It’s a stark reality. It’s brutal truth. And it cuts me so deep.
In the lab, it hones me. But here, I want to curl up in a ball and hide from the actuality that unless I can do something groundbreaking medically, I’ll lose my champion, my protector, my Strider to a disease that we’re so close to curing.
I toss on a tee and shorts. I have no energy to play sexpot tonight. It didn’t work anyway.
I dry my hair just enough that I won’t look homeless tomorrow at work and climb under the covers.
When I wake before the alarm, I’m not alone. Liam is curved around my body, his long thick arm pinning me to the bed, and his hand…
His hand cups my sex possessively.
Fudge balls.
I’m trapped. I’m warm. And, oddly, I feel safe.
On that thought, I drift back to sleep.
When the alarm sounds, I wake alone.
I know immediately, and while I’m relieved, it hits a chord of sadness.
Arrangement. It’s an arrangement. Not a relationship. I’d do well to remember that.
I do my morning routine and am ready to take on the day. I’m going to make the connection today. I’m going to find that sequence that will allow me to change history.
An hour later, I learn how wrong I am.
In reality, I will not be charting new waters. The immunology department has been closed. I’m officially a member of the topicals team. Topicals!
It’s not bad work. It’s basically secondary immunodeficiency work, but the PID, the primaries… that’s where the crux of my research—where my passion—is. I want to work on the cause, not the symptom.
I wish I could talk with Dr. Patel. I wish there was someone who understood the particulars and could guide me on this whole thing. I feel utterly alone.
I have a job. That’s a tick in the pro column. I can afford my house and my student loans. Also a pro. I can even afford a new car seeing as how the insurance company emailed the amount of the payout for my Accord. It’s a pittance, but it’s a down payment. Though, maybe not on an Audi.
In the con column, the vehicle for my whole career has been shuttered.
Which means one thing. If I am to stay at Platt BioPharma, I need a way to do the data analysis on my own. Or I need to find another job, but one in research instead of the pharmaceutical industry.
My entire day is spent moving labs, cleaning out my desk, finding a new home with people who think so differently than Ido. The glass on my family photo shattered Tuesday night in Liam’s garage so it doesn’t go to the new lab with me. At least not yet. And somehow, that in itself feels ominous, as if my purpose is fragmented along with it.
I’ve taken to calling my new team LFM in my head. It’s funny and it’s not. Liniment for money. I could go with CFC—creams for cash. Ointment for dollars has zero ring to it.
By the end of the day, I’ve created more acronyms than I care to admit. None of them are better. In fact, all are worse.
And I have tomorrow and Monday off, so at least I can leave the salve people behind.
Seriously. No. Just no.
By the time the big black SUV slides in front of the office, I’m done. The relief at seeing it, at seeing Liam, is foreign. Quite honestly, after today, and certainly after last night, I don’t want to think about it. I want to have a meal, take a walk, and pack my bags for a weekend in steamy Peoria, Illinois.
“Where to?” Liam asks, when I slide inside the cab. It seems he’s okay with me opening my own doors if he’s already driving. Good to know.
“Home. Please. It’s been a day.” I buckle as he exits the parking lot.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Well, you’re looking at the newest member of the lotions and potions team.”
