Page 652 of Filthy Elites

Am I serious? I’m going to go there and see her on a day outside our arrangement?

I shouldn’t do that. It would be a bad idea.

Why not, though? What would be the harm in seeing her?

I can do that if I want to. Rules are meant to be fucking broken. What’s the point in being the rebel if you can’t do that?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I leave the house and head to the hospital.

When I get there, the staff look happy to see me and allow me inside when I tell them I’m there to see someone. I used to meet Mom for lunch sometimes, and if she was ever working on a weekend, I’d pick her up, and we’d go to dinner after work.

No one knows that side of me. Only she did. She was the only person worth showing it to.

The custodian directs me to Billie. When I find her reading a story to a group of kids who look like they’ve been receiving chemo, I stop in my tracks and hang back so I can watch her.

She smiles at them, and I’m reminded of the way my mother used to be with her patients. Especially the ones like those I’m observing who were on the clinical trials. Those who’d gone past hoping and had to rely on miracles.

There are so many similarities between this girl and my mother—each pushing my cold heart to open and cast aside the darkness threatening to swallow me whole.

Billie finishes up the story, and the children clap.

She lifts her head to look at the clock, and that’s when she spots me.

Our eyes lock, and I can see the fear riddling her mind.

Quickly she dismisses the children and walks over to me with a look of uncertainty on her face.

“Hi,” she says, bringing her hands together. “You’re here.”

“You are too. Didn’t know you were working here.”

Nervousness comes back to her eyes. “I started last week. I didn’t exactly want to talk about it too much because I’m not sticking around, and…”

Her voice trails off, and I know why.

“My mother used to work here.”

“Yeah. I’m mindful when talking about your mother. I don’t think I have any right to mention her.”

Weeks ago, I might have felt the same way. I don’t now. “It’s okay to talk about her. I think if she were alive, she might be extremely fascinated with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She would have liked that you want to work with people who have rare illnesses. I like that you do.”Christ, listen to me.There was something freeing about saying that, though.

“Is that why you’re here?” She raises a brow. “Because it’s kind of Saturday and we don’t see each other on Saturdays. Unless you changed the rules of the contract.”

I gaze into those bright green eyes, and they suck me into a place I never want to leave, swallowing me whole. The feeling makes me want to be real with her and not hide.

“This isn’t about that. I wanted to see you.”

“And so, you tracked me down?”

“It makes me more interesting; don’t you think?”

She smiles. “It does, but you’re going to have to stop doing that if you don’t want me to think you’re a stalker.”

“What’s wrong with being your stalker?” I feign innocence and lift my shoulders into a shrug.

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