CHAPTER SEVEN
Life as a Doctor
ADALINE
Hospitals don’t slow down for anyone. Especially not me.
They don’t care that it’s your first month.
They don’t care that you haven’t eaten, that your feet feel like they’re grinding into the floor, that your head is buzzing with a thousand unfinished tasks.
The corridors keep moving, the bleeps keep screaming, and if you stop for too long, you get swallowed.
The rush thrills me in ways I can’t even describe. I know I have countless years to go before I’m performing surgery, but the years are passing by quicker than I thought. I’m unnoticeable in this sea of people just as smart as me. Yet still somehow, Juliette is not.
The first time someone asks about her, it’s casual. A nurse making conversation while we wait for the elevator.
“What does she do?” he asks.
“She works in the arts,” I say
He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Ah.”
That’s it. Just that sound. But it carries something with it. Everyone seems to know Juliette, or at least her family name. I thought coming to work in London would sort of move us away from that. I was sorely mistaken.
After that, it happens more often. Little comments. Little looks. People notice the car when she drops me off. The way she dresses when she comes by. The way she says my name without hesitation, without lowering her voice.
I hear the assumptions before anyone says them out loud.
That I’m lucky.
That I’m cushioned.
That I don’t work hard.
No one asks how many shifts I pick up. How many nights I come home so tired my hands shake.
How long I learned to survive without anyone at all.
I don’t bother correcting anyone because I understand.
I’m dating one of the richest people in this country.
Her name carries this aura which only entices hate in some people. I used to be one of those people too.
Today is particularly brutal.
Fourteen hours in, my brain feels like it’s wading through glue.
I’ve had one coffee and half a biscuit someone left in the doctors’ room.
My pager has gone off so many times I swear I still feel it vibrating even when it’s silent.
I finally get a brief lull mid-afternoon.
Brief enough that I sit down without trusting it.
I’m leaning against the counter, staring blankly at the whiteboard, when I hear a voice that absolutely does not belong here.
“Hi. Sorry. I’m looking for Dr. Emery.”
I look up so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
Juliette stands in the doorway.
She’s wearing a long coat, hair loose, eyes bright in a way that feels almost obscene against the sterile white of the room. She’s holding a paper bag and a coffee cup like they’re contraband. For a second, I forget where I am.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, already smiling despite myself.
She grins. “You forgot lunch.”
“I did not forget,” I say automatically. “I deprioritised.”
She clicks her tongue. “Terrible prioritisation.”
She steps inside like she owns the place. A couple of people glance over.
“That your partner?” a junior doctor asks, although he clearly already knows.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Juliette beams. “Hi.” This is the first time she’s spent longer than two minutes here. She sets the bag down and starts unpacking the food.
“You didn’t have to come,” I murmur, though my body is already leaning toward her.
“I know,” she says lightly. “I wanted to.”
Someone mutters, “Must be nice.”
Juliette hears it. She doesn’t react immediately. She just looks at me, eyes softening, like the room has disappeared.
“Eat,” she says quietly.
I do.
The first bite almost makes me groan. My shoulders drop without permission. My jaw unclenches. I hadn’t realised how tightly I was holding myself together until this moment.
“You okay?” she asks under her breath.
“Exhausted,” I admit. “Annoyed. Hungry. Still breathing.”
“High praise.”
Her hand brushes mine, deliberate and grounding. My pulse jumps embarrassingly fast. We’ve barely had any time together these past few months.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I murmur.
“I know,” she replies. “That’s part of the appeal.”
I snort. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
She leans in slightly, voice low. “You’re already in trouble.”
That does something to me. Even the lack of sleep doesn’t take away my need for her, the way my pussy throbs every time she is around me. There’s a look in her eyes now. Familiar. Dangerous. The one that says she’s thought this through just enough to know it’s a bad idea and wants it anyway.
I glance at the clock. “I have five minutes,” I say carefully.
She lifts an eyebrow. “I can work with that.”
We slip away slowly, like we are not doing anything wrong.
Like we are just walking. Just two people moving down a quieter corridor at the end of a long shift.
Past rooms I already know are empty because I checked them an hour ago.
Past a storage cupboard that never closes properly.
Past the vending machine that hums too loud in the stillness.
The hospital feels different at this time of night. Not asleep. Just thinner. The noise stretched out and echoing instead of layered and constant. My trainers squeak once against the polished floor and I wince, glancing over my shoulder.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper, even though no one is near enough to hear.
She looks back at me and there is that look on her face. The one that makes my stomach flip every time. Amused. Knowing.
“You’re smiling,” she says quietly.
I try to stop. I cannot. It’s there anyway, tugging at my mouth.
We reach the small on-call room at the end of the corridor. The light above it flickers slightly. She pushes the door open and we step inside. She shuts it gently behind us, careful not to let it click too loudly.
The silence lands heavy and she turns to face me fully.
Her eyes move slowly over me. My creased scrubs. The faint mark the mask has left across the bridge of my nose. The exhaustion I know is written all over my face. I have not looked in a mirror since seven this morning but I can feel it.
“You look wrecked,” she says, softer now.
I step closer without thinking about it. Close enough that I can smell her shampoo. Close enough that I do not have to raise my voice.
“You look hot.”
She lets out a quiet laugh. The sound is low and warm and familiar. “Come here.”
I do not answer her with anything clever. I do not answer at all.
Instead, I move into her space until there is barely any between us. I place my hands on the wall on either side of her. Not trapping her. Just needing something solid to brace against. My forehead drops to hers and for a second I just breathe. Her skin is warm and comfortable.
The tension I have been carrying all day presses forward in that tiny gap between us. Every snide comment. Every glance. Every moment I swallowed something I wanted to say. It all feels closer to the surface here.
“I’ve missed you.” It comes out rougher than I expected.
Her hands slide up my arms slowly. Not rushed. Fingers pressing into muscle like she is checking I am still solid, still here. My body reacts before my brain does. My shoulders drop a fraction. My breathing steadies.
“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs.
I let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh but is not. “They don’t think that.”
She does not hesitate. “I do.”
Her hand moves up to my jaw, thumb brushing along the edge of it. “That’s the one opinion that matters.”
I kiss her. There is no build-up. No hesitation. It just happens.
My mouth finds hers and the restraint I have been holding onto all day snaps quietly. It is not frantic but it is not gentle either. It is the kind of kiss that has been waiting. The kind that carries all the words I did not say and all the things I swallowed down.
She kisses me back just as firmly. Her hands fist in the fabric of my scrubs like she needs proof I am real, like she needs to anchor herself to me.
The material wrinkles under her grip. Her lips are warm and familiar and for a second the hospital disappears completely.
I tilt my head slightly and she follows. We fit. We always have.
Her fingers slide up to the back of my neck and she pulls me closer. My hands leave the wall and find her waist instead. I feel the shape of her under my palms.
“Five minutes,” she whispers against my mouth.
Her breath brushes my lips when she speaks. It makes my stomach tighten.
“I know,” I say, though my sense of time has already slipped.
She smiles against me. I can feel it. “We’ll be efficient.”
I let out a quiet laugh, breathless, and press my forehead to hers again. My nose brushes hers. It is almost ridiculous how much I need this.
“This is wildly inappropriate,” I murmur.
She hums softly, hands still at my neck. “You’re still here.”
I kiss her again, slower this time. Not urgent. Just feeling. The curve of her lower lip. The way she sighs when I pull her closer. My thumb traces absent patterns at her hip. Her nails scrape lightly at the back of my neck and I feel it all the way down my spine.
There is a faint sound outside the door somewhere down the corridor and we both freeze for half a second, listening. But it’s nothing.
My heart is beating harder than it has all day and not from running around all day. I pull back just enough to look at her properly. Her hair has fallen slightly loose around her face. Her lips are a little swollen. There is colour in her cheeks.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I say quietly.
She tilts her head. “You love trouble.”
I can’t even argue with that. Her hands smooth down the front of my scrubs, straightening them instinctively. The gesture is almost domestic. Almost tender in a way that makes my throat tight.
“Look at you,” she says, brushing invisible lint from my shoulder. “Saving lives and pretending you don’t care what they think.”
I shake my head slightly. “I don’t.”
“You do.”
She is right. I do.
“I hate when they talk to you like that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I know.”
“I wish I could say something,” she says, and I hold back a laugh. She begs me every week and I always tell her no. I need to fight my own battles. If I have my girlfriend running to my rescue, they’ll never respect me.
“You already do,” I tell her. “You say it to me.”
Her eyes hold mine and there is so much in that look it makes my chest ache.
“I’m proud of you,” she says.
I lean forward and press another kiss to her mouth. Softer now. Slower. I need her so bad it’s unbelievable.
“Eat my pussy,” I mumble against her lips, not bothering to hide my neediness.
She grins widely, also not bothering to object, and gets on her knees immediately.
She pulls my scrub pants down and immediately dives into my pussy.
I throw my head back and try to stifle my moans, and it rattles my entire body. I love being loud, but I can’t risk it.
“Just like that.” I move my hands to the back of her head and fuck her face. I grind into her and feel her sucking on my clit harder. I have to bite down on my tongue to stop from moaning.
“I know baby, i know,” she mumbles in my pussy, and the vibration makes my clit throb, and I clench around her. The exhaustion stops me from edging, and I cum all around her mouth as hard as I can, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Better?” she asks with a smile, wiping her mouth.
“Much better, baby. Thank you.” I sigh out in relief, and she puts my pants back on for me, pecking my lips sweetly.
Eventually we separate, even though neither of us wants to. My hands slide reluctantly from her waist. Her fingers trail down my arms as she steps back. The air between us feels colder already. She reaches up one last time and smooths my collar properly.
“Call me when you’re done?”
“I will.” I smile
She leans in and presses one final kiss to my mouth. Gentle. Almost careful. Then she slips out first as to not cause suspicion.
The door opens and closes quietly behind her. For a second I just stand there alone in the small room, staring at the door she disappeared through. My heart is still racing but my head feels clearer. Like someone has wiped fog from a mirror.
When I step back onto the ward, it is like walking into a different world again. The bleeps start almost immediately. Someone calls my name from the other end of the corridor. A trolley rattles past.
Nothing has changed.
The noise returns. The fluorescent lights hum. The work waits. But my shoulders are straighter. When someone makes another comment about how lucky I am, I just smile to myself and adjust my gloves.
They have no idea how lucky I really am.