking sleep,” he says in a groggy voice. His mom tsks at him, but there’s no heat behind it. The tumor he has is fast growing and specifically affects the part of his brain that handles natural sleep cycles. The pineal gland is right in the center of the brain, so it’s going to be an extremely difficult and long surgery.
Mitchell’s mom hands him a cup with a straw for him to take a sip, and I nearly lose it at that point, knowing the chances of his survival. He’s older than most patients that we see with this tumor, and it’s been growing rapidly. I give Mitchell and his mother a small smile before following Dr. Mayfield out of the room.
“How old is that scan?” she asks.
