Chapter 1 #2
“You sure you can’t swing by? Just for a little bit? It’s been a really long day at work. I could use the company of my sweet, kind-hearted best friend.”
“Well, then maybe you should call her.”
She giggles and the sound somewhat eases the remaining tension in my chest from before.
I read somewhere once that you attract the kind of energy you put out. That if you stay focused on all the “good” and “positives” in your life, you will automatically attract more good and positive things into your life.
However, the terms “good” and “positive” are subjective.
What might be “good” to one person, might not be the same to another.
Three years ago, when I first met Cami, I was not in a “good” place.
I don’t think I was in a bad place either, I just…
was. I was breathing for the sake of breathing.
Existing for the sake of existing. I had no interests.
None. I didn’t care about anything at all.
I craved to fade away. I became numb to everything “good” and “positive.” The only thing I felt was pain.
Radiating all over like someone just forced me to take a chainsaw and cut off my own arm.
Like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my heart right out.
My bed became my casket. All I wanted to do was sleep for five hundred years and never wake up.
I was stuck in some sort of limbo, existing only in the space between where I wanted to be and where I actually was.
Stuck between good and bad. Heaven and hell.
Limbo. That in-between place where all the dead people who no one knows what to do with go. Dead babies go there too, I think.
Cami pulled me out of there. It takes a lot of strength to pull someone out of a place they don’t want to leave.
She saw all the broken pieces and glued them back together to the best of her ability, even though at the time she barely even knew me.
Nobody wants to be associated with a bad person, let alone be friends with one.
But there are some who just can’t help themselves.
Cami was one of them and I’ll never stop being grateful for that.
“So?” she asks. “Are you on your way yet or do I need to book you an Uber?”
“I really can’t tonight, Cam. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t pass out mid-conversation.” I bring my mug to my lips and take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee.
A long pause. An intense pause.
“Was it fun at least?” she finally asks.
“The surgery?”
“Yes, Sherlock, the surgery. Did you get to cut someone open? Was there a lot of blood? Did someone die? Give me all the gross, gory details!”
“It was fine. Barely any blood.”
I’m certain she senses my lie. “You sound weird. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“No, I’m just tired.”
“So you’ve said. Just come for like half an hour,” Cami insists. “I’ll make you that drink you like. The blue-red one? Or a gin martini? You’ll feel better.”
“I think I’m just gonna head home. I might be coming down with a migraine. But I’ll come over tomorrow. Promise.”
A heavy, heavy sigh. “Fine, whatever. I gotta go too.”
“Cami, don’t be like that —” The line disconnects.
A paperweight settles in my stomach.
I look down at my feet.
The heat from the vents blasts, making the room warmer and warmer; inside my head, it gets colder and colder.
A minute passes. Then two. I chug the remainder of my cold, bitter coffee and get up to neatly wrap the pink, fuzzy blanket over the armrest. I quickly grab the rest of my stuff — my phone and my bag with a change of clothes and some other stuff — and just as I’m putting on my coat, I hear someone knock at the door.
I look up and immediately wish I hadn’t.
A tall, lab-coat-wearing body casually leans against the doorframe with one leg crossed over the other and both hands stuffed inside his pockets.
“Dr. Moore.” A deep accented voice splices through an otherwise quiet room. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Of course. “You weren’t expecting to see a doctor in the doctor’s lounge?”
The corner of Theo’s mouth quirks up and he tilts his head to the side with a gleam in his eye. “How’d the surgery go?” He steps inside. “Word on the street is you lost a patient tonight?”
When I don’t say anything, he scoffs. “That bad, huh? It’s all right, Hollister.
” He pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a long, noisy sip, the sound echoing through the empty room like a vacuum cleaner attempting to suck up the rest of my remaining patience.
“Losing a patient isn’t that big of a deal.
Every surgeon goes through it. Not me, obviously.
But it’d be unfair to ask you to aim for an unattainable standard. ”
“Don’t call me that.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “A surgeon?”
My jaw clenches. I stay silent. Because contrary to that innocent fucking facade of an expression on his face, Theo Carter knows exactly what I’m talking about.
There are only two people in my life who even know about that horrendous nickname.
One is April and the other is her idiotic fiancé, Parker.
One I love to bits and the other I would love to cut into bits.
And since Theo and Parker have been friends for a few years now — don’t ask me why, it makes sense to no one — it’s not surprising that he's picked up on how much I actively detest it.
Theo smiles at me and I refrain the urge to slap that smug smile off his stupid face.
I steal a glance at my phone. It’s almost eleven.
Refusing to stay in this room any longer than I have to, I carefully sidestep around Theo to head towards the exit, but the fucker simply steps forward and blocks my path.
“So tell me, Dr. Moore,” he says, tone neutral.
I have to force myself to breathe through my nose. Do not punch him in the throat, Holly. Do not punch him in the throat, do NOT punch him in the throat.
“How does it feel killing someone?”
My eyes snap up to meet his. “Excuse me?”
“Your patient. How did it feel killing someone?”
The irony of his question isn’t lost on me. “Devastating. Want me to show you?”
Grin widening, he touches his chest, mockingly. “Ouch, love. You wound me.”
“No, but I’m tempted to.” I turn the other way, hoping to leave this room and breathe in some oxygen that hasn’t been contaminated by Satan’s lapdog, but of course, he steps in front of me once again, pinning my feet to the ground.
“Do you need a ride home?” he asks.
“Why? Are you offering?”
“Are you saying yes?”
“I would rather walk into traffic with a blindfold on.”
A soft chuckle leaves his stupid mouth. He sets the coffee mug down and rests his hipbone against the countertop. “Has anybody ever told you how incredibly rude you are?”
“No. Maybe you’re just easily offended.”
“Men are more attracted to women who are mean to them.”
“Thank you for that completely random and untrue fact. Now move.”
He doesn’t. “It’s not untrue. You’re mean to me all the time.”
“I’m not mean, I’m honest. And if you’re attracted to my honesty, then maybe I’m not being honest enough.”
“Maybe not. Where’re you headed after this?”
“To dive headfirst into the Hudson. Wanna come?”
Any kind of sarcasm is wasted on his two brain cells. “Sure, but if we are planning on going skinny dipping tonight, might I recommend the pool at my flat? It’s arguably better than the Hudson.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping an octave. “Cleaner too.”
The heavy, acute weight of his gaze sends a prickle down my spine and my cheeks flush with a faint heat. If he’s even a little bit flustered by the lack of distance between our bodies, he doesn’t make it appear so. “Are you inviting me?”
His eyes skim my lips and rise back to my gaze. “Why? Are you saying yes?”
“I would rather ingest an entire bucket of radioactive waste than go anywhere with a man like you.”
His response is instantaneous and equally predictable. “There aren’t any men like me.”
“Really? Raging narcissists with the emotional depth of a single petri dish are that hard to find?”
Eyes still glued to mine, Theo smirks, revealing the tiny dimple on his left cheek.
I want to stab it. He places both his palms on the edge of the counter, effectively caging me in.
“See?” he whispers. “So fucking rude.” His right hand slides along the counter's edge, a phantom brush against my waist.
My eyes involuntarily flick to his lips, and he smiles. I immediately blush, and when I look back up, the fucker winks at me.
My face is now on fire.
My eyes catch sight of a ballpoint pen in his coat pocket, and it takes all but two seconds for me to grab it and ram it into Theo’s eye.
Over and over again. The sclera bursts open and hot blood gushes out, drenching my wrist. A satisfying cry pierces the air, and I keep stabbing his eyeball.
Once, twice, three times. He screams and blinks, causing whatever’s left of his eye to pour out like red, veiny egg yolk.
Then I feel the quiet.
Everything stands still as I regain control of my breathing.
Moments pass by before I realize that I have not indeed stabbed Theo Carter in the eye.
He is still standing in front of me, still staring at my lips with those ocean blue eyes, and still continuing to be an grade-A pain in my ass.
My imagination had just gotten the better of me.
How unfortunate.
“You all right, love?” he asks, his eyes finally flicking up to meet mine.
I flash him a quick, fake smile before gently tipping his mug over as he picks it up to take another sip of his coffee, spilling its hot contents all over his pristine white coat. “Much better now.”
What? Coffee stains are better than a punctured eyeball.
Theo looks down at his clothes and purses his lips. “Nice. Very mature.”