He knew he couldn't go on like this, waiting two years before being free. Des didn't know how much the inheritance was, but he knew it would be enough for him to put a down payment on a building to open his studio. He'd been on the east side, which had always been described as the artist and cultural hub of Verona Heights and where he originally wanted to live. From the art shows, the people, and the music to the theatre, Des came alive each time he went there to see if the building he’d had his eye on for years still sat empty. It was as if the property was waiting for him to claim it.
It was large enough and had two separate levels for him to have an art studio, where he could teach classes, hold exhibits, and do so much more, as well as an apartment. Des could only hope the building would be there in two years when he left this job. His parents would be angry with him, but Des didn't care.
It's time I stand up for myself.
He would quit his job if he knew his savings and small investments would sustain him for a long time. But truthfully, he was afraid of failing and proving his parents right when he wanted to succeed and rub it in their faces. Having his inheritance would give him a sense of security. He hadn’t heard from his parents since the night of their party, and Des wasn’t sure how to feel. Des had thought his mother would call to argue with him over his words, but it seemed they’d abandoned him like always.
“That better not be my medical record you’re looking at, the way your face keeps changing.”
Des looked up from the patient record and locked onto his patient Moor. His recovery had been going well, and Des was certain he’d be able to discharge the man in a day or two, whichwould be a relief. Since that day, Des had told him to mind his business; the man had done no such thing. Moor seemed to find it fascinating to delve into his private life each time he went to give the man a check-up. Of course, Des never answered his questions, but it only made Moor push more.
“As a matter of fact, I looked over your chart earlier. I have good news. You can be discharged in two days.”
“Really?” Moor said, excitement brimming in his brown eyes.
“Yes. Your latest test results show no infections, and you can function without pain meds. Well done, Mister Moor.”
“What about my diet?”
Since the man had chest surgery, he had been on a restricted diet while his injuries healed. “Don’t go crazy, but slowly work more into your daily meals, and you should be fine.”
“This is great news. To tell you the truth, I’ve been bored out of my skull.”
“Well, you can get back to your normal life in a couple of days.”
Moor looked as if he was about to say something when Tallen, if Des correctly remembered the man’s name, got off the elevator and walked over to the nurses’ station, where Des and Moor were standing.
“Boss, what are you doing out of bed?” Tallen said worriedly.
“What do you think will happen to me when the doctor and all these nurses are right here?”
Des listened to Moor's brash manner of speaking to his friend and didn’t like it. “You could talk to him nicely. He’s only concerned about you,” he said haughtily.
“Oh, it’s okay, Doc; boss doesn’t mean anything by it. I’m used to the way he speaks.”
“Why should I watch the way I speak to my people?”
“Is this your way of telling me to mind my business?” Des shot back.
Moor shrugged. “More or less.”
“Oh, so it’s okay to push your nose into my affairs, but I can’t do the same with you. I never realized you were so hypocritical.” Not wanting to bother the annoying man, Des grabbed his medical charts and left for a quiet place to work since he wasn’t scheduled to perform any surgeries for the rest of the day.
“Boss, you’re smiling,”Tallen said, grabbing Othello’s attention.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he scowled. “I wasn’t smiling.”
“While watching the doctor walk away, your face had a weird grin. Do you like the doc?”
“He's not my type."
"Funny, I was sure he was," Tallen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He's feisty and doesn't seem afraid to look you in the eye like some of the other guys you've fucked. Not to mention, he's pretty cute and has those dimples when he smiles."
"You were seeing things," Othello mumbled.
"Marco and I have a bet going that he's a carrier."
"What the hell difference does that make?” Othello's brows furrowed, looking at Tallen, who shrugged his shoulders.
