Chapter 8 #2
"This is a losing cause, isn't it?" I blurt out.
She mistakes my question. "Yes. You need to resign."
A short, sharp burst of laughter dripping with superiority and contempt comes out of me. I realize this is a losing battle, and some things need a fresh start. I take a deep breath, and a wicked grin overpowers me. I cross my arms. "Thank you for your time here. You're fired."
Shirley takes one step back. Then another.
Her heel catches the edge of the rug, and she stumbles, just a fraction.
She rights herself quickly, but the damage is done.
She looks small and fragile, and for some twisted reason, it gives me a wicked, satisfying thrill that settles low and heavy in my chest.
"I thought you were different," she says. Her voice cracks on the last word.
I start feeling a rush of power. "Life changes things."
Her shoulders drop. "I guess we're done here then."
"Guess we are."
She turns toward the door, stops, but doesn't turn. She mumbles, "You'll regret this, Dr. Mercer. This can't end well for you."
"Maybe." I shrug even though she can't see it. "But not today."
She shakes her head and disappears behind the door. It closes with a soft, final click that echoes longer than it should in the suddenly empty space.
I stand motionless for several heartbeats, staring at the spot where she disappeared. The air feels thinner without her rose perfume and the faint rustle of her movements.
My pulse continues to thrum high and steady, keeping a thrill curling tighter in my gut where it refuses to fade. And a new realization hits me. I never chased power and control until Blue taught me how sweet it tastes when everything else is slipping away.
Laughing to myself, I round the desk slowly. Shirley's chair sits at an angle, seat cushion still holding the faint depression of her weight. I drop into it without thinking. The warmth seeps through my slacks.
My hands move on autopilot. I drag the appointment book toward me. Bright red Xs glare from every canceled slot like fresh wounds. The ink bleeds slightly into the paper, satisfying in its permanence.
"Time to get my life back," I mutter.
I take the book into my office, sit at my desk, and reach for the phone. I dial the first number before the hesitation can creep in.
Mrs. Delgado answers on the second ring. Her voice starts cautiously, then cracks with relief the moment she recognizes me. "Dr. Mercer? Oh, thank God. We thought… Well, we didn't know if you were coming back."
"I'm back," I say, keeping my tone even, professional. "Your daughter's slot is still hers. Tomorrow at ten."
Gratitude pours through the line like cool water on scorched skin. She thanks me three times before hanging up. Adrenaline rushes through me and I dial the next.
Call after call, I apologize for the disruption and offer reassurances, confirming that my family emergency is over.
Voices brighten on the other end. Mothers exhale. Fathers grunt thanks. Teenagers in the background sound less hollow. Each conversation chips away at the hollow place Shirley left behind until it's smaller, sharper, almost bearable.
Between the fifth and sixth call, I pause. My gaze drifts to the small shelf beside the monitor.
The hourglass Blue gave me beams, the stand still and untouched since the last time it was turned.
I reach for it, and the gold caps catch the overhead light.
Swirling patterns carved into the metal shimmer when I tilt my head, waking under the fluorescents like secrets stirring.
The glass between the crowns curves into a perfect, sleek hourglass.
It's polished, immaculate, so clear it almost disappears.
Inside, the sand glows electric blue, the exact shade of Blue's hair when the sun hits it, the same brilliance in her eyes when she's pleading or coming undone. The granules hang suspended in a steady, radiant ribbon, glowing against the surrounding dark.
Crimson bracing coils around the middle like a thick, unbreakable vine. The red is violent and raw. The thick tendrils grip the gold plates with unyielding force, holding everything upright.
The colors don't clash. They fuse into a calm blue promise pinned in place by a red threat that holds it all upright.
It's just like Blue and me.
I have to stop these thoughts.
I turn the heavy hourglass over in my hands.
Sand rushes down in a soft, relentless hiss.
Blue grains spill and pile at the bottom, each one carrying her laugh that starts low and breaks high, her trembling fingers on my skin, the way she whispered my name against my throat like a prayer and a curse at the same time.
My thumb brushes the engraving on the flat top.
Broken, yet still yours.
The words burn under my skin. I flip it again. The bottom plate reads Forever in time.
God, I miss her.
I set the hourglass down carefully on the desk blotter. The sand keeps moving. Slow. Inevitable. A tiny avalanche that never stops.
I glance over at the door and into the lobby. Shirley's pale face, her trembling hands, the way she stumbled before she left, pop up in my mind. She won't let this go. I know her. Pride, conscience, or simple spite could push her to whisper to someone on the board.
Loose ends like Shirley don't stay tied on their own.
I need insurance.
I need Mikhail.
He can handle the conversation and make it clear that there are no second chances. But I don't have his number.
Demi has it.
I pull my phone from my pocket. The screen lights up, but there are no new notifications or traces of Blue. Another round of disappointment hits me.
Focus.
I open the messages, scroll to Demi's name, and type fast.
Me: I need Mikhail to call me.
I hit send. The message whooshes away. I stare at the screen, waiting.
Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.
Then a message finally pops up.
Demi: Understood. I'll get him the message.
Me: How is she?
More dots appear and disappear.
Demi: She's fantastic!
I jerk my head backward.
Fantastic?
The word lands like a slap, bright and careless, while every nerve in me is still raw from picturing Blue curled on her couch with that razor glinting in the dim light.
Relief should flood me. It's proof she's breathing, smiling, maybe even laughing somewhere, but instead disappointment twists sharper.
Fantastic means she's moving without me, thriving in a world I'm no longer part of.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, itching to demand details, to claw back any scrap of her day, her mood, her voice, but I don't type. I can't. The screen stays blank except for those two mocking words, and the silence that follows feels heavier than any threat Mikhail could deliver.
I set the phone face down beside the hourglass, watching blue sand spill in its endless, indifferent rhythm, and for the first time today the dark thrill of control sours. The slow, burning realization that keeping her safe means watching her become someone I'll never touch again.
I exhale through my nose and close my eyes.
Heat stirs low again with the memory of Blue's thighs parting under my hands, her back arching off the counter, breath ragged, nails scoring lines down my forearms. My cock twitches, thickening against the seam of my slacks.
I shift in the chair, force a long breath through my nose.
Not now. Not here.
Get your life back.
I pick up the phone and make more calls to patients. The list shrinks, and my calendar fills again. When the last confirmation is done, I open the job board on the computer and make a posting for a new assistant.
A fresh start.
My stomach flips. Shirley was the best assistant I've ever had.
Don't dwell on it. She made her choice.
I close my eyes for a second. The rush from firing her flickers to life under my skin. It's wrong in all the right ways. Guilt flickers, faint and distant, but reclaiming my power drowns it out.
Blue would approve.
My phone vibrates once against the desk. I glance down.
Unknown number.
I answer on the second ring, "Hello."
"Dr. Mercer," Mikhail's calm, faint accent curling around the edges, voice says.
I lean forward, elbows on the desk. "We have a problem with my former assistant, Shirley. She knows too much. I need her reminded that silence is permanent before I fired her this morning."
A short pause. "You need me to have a conversation with her?"
The hairs on my neck rise. I walk over to the window, staring down at the city. "Just words."
He chuckles. "That's all I use."
Sure, you do.
He adds, "Consider it done. I'll report back when it's finished." The line clicks dead.
I turn and stare at the hourglass, keeping its quiet rhythm behind me.
Broken.
Eternally.
Forever.
I check my watch, then go into the waiting area and flip the sign on the front door from Closed to Open. Then I return to the desk, sit, and wait for the first patient to arrive, staring at the hourglass running while thinking of Blue.