Page 11 of Dying for the Doctor

He could be one of those medical serial killers!

I might be his next victim!

Am I that idiot character in a horror movie who invites the psycho into her house, then runs to the basement when hechases her, totally ignoring the wide-open front door leading to her getaway car?

Get away from him, whispers that voice of common sense, logic, and reason. Just shake your head and say you don’t feel well enough to leave the hospital right now. Smile politely and let Doctor Drake walk away. Treat it like a one-night stand and forget it. You don’t want to get mixed up with this guy. He’s bad news. Red flags sticking out all over the place. Warning signs bigger than a billboard. Cease and desist. Deny and resist. Sushi and sashimi. Turkey and tahini.

My mind is unraveling now, gibberish-words and monkey-sounds dancing their way through my consciousness. I can’t figure out if time has stopped or sped up, if the world has faded to black or is lit up in vivid color. I think there’s a medical term for it . . . Synesthesia or something like that, where your five senses get all muddled and you can hear smells and see sounds and taste colors. Yup, I’m losing it. Marbles gone. Brain scrambled.

“I . . . I should stay.” The words barely escape my trembling lips. My heart sinks and my pussy sighs, but Mama’s face lights up and Papa exhales in relief.

Drake blinks twice, his face going ashen, like he’s just been punched in the gut and all the air’s been pushed out of his lungs. Again I’m struck by how profoundly I seem to be affecting him, like he’s truly shattered right now. It doesn’t compute, does it? After all, if he’s just some sick pervert doctor who talks his way into female patients’ panties and then goes on his merry way, he should be relieved, not heartbroken, right?

“Right.” Drake swallows thickly, his blue eyes hardening, like he’s drawing the blinds closed on that little window into his soul. “Fine.”

Suddenly the room feels cold as Drake withdraws his attention from me, turns briskly away from the bed, then stridesout the room, almost knocking over Lenworth on his way out, the two security guards hurriedly following him.

I stare as Drake storms through the open door, stomps down the empty hallway, and now I’m even more confused about what I’m feeling, about what Drake’s feeling, about whether there were any feelings at all between us!

“Are you feeling better, honey?” Mama comes up to me, touches my forehead. “Oh, you’re so cold and clammy. Doctor Lenworth, can you check her temperature?”

“I’m fine, Ma.” Turning my head to the side, away from Mama, I stare blankly at the empty hallway stretching to infinity. The elevator doors swish closed. Drake and the security guys are gone.

Suddenly I feel like throwing up, like I just made a huge mistake, made the wrong decision! Ohgod, it feels like I just sent my entire life down a different path by not having the courage to follow my heart!

That wouldn’t be courage, my common-sense voice sternly informs me. It would be recklessness. And it isn’t your heart talking, it’s your dirty little pussy aching to do what pussies are designed to do.

Spread for a man’s seed.

My breath catches in my throat as my mind spins back through years of reading psychology, everything from Jung to Freud. And there’s a lot of literature about how sexuality lies at the core of human behavior, how our physiology dictates our psychology, how our bodies whisper thoughts to our minds, how our animalistic urges are the foundations for what we like to think are the “higher” drives of human nature.

Because there’s nothing more fundamental in nature than the drive to reproduce. Life exists on Earth because every creature, no matter how dumb, silly, or stupid, has an irresistible need to find a mate, to be a mate.

To fuck and be fucked.

Have I suppressed that instinct too long?

Have I hidden that urge too deep?

Did this unexpectedly intense sexual experience suddenly open the floodgates? And if so, does it mean I’m simply overreacting to Drake’s touch, seeing profound meaning in something that’s basically meaningless to a normal sexually active person in today’s world? Hell, maybe I’d have reacted that way toanyman who made a bold move, turned on the charm, called me beautiful. Maybe it’s for the best that Drake’s gone.

After all, I think now as I claw myself back to the cold truth of reality, recall that Drake might very well be a murderer, a psycho in a lab coat, not a good doctor at all. That probably explains why he went from obsessively claiming that I’m his to suddenly going cold and walking away like I’m nothing to him.

Like I’m nothing at all.

Never was, never will be.

Either way, Drake is gone, and I’m still here, still myself, still anxious.

Still alone.

5

DRAKE

I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

The cold steel elevator doors open to the hospital lobby, and I step out like a zombie, like I’m dead inside, a hollowed-out shell of a man. It’s fucking insane that I’m feeling like this, totally obsessed with a woman I just met but feel like I’ve known forever even though I don’t actually know a damn thing about her life.

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