Page 52 of Bad at Love

“Let’s talk about it later?”

“Let’s not.”

“We’re talking about it later.”

She turns down the hall to head to the ER and I turn the opposite way to head to the lab.

“Morning, Gabriel,” Wendy says, and not in her normal chipper tone. Ever since I told her I was seeing someone, she hasn’t been as friendly toward me. Not rude, but more reserved, I suppose. Not that it matters to me. The less she talks to me, the better. I just wish people wouldn’t get so upset just because I don’t want to be friends with them. I am allowed to choose who I want to be friends with, right? Why can’t people understand that I just want my space?

“Morning. How was the night shift?”

“Boring, surprisingly.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

She gives a tired smile before hiding a yawn behind her hand, and then she’s out the door. I settle in and see nothing in the queue. I double check that everything is stocked and work on wiping things down.

A couple of samples are dropped off about an hour into my shift, and I drop the blood samples into the centrifuge to get them started after checking them into the system. There are a few swabs that I put into the machines as well, then go back to the computer to double check things as I wait for them all to finish. The science behind all of this is what fascinates me the most about my job. Seeing the bacteria growth on samples that come from people is definitely disturbing and gross, but it’s also so cool. Not having to speak to people often also helps.

It’s quiet today, which gives me too much time to think. And of course all I think about is Storm and the things he’s done to me the last couple of days. I’ve gone into his room every night and every morning since that first time. He’s taken care of me with so much enthusiasm. Holy crap, it’s so good, but I can’t help but wonder if I should do something in return.

This was supposed to be for money, and somehow… not a single video has been made. What the hell are we doing here? The more I think about the whole thing, the more unsure I am about it. When I was angry and desperate, the videos sounded like a great idea. Now? I’m not so sure I want thousands of people seeing me naked. Why was I ever okay with that in the first place? Maybe because the money is tempting.

Knowing none of this is going to leave me alone until I get it off my chest, I send Storm a text.

Can we talk?

After I send the text, I stare at my phone for a few moments, waiting for a response, but when I don’t get one, I put my phone down and go check on my samples. I swap stuff out and put results into the system for the doctors to look over. Someone’s pregnant, someone has strep, someone is completely fine, and someone else is severely dehydrated. It’s not hard to drink water, buddy.

My phone dings, and I finish entering information before I stop to check it. The last thing I need to do is mess up my job over a text.

I think that’s a good idea. What time will you be home?

Around 5:30.

I’ll be here

It’s steady until lunch. I meet Marta at our usual spot. She’s already sitting with our food. If she can duck out a few minutes before me, she gets everything ready for us. I appreciate it because it saves me time.

“I figured it out,” she says, pointing at me with her fork as I take a seat.

“Figured what out?”

“You got laid.”

My eyes widen. “H-how did you come up with that?”

She gasps, hands slapping on the table. “You did! Oh my god, Gabriel, tell me all about it! Who was it?”

I hold her gaze and I see the moment she puts two and two together. Her eyes get as wide as saucers, her mouth opens wider than I thought possible. I think I see her tonsils.

“Shut! Up! It was Storm?” she hisses, leaning forward.

“Can we not?”

“Oh no. No, no, no. You are going to tell me all about this.”

“No, I’m not.” I reach for the food she set aside for me and pull it toward me. It’s a cheeseburger, some fries, and a bottle of water.

---