Chapter 11
THE ENEMY OF GOOD IS…
What better way for doctors to bond than trauma bonding?
Especially when your enemies are watching?
THANATOS
If there’s anything worse than going home to the artificial joy of liking strangers’ success on social media and eating chemical wastelands disguised as food, it’s being trapped in the hospital in the slowest elevator known to man, waiting for this groaning deathtrap to finally reach the ground floor and deliver me from this hell.
The elevator rattles from floor to floor as I twiddle my thumbs, waiting for the greasy copper lights to hit 0.
6…5…4…
The doors swing open, and a resident bursts his way in, not bothering to check if someone’s coming out, furiously typing on his phone. I scramble out of his way, letting out a polite “ahem.”
The demon ignores me, continuing to type from the other side of the elevator.
“Ahem,” I say, louder.
This man was late to Grand Rounds for me, I remind myself.
This very man brought me MoonMonies the day after he admitted I drove him insane, acting like the whole thing never happened.
“Dr. Goodyear,” I prompt as the doors slide closed.
He keeps texting.
“What,” he asks in his monotone voice, staring at his screen.
We pass the third floor, and he’s still clicking through his phone, oblivious.
I temper down my rising irritation. How can a man be so clueless?
“How many months has it been, and you still can’t recognize my voice?” I ask.
At that, his head swings up, and he makes eye contact with me. “Percy,” he says, voice rising, “What are you doing on this side of the hospital?”
“They moved my didactics from one side to the other with all the new construction,” I explain.
“Oh,” he says, going back to his phone.
I try not to be annoyed that he’s doing patient care, but it’s still pretty mortifying that if I hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t have noticed me.
I stitched up your arm! I want to scream at him. How about a thank you?
I’m aggravated that I even care. He carries me through the hospital once, and my body craves the feeling of molding into him, while my common sense propels me away as far as I can go.
“Kane,” I say, trying not to let my annoyance show, “you almost ran me over when you came in.”
He sighs, tucking away his phone. “Nobody ever uses this elevator, Per—”
The elevator suddenly drops, lurching with an abrupt screech, slamming me into Kane.
The impact knocks the breath out of me, Kane catching me with a grunt, looking as baffled as I feel as the elevator rumbles to a halt. The sudden movement unlatches a panel from the ceiling, where a furry creature tumbles out from the sky with a jarring SQUEAKKKK!
Kane holds me for one frantic, awkward second, briefly making sure I have all my parts, before letting go, angling us both away from the animal tossed onto the floor.
We both look at the elevator doors on floor 2.75.
Then we look at the rodent.
Kane looks.
I look.
The rat looks.
“This can’t be happening again,” he breathes.
My palms grow sweaty, the situation setting in against my will.
“The rat, or the elevator?” I ask, cornering myself into the side with him while the rat scurries to the other corner, squeak-squeak-squeaking.
“The hantavirus threat is nothing new,” he says, rubbing his brows. “But the last time this elevator broke, it was hours before they got it running again.”
“HOURS?” I ask him. “What do you mean, hours?”
He leans against the wall, unperturbed by the rat lapping us, and starts texting again, the letter sounds echoing through the tiny elevator.
My phone chimes.
Message from Underlings
Kane
Whomever is assigned to me, begone.
This hospital has trapped me in an elevator again.
Kane looks back up, then puts his phone in his pocket, shrugging off his Parthenon jacket.
“What are you doing?” I ask, eyes flying between the creature that’s darting closer and the man undressing next to me. The metallic hisses open as he unzips the pocket, creeping closer.
“Kane!” I shriek, cornering myself as far away as I can get. My catecholamines are spiking, fight-or-flight launching. “Don’t! It’s a rat—”
“It’s white, Percy,” he murmurs, lowering himself so slowly, it’s like the air slides apart for him.
With a twist, he props open the jacket’s pocket like a tiny cave entrance, then advances.
“This is just someone’s lost lab mouse,” he says gently, like he’s soothing a child, “you can’t help who you are, can you, little guy?” He drops the jacket to the floor, zipper agape, and the mouse darts in.
Kane zips it halfway, folding it around the pocket like a baby swaddle, then leaves it in the corner furthest from me.
I would think it’s sweet if I weren’t so terrified.
Rodents have human-shaped teeth and fierce little claws. My whole body trembles at the thought of it.
“Do you feel better now that the threat is neutralized?” he asks. “It’s just a little mouse. He can’t help who he is.”
My heart still races at the thought of us enduring the vermin for hours, but I let out a brave, “Yeah.”
He glances up, cocks a brow, and I force myself to release a more confident, “Yes. I’m fine.”
Amusement flickers across his face, dimples peeking out while I shudder.
“Good,” he says, stretching out his long limbs to drop to the floor.
“Kane,” I prompt, cringing, “what did I tell you about the MRSA floor—”
“There’s no blanket to grab this time. And I’m way more exhausted now than I was then,” he says, resting his arms behind his head. I don’t even have time to offer my lap as a pillow before his eyes close.
“Kane, we are trapped in an elevator in Rusty,” I protest, feeling my panic escalating. Too many events have happened in the last few minutes, and my nerves are fraying like wires, shorting out axon by axon. “And instead of calling for help, you’re going to go to sleep—”
“This took hours to fix last time,” he drawls. “And there’s no signal in here. I texted my attending, but he probably won’t even see it until we get out, anyway.”
“So we’re just—stuck in here?!”
“You can use me as a pillow if you want to sleep too this time,” he offers, “But my 24-hour shift continues as soon as I’m out of here, so I’m napping.”
I’m still recovering from the emotional rollercoaster that was the elevator breaking mid-ride and the mouse ricocheting out of the sky, and this man is preparing for bed—bed on the nasty, rarely cleaned, C. Dif infested floor—
And yet again, any attraction I once had to him has faded. How can men be so casually… gross?
But as my disgust multiplies, he merely begins to snore, beginning to get his rest.
Begrudgingly, keeping a close eye on his plague carrier, I lower myself to the crusty floor with him, slipping off my backpack and letting it fall beside me.
He’s silent—giving me space to decide, I guess,—but I sit cross-legged next to him, watching him sleep.
I’m too pent up with adrenaline, and I never sleep well, anyway. I’m envious of the people who can just pass out and rest like this.
For a while, I think he does. My phone tells me an hour drags on, me vigilantly watching the contagion threat in his pocket while my adrenaline fades, him sleeping soundly.
The scar on his arm has healed well, a soft pink line that’s almost impossible to spot unless you look for it.
During sleep, the tension in his face smooths over, slumber softening all his harsh lines. The haggard haunt in his eyes hides behind closed lids, too, his dark lashes the only hint of how pretty he is while they’re open.
Even the baby fat on his cheeks dimples when he can’t scowl. Whatever he’s dreaming of, he smiles.
I wonder if anyone ever told him how attractive he is. If Calypso ever did. I imagine him sleeping in bed next to her, and then violently shake off the mental image. This is my reprieve from his personality, not my invitation to fantasize.
Besides, I wish I knew more about him. If we’re going to be confined here, we might as well get to know each other.
I can tell when he wakes, because he tenses again, grimacing in his usual wide-awake frown.
“Kane?” I ask carefully.
“Trying to sleep,” he sighs. He rolls over to the other side, back facing me, but I pester him anyway.
“Can I ask you something?” I press.
“You’re going to ask regardless,” he tells the wall.
“Correct,” I tell him. “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
He sits up as I work through the kindest way to ask what I’m thinking. It’s something I’ve been wondering about since I met his aunt, but he’s so reclusive, I worry it’ll trigger something repressed.
“Do you have any other family members I should know about?” I ask cautiously.
“My youngest sister, Bianca, is applying to college right now,” Kane says, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “She’s 17. She’s the baby of the family, and none of us wants her ruined by healthcare.”
I’m surprised by his answer. He almost sounds warm, paternal, when he’s talking about her, like he’s seeing the memories of her flash as he speaks. I wonder why Jade’s never mentioned her.
“Do Jade and her get along?”
He tenses. “No. It’s frightening when they get together. We think that’s part of why Jade ran away to a Caribbean medical school. She didn’t want to deal with my—well, with my essence, among other things—and she was sick of being compared to someone only a year younger who everyone babies.”
“I see.” I’m functionally an only child, and wouldn’t know what sibling rivalry is.
I tell Kane that, and he chuckles. “I think it’s better to be alone. Less for your parents to worry about.”
My face twitches, my only tell of how much I disagree, but I’d rather not tell Kane about what happened to my sister yet.
“Speaking of parents,” I say cautiously, “What about yours?”
Averting his eyes, his shoulders tense, shifting further from me, and I know he’s smart enough to get what I’m trying to ask. After a long, thorny silence, he asks, “What about yours?”
“I love my parents, but they’re hours away, and they also really liked David, so I’m beginning to wonder whether they’ve ever been good judges of character.”