Page 118 of Sin with Me

One year ago today, I met the masked stranger who would become one of the most important people in my life. We’ve spent every night over the past month and a half together. Most of them at his place. Carlos has resumed his position as head of the table at Suppato’s, making plenty of time for Callisto to join me in bubble baths and candlelight dinners on his terrace. I’ve learned so much about him in the past six weeks. I know he played college baseball at LSU and has a degree in engineering. I know his mother died when he was twenty-two, which completely breaks my heart. I know his favorite color is orange, and he will only eat homemade pizza, no carry out. I still have so many questions, like where he goes at night when I wake up alone. But we’ll get to those questions. Things are going smoothly right now, and I don’t want to jinx it.

I’ve decided on opening my own practice rather than working for someone else. But even though my days at the urgent care clinic are numbered, I’m there until the loan goes through.

Nurse Glenda and I once again had an eventful afternoon. The back computer had become practically impossible to get to thanks to stacked up boxes of supplies that hadn’t been put away. One of the things about working in an after-hours clinic is that your job description widens immensely from registered nurse to janitor and stockperson.

Today Glenda has decided to volunteer me as janitor. “It takes all the gears working together to make an effective machine,” she said. I thought about giving her the finger but took the mature route and took my frustration out on the cardboard boxes as I broke them down and chunked them in the dumpster. Days like this remind me exactly how anxious I am to finally be on my own. Then I’ll have the opportunity to work a normal shift in a normal office and not have to moonlight after hours.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve seen my fair share of unethical practices: giving a Cortisone shot just to appease a hypochondriac with a headache, prescribing antibiotics for a UTI when it could have been treated symptomatically, and handing out hydrocodone like it’s Halloween candy. But most of my coworkers are great and my student loans and mortgage aren’t going to pay themselves. So, I put one foot in front of the other and show up every day, and more often than not, I actually enjoy it.

It’s getting late and I just finished unloading the last box and breaking it down. The clinic is closed, and the only people left are me and Dr. Chase. He’s inside emailing X-Rays to an orthopedic clinic while I bring my last load of flattened boxes to the dumpster out back. I hurl the cardboard over my head. As I bring my arms back down, I feel the sharp edge of a pocketknife against my ribs. Hands as rough as sandpaper skim up my throat, tipping my chin upwards while the pungent scent of cigarette smoke overtakes my nostrils. I’m careful not to say anything, worried that it might end up being the wrong thing. The knife eases up my side, bringing my shirt up with it.

I’m about to be raped and stabbed and left alone, and there is nothing I can do about it.

My assailant removes their hand from my throat and knots it in my hair, slamming me against the dumpster so hard I immediately taste the coppery evidence of a busted lip.

“Hey there blondie,” a gruff male voice growls in my ear. “You’re just the lady I’ve been waitin’ to see.”

My face is smashed against the cold metal making it difficult for me to reply.

“See, I’m all out of pills…” he continues, and I swear I almost hear him hiss. “I got a lot of people willing to pay me a lot of money for those pills.”

He forces the tip of the knife into my side just enough to break the skin, and I feel tiny droplets of blood trickle down my bare flesh.

“Okay. I understand,” I agree with him.

“Good girl,” he says, “I suppose you’ll be getting me that prescription now.”

I nod, and he takes his hand off my head. When I turn around, he licks his lips, disgustingly slow and filthy.

“Damn, you’re a pretty one. Too bad my girlfriend’s in the car. We could really have some fun,” he sneers, and I cringe.

“You’ll have to wait out here. The clinic is closed,” I tell him, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. I don’t even entertain his last statement.

He grins like the devil and waves his knife back and forth, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“That’s not going to work, angel. See, I can’t have you going inside and calling the cops now, can I?”

“If you follow me inside after hours for a schedule two narcotic, I won’t have to call the cops. My boss will,” I tell him with a certainty in my tone that gets his attention. “Besides, you really think I’d risk having you come back once you post bail to finish what you started?”

He grins from ear to ear and winks at me. “I knew you were a smart one.”

He walks over to a white SUV and waits for the female driver to roll down the window. He tells her something, and she glares in my direction but nods then rolls the tinted window back up. The man points at the clinic with the knife and tells me to hurry up.

As soon as I’m inside, my first instinct is to tell Dr. Chase what just happened, but my words come back to me. The man will post bail and more than likely be right back here, waiting for me to go to my car after dark so he can follow me home and have his revenge. Instead, I snag a couple of papers from his prescription pad, use his signature stamp, and gather my things.

“See you in the morning, Doc,” I call out on my way to the door.

“Makenna,” he says, and I freeze.

I close my eyes and call back to the X-Ray room, hoping he doesn’t walk out and see the evidence of what just happened outside. I know I have a busted lip, and I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding through my shirt by now. “Yes?”

“Thank you for today. I know Glenda can be difficult, but you always seem to handle her with such poise. You never stoop to her level, and I admire you for that. You’re going to make an amazing partner for someone.”

I stand just outside his office door feeling like a coward. His words are like a knife through my heart. I just stole prescriptions from his desk to help a drug dealer. I’ve seen the man here before. He was in a car accident a few months ago, and Dr. Chase gave him some pain medicine. Since then, he’s been back three times with various injuries. I always just thought it was all in his head. I had no idea he was pushing the pills. And now I’m helping him. Am I really supposed to believe this will be the last time he will show up like this? I do plan on moving forward. I do plan on working beside a physician someday. Do I sacrifice six years of college and my future career just because I’m a chicken shit?

“Thank you,” I tell him. Then as I turn and walk back toward the door, I stick my hand in the pocket that holds the stolen scripts, and I crumble them up.

I’m not giving him a damn thing.

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