″Sure,” I say, continuing towards the ER area. I make it to the nurse’s station, smiling at the two nurses standing and reading files.
″Good morning, Dr. Savino,” the blond male says. He shoves an electronic tablet towards me. “Room 3E12 needs stitches in his leg. Skating accident.”
I skim through the files, finding my skater and briefly reading about him. “Thanks.”
After the skater boy, I handle a few patients with the flu, then Scotty slips away with a quiet goodbye. Cillian shoots me a text saying he will meet me at the house because he’s got something to do for Sean.
The first six hours dragged on. Treating stitches and IVs to combat dehydration from the flu is comparable to pushing through a shitty book just because someone recommended it to you and swears it’ll get better. My stomach rumbles as I head to the cafeteria to choke down some hospital food. When I get there, it’s empty, save for a few visitors. I sit alone while I eat my soggy salad and cold chicken that tastes like ass.
The quiet as I sit alone is nice. I savor it because I haven’t been in my own head, sitting alone since Callum took me out for pizza. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions that I haven’t had the time to process.
Before I met Callum, I was wallowing in loneliness to the point I drank so I wouldn’t think of my demons.
Now, I’m sitting alone, enjoying the peace and quiet.
Last night I dived in without knowing what would happen. I was scared but also tired of keeping my walls up. It was time.
Cal is sweet to me, even if he is a hardened asshole to everyone else. He held me while I cried, and helped me push through. And just like that orgasm I had by myself the night I met his family, when we had sex last night, it unlocked the barrier I’d put up.
Then last night. I was excited, and I wanted it, the tears came because I was happy to be moving forward with my life.
Sure, I still think most men are assholes and I don’t think anything will change that, but being able to trust Callum, to give him that intimate piece of me, it feels right.
I also can’t ignore that I’ve been steering clear of the hard liquor when he’s around. Does this mean I’m replacing booze for sex? I think that’s also something I need to work out. It doesn’t seem like I am. Mostly because the thought of Jason doesn’t affect me the way it did before.
Sure, the anxiety settles in me still, but I’m not running for the bottle, I’m not avoiding the dark thoughts. I’m just breathing through it.
I’ve even made an appointment with a psychiatrist next week to help sort through my shit like a proper adult.
I finish my salad, a smile on my face. Even though I’m nowhere close to being healed, I’m on that path for the first time in my life.
I push back the curtain of room four and am met with a tattooed man with as many arm muscles as Callum. Maybe even more. What do they feed criminals these days?
I shake away the thoughts and step inside, clearing my throat as I glance at his chart. Supposedly, his name is Clyde Barrow.Doubtful. “Good evening, Mr. Barrow,” I say. “What brings you into the emergency department, today?”
″Cut my hand.” His accent is hiding just below the surface but I can’t pinpoint where it’s from.
″Oh. How did you do that?” I glance over the tablet that I’m holding to my chest.
″I was working construction and a beam fell. I reached out to grab it before it landed on me.”
There it is, in the way he says the word “was.” Slow and drawn out, as if he were purposely trying to hide where he’s from.
Mr. Clyde Barrow unfolds a dishtowel from his hand and blood oozes from his cut. After I clean my hands in the sink and glove up, I approach to check the wound. It’s a clean cut with rough edges, like someone sliced the flesh with the blade of a Ka-Bar on purpose.
I tap some notes into the tablet. “You’ll need stitches. Probably eight or so. I’ll have a nurse come clean this up and get you numb and then I’ll come back and close it.”
″Not necessary. I don’t need anything for the pain.” He gestures with his good hand at me. “You just do it. Quickly.”
I raise a brow as I stare at this dude. “Sorry. This isn’t wartime. We medicate. Are you worried about narcotic addiction? It’s a simple numbing lidocaine injection to the flesh.”
He shrugs. “I don’t need it. It’s a waste of time. Just stitch me up so I can go.” Again with the “w” sound. Is this guy Russian? Why is he trying to hide that from me?
I sigh but say, “okay,” because I just want to get rid of this guy now. He’s been giving me weird vibes. Like he’s hiding something and I don’t like it.
His eyes stay on me, intense and dark. I grab the supplies to clean him up myself. The dude never even flinches as I pierce his flesh with the needle.
″You know Callum Murphy.”