The Deprivation Trilogy
DEPRIVATION BOOK ONE
Present Day
Kat
Rolling away from the harsh sunlight, I squint at the clock. It’s 6:29 a.m. Bolting upright, I realize my day is once again starting with a bang. I rarely sleep well. When I do manage to get some shuteye, it’s usually short-lived as I frequently awaken from nightmares. Occasionally, I’m able to get back to sleep. However, this time, I’ve slept through my alarm. I need to brush my teeth, take a four-minute shower, braid my hair, and make it to work within the next thirty minutes.
Running into the bathroom, I jump as my toasty feet hit the harsh, cold tiles. My awakening is nearly complete as I turn on the water and my tepid skin meets the frigid spray. Holy crap! I dart through the shower, running shampoo and body wash onto me like it’s a cheap car wash, then quickly jump out to dry off and don my scrubs for work. Ugh, no time for coffee. Please let this shift go better than the last.
As I drive the fifteen-minute commute to work, I reflect on my chaotic morning. Rubbing my eyes of any remaining debris Mr. Sandman left behind, I try to recall anything specific about my most recent nightmare. Nope, not a thing . After a while, they all run together. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten more than three to four hours of sleep.
It isn’t like I have PTSD. No one’s ever attacked or abused me physically. How have I developed constant nightmares and insomnia from years of bad boyfriends? I’m sure something’s wrong with me. I know I should find a therapist, but how would I explain my reason for being there? “Hi. I’m Katarina Kelly and I’m having nightmares from the ghosts of my past relationships?” Granted, I could win an award for worst dating life ever, but enough to cause years of this? There’s a reason I’ve avoided dating over the last three years. Quickly, I do the mental math and realize it’s probably closer to four. Oh well, three or four, it doesn’t matter, Gabe was the last and biggest dickwad in a string of many and I’m not going there again. Lonely or not, I’m better off this way.
As I pull into the physicians’ parking lot with mere moments to spare before the start of my shift, I spot one remaining open space. Knowing I need to grab my bag and run once this car is in park, I quickly turn toward my destination. I make a harsh left into the parking spot, throw my gear shift into park, and open the door like I’m a contestant on The Amazing Race . Grabbing my work bag, I pull it swiftly from the back seat, close my door, and look up to see a car idling behind mine. As if everything else in the world has ceased to exist, I watch as the driver’s window rolls down and the operator of the vehicle leans out.
My mouth goes dry, and I stop breathing momentarily as I take him in. Jeez, this guy is like something out of a Hollywood movie . He has gorgeous, tousled dark blond hair worthy of a photo shoot, movie star aviators sitting atop his straight nose, and the sexiest stubble covering his firm, square jaw. I watch as a sneer becomes evident despite the sunglasses.
“Nice. You almost took me out trying to steal that spot out from under me, Mario Andretti,” he says, the angry timbre of his voice breaking through my stupor.
What? There wasn’t another car waiting for this spot. I instantly feel my cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. Realizing I don’t have time for this, I decide to avoid a car lot confrontation, return his menacing glare, and abruptly sprint for the ER doors.
* * *
“Hey, Kat, you ready to sew up Mrs. Barker?” I hear Jessica call. Jessica Rush is one of my favorite ER nurses, and I’m relieved to be working alongside her today. It’s been nonstop in this busy emergency room for almost six hours now, and although I’m worn out, I still have six more to go. Working with people you adore can make all the difference in a stressful environment.
“Sure. You got an extra set of hands? Mildred can throw a mean left hook.” I’ve taken care of this elderly patient before. “Dementia is no joke,” I reply, sitting at my usual spot in my favorite hallway. Working as a physician assistant in a demanding ER keeps me hopping. Trying to gather my thoughts to type appropriate notes is much easier in this narrow breezeway next to the supply room. Sitting in the main work area is like trying to work at the bar at TGI Fridays. With the endless interruptions, who can get anything done? For the most part, this little alcove of three computers in this busy forty-five bed ER is my sanctuary.
“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice floats in my direction, interrupting my thoughts. I look up to see a strikingly handsome, dark-haired physician with piercing blue eyes beaming at me. He has bright white teeth which match his lab coat, a stethoscope is peeking out of the left pocket. He points to the chair and computer monitor closest to me, knowing full well there’s an identical spot one seat over that’s empty. Heck, come on over. I don’t mind a little eye candy sitting next to me for a while .
It dawns on me that my mouth might be hanging open. He continues to smile down at me while I sit wordlessly, staring at him. “Um, it’s all yours,” I manage to reply. I notice he isn’t wearing a ring on his left ring finger. Why I’ve looked is anyone’s guess; as I haven’t had so much as a blind date in three years. Oh, yeah, almost four. But if I was going to start socializing with men, well, he would be quite the─
“Kat, you ready? Mrs. Barker has been driving us crazy. The nursing home says she has sundowners. You know what that means. The later it gets, the more confused and agitated she’ll become. If you don’t sew up that cut on her forehead soon, she’s going to let you have it with both hooks,” Jessica says, halting my musing.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I stand, preparing for battle. “Get Wyatt to help hold her still. He can sweet talk the pants off of any confused elderly patient,” I laugh. I take off my pristine, starched lab coat and hang it over the back of my chair for fear sewing a laceration on this spirited, unusually strong, Alzheimer’s patient would have my white coat resembling a butcher’s apron.
I glance over to see my appealing companion is again smiling in my direction. There’s one deep, sexy dimple present in his right cheek.
“Go get `em, Kat,” he says playfully.
Feeling a flush creep from my chest toward my face, I quickly exit and head for my awaiting patient.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, exhausted from the workout Mildred gave the three of us, I return to my seat to chart my impressive accomplishment. After wiping my brow, I drain nearly half a bottle of water. Let’s face it, that’s probably the only nourishment I’m getting this shift. To think it required the assistance of two able-bodied professionals, one of whom is our best senior sweet-talker, in order to place five simple stitches in an eighty-two-year-old lady who weighs about ninety-five pounds. I shake my head as I review the computer to see which patients are waiting to be seen. I only have about two hours left in my shift, so I try to choose wisely. Ah, there are three quick turnaround patients waiting. I might actually leave on time today.
As I’m assigning my name to the awaiting patients, I sense an ominous presence to my left. Feeling my skin prickle and my heartrate begin to hasten, this aura is unlike the feel of Dr. Divine who graced this hallway earlier. Slowly peering to my left, I observe no dreamy white smile, no flirty dimple, no warmth or pleasant banter. The brooding, chiseled face of a dark blond god is all I see as he grabs the back of the chair furthest from me and slowly sits down. Again, my mouth is agape. Quickly clamping it shut I notice he’s dressed similarly to the carefree doctor who sat in the chair adjacent a few short hours ago, but the rest of this encounter is the polar opposite. There’s no witty engagement, just the briefest of intense eye contact before he jolts his view from me, as if he’s witnessed an unpleasant stain.
I’m unable to look away, despite his off-putting demeanor. He’s a tall, incredibly attractive man with honey blond stubble covering his jawline. Unconsciously, I rub my fingertips over my chin, longing to stroke the golden strands. Feeling parts of me awaken I’ve kept dormant way too long, I sit transfixed as he attacks the keyboard in front of him like it’s committed a personal affront.
I practically jump in my seat as Jessica shouts from around the corner, “Kat, you ready to go downtown? I have Ms. Simmons in room four, ready to roll.”
“Sure, Jess. Let’s end my day with one more pelvic exam.” I think this might be my sixth one today, which is sadly still not a record for me. “I’m starting to feel like I work at an OB/GYN’s office,” I mutter.
“Well, we don’t want to deliver any babies in here. I’ll meet you there in a sec. I just have to grab some peppermint oil.” Jessica snorts with a lopsided grimace, her strawberry blonde locks in her hand as she refastens her hair in a messy bun above her head.
“Oh, my god, Jess, is it that bad?” I whisper, knowing we tolerate a lot of unpleasant smells in the ER, but we save the peppermint oil for some of the worst.
“Nah, it’s for the guy in the room next to her. You really don’t want to go in there.” I hear her voice trail off as she walks away.
Glad to know I dodged that bullet. I remove my lab coat again in the hope one of us will make it out alive today. Walking past the glowering male perfection banging on his keyboard near the doorway, I ponder what it is about him that seems so familiar. Turning the corner toward my patient’s exam room, I hear him utter, “Nice” under his breath. Wait, where have… Holy heck, he’s the angry guy from the car. But what does nice mean? Nice what? Nice face? Nice ass ? I’m sure he’s being sarcastic. He is hot; I’ll give him that, but nice is the last word I’d use to describe this interloper.
* * *
Fifty minutes later, I return to my computer after evaluating my last three patients. I finish the bottle of water I’ve accepted to be a clear substitute for dinner and momentarily place my head down on the desktop in front of me. Hoping to clear my thoughts so I can generate discharge instructions for my last three patients, I feel someone place their hand on my left shoulder. Cautiously I peer up to see one of my least favorite ER attendings, Dr. Silver.
I believe Dr. Silver completed a fellowship at the University of How to Pick Patients I Can See in Less Than Ten Minutes and Have the PA Spend Nearly Ten Times as Long Completing Their Care. If it was just completing a procedure for him so he could focus on more complex patients, it’d be different. But this arrogant son of a gun has made an art of picking up a patient requiring a complicated procedure, knowing he has no intention of completing said procedure. He’ll claim he saw the individual and leave work on time while I stay an hour late taking care of his patient. I’m already so tired I can barely keep my eyes open and my shift is scheduled to be over in forty minutes .
“Hey, Kat. Could you put a sugar tong splint on the young lady in room eleven? She has a distal radius and ulna fracture. Thanks,” he states, walking away without waiting for my reply.
I try to pick my work battles carefully, so in spite of sheer exhaustion, I silently agree to place the splint on a young lady who appears to have severe developmental delays. So much for leaving on time. Again. Ultimately, it’s about giving patients the best care possible and I realize Dr. Silver is often not the best care. As I see him walk past me near the main physicians’ work space, probably to grab his things and head home early, I mutter, “ass wipe” under my breath, just as I almost collide with a tall, broad chest. As if drawn to him like a magnet, I lean in as I inhale the pheromones which now surround me. God, he smells good . Ignoring the sizzle that has again crept into my loins, I hesitantly gaze up into the eyes of Dr. Broody.
“Nice,” he remarks, sneering down at me with an air of superiority, shaking his head in disgust.
Wincing, I walk around him. I feel my blood pressure rise, knowing he’s either heard my degrading comment or simply finds my presence distasteful. Either way, I try to shake it off. What do I care if he heard? He may be hot as hell and smell like sin on a cracker, but I don’t need some condescending asshole making me feel stupid. If I wanted that, I’d call one of my ex-boyfriends.
* * *