Asher
Happiness isn’t a goal one reaches, like climbing the peak of a summit. It’s the tide. Inevitably, the lows rise and the highs fall.
—My Therapist
Surgeries like the one I just performed with Geoff are the reason I became an OB-GYN. The woman was suffering, and I fixed it. The operation was pristine. No complications. The anatomy was textbook, with tissue that melted away like butter. Estimated blood loss was about two red blood cells.
Perfect case.
But I can’t quite glory in it, this proof that I’m a fine surgeon despite what Dr. White might think. Too keyed up.
Jocelyn’s mere proximity is enough to set me on edge, so her sitting at the head of the bed was a tad unsettling. She rips my emotions open—a cat’s claw across a bag of birdseed.
Feelings are dumb, and they’re spilling out of me in torrents. Rage. Jealousy. Misery. Disbelief. Hurt.
What’s missing? Hope. All hope is extinguished.
She slept with someone else last night.
I enter the men’s locker room with a violent yank on the door, ripping the paper scrub cap off my head at the same time.
Geoff’s sitting on a bench near the lockers, legs outstretched before him, ankles crossed. “I told you she was with someone else. You didn’t believe me.”
Without a word, I storm past him and arrive at the sinks, washing the latex scent of surgical gloves from my hands. No, I didn’t believe him. Didn’t think she’d actually do that. Is shetryingto kill me?
Geoff stands. “See? Now you know. You really can move on.”
I pull paper towels from the dispenser, then meet his eyes. He says that like it’s easy. Likemoving onis as simple as stepping on an auto walk at the airport. A man doesn’t simplymove onfrom a woman like Jocelyn Mattox. I’ll have to untangle her, one thread at a time, and each thread is barbed with the fractured hopes of the relationship we’ll never have. It’s all entwined hopelessly together, making extraction both time-consuming and painful.
I’m an idiot for letting her dig this deep, this selfish girl who’s incapable of love.
Geoff’s brown eyes hold mine for no more than four seconds before he glances away and rubs his face. “We still doing the pool tomorrow?”
I toss the wet paper into the trash. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Do you think she’ll show?”
“Yes.”
I know Jocelyn. Based on that interaction in the ORjust now, she has something on her mind, but whatever it is, however much it bothers her, she’ll never say it. Instead, she’ll come to my house tomorrow and pretend nothing’s wrong. She’ll hide like she always does.
I can’t believe she slept with someone else last night. The gnawing acidy feeling kicks up a frenzy in my stomach, and I yank the bottle of Tums from my locker. Chalky raspberry this time. Appetizing...
There aren’t enough Tums in the world to make this pain go away.
She used me. Compared me to a luxury sports car. Practically ignored my confession of love. Then let another man screw her. All in the space of five days. That’s how little she respects me?
Someone else was inside her body last night. Did she think about me while she did it?
Ha. Wow. I’ve gone full Alanis Morissette. That’s fun.
But I hate how much it hurts, how jealous I am. I want to break things. I want to go on this date tonight and fuck this girl so thoroughly that I can’t remember my own name, let alone what Jocelyn’s doing with her body.
But I won’t do that.
Because I’m not an asshole.
Stupid to choose a girl I work with as my first date when she’s so obviously serving as a rebound.
