Page 177 of Zero Chance

“Today, we’re going to talk about victims of sexual assault,” she announced, eyeing me again as if I had firsthand knowledge about the topic.“Because, with the career path you are all taking, youwillencounter the subject.And you will have to ease a survivor through some of the most terrifying, horrendous hours of his or her life.”

As she got started, going through different ways to calm a rape victim and the best way to approach them, I took out my binder and started to take notes.As much as I wasn’t a fan of her being the mother of the girl I was dating, she at least knew her shit where this type of topic was concerned.

But the woman threw me under the damn bus when she paused, looking directly at me.“This next part probably won’t ever concern you, Mr.Dugger.The last person someone in this situation will want in their examining room will be a handsome, young,maledoctor.”

“Aww.The guest speaker knows your name,” Amelia leaned toward me to whisper acerbically.“Did you nail her too?”

I sent her a sour look and muttered, “Buzz off.”

Guess she hadn’t been a fan of the little truth bomb I’d hit her with.But at least now I knew the name of the bug stuck up her butt, and I was frankly relieved it didn’t have anything to do with me.She was resentful ofherselffor pushing me away in the first place because of gossip.

Turning back to Waverly’s mom, I made a big production of setting my pen down on my binder since there was no reason for me to take notes if I’d never be allowed to do any of this shit, anyway, and I lifted my hands in surrender, offended for my entire gender.

But Ms.Breeker only shrugged.“To preserve the comfort of the patient, another female will more than likely be the one collecting the rape kit.”

Exhaling moodily, I sat back in my seat and folded my arms across my chest, already done with her pretentious little lecture.

I sulked for a while longer until the professor pulled down a screen in the front of the room, and Waverly’s mom used a remote to start a video.

“So we’re going to watch a couple of accounts from some real-life victims, and afterward, we’ll discuss and brainstorm things we could say and do for each one.”

She pushed play, and the screen filled with the outline of a woman sitting in a chair, her face blacked out with shadows and voice distorted to protect her privacy.When she jumped right in, describing her rape, I shuddered, a foul taste filling my mouth, and I picked up my pen to doodle on my notes, drawing Waverly’s calligraphy W/M in the corner as I tried to block out what was being said in the video.

But it invaded my ears, anyway, making me grit my teeth and actually wonder if gynecology was the career path for me, after all.Because how the hell was I going to be able to help someone who actually went through this shit?This was just…awful.

In the middle of the second account, Ms.Breeker paused the video and cleared her throat.“Mr.Dugger,” she called sternly, making me glance up in surprise.“Are we boring you?”

I frowned in utter confusion.“Huh?”

She sniffed derisively.“Pay attention to the video.”

“I waslistening,” I bit out.“Though I have no idea why since you just flat-out told me no patient was going to let me near them after they’d been attacked, anyway.”

“Mr.Dugger,” my professor cut in with a warning voice.

Glancing at her, I sniffed in outrage.“What?”

But the teacher merely sighed in exhaustion.“Just watch the video.”

Blowing out an extremely loud calming breath, I spread my hands and bit out, “Yes, ma’am.”

Waverly’s mom glared at me a second longer, then resumed playing the clip.

I made sure to keep my eyes on the screen this time but hearing how the poor woman drank too much and passed out at a party only to wake up with two guys on top of her made my jaw creak as I gritted my teeth.

How could anyone just sit here, watching this shit as calmly as everyone else was?Was I sharing a class with a bunch of robots or what?I glanced toward Amelia, only to see her wince, and I finally started to feel a little better.In front of me, another chick slapped both hands over her mouth, and I revised that I maybe wasn’tthe only one after all.But this video was still fucking brutal.

When a third victim appeared on the screen, I almost threw up my hands in defeat and demanded to know how many fucking testimonies we were going to have to sit through.If Ms.Breeker was trying to make me detest sex so I stayed off her daughter for the rest of forever, I think it just might be working.After another half a dozen of these, I was probably going to cut off my own dick.

“My babysitter killed himself when I was nine,” the third victim started talking, making me sit up straighter and blink at the screen.

But dead, male babysitter?Why did that sound so familiar?

“So my family took me to this new center that had just opened in town to help me deal with my grief.”

Holy shit.I knew this girl.A vague memory of her face flooded my brain as I recalled the first day of attending grief counseling.The weird girl I’d first sat by, the one waiting to die.She’d had straight, long hair just like the outline ofthisgirl.Same slighter frame.Same dead babysitter.

“I attended once a week for the next six years until I was fifteen,” the distorted voice went on.“But about a year into it, I started to notice some of the girls would be taken off for special,privatesessions with the director.”

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