"Fuck, yes, you're wrong," I replied. This was great. I didn't even have to lie, seeing as I'd pissed myself off with how I handled things with Sara after rowing. "What I do on my weekends and why it makes me miserable has nothing to do with those Thursday afternoon sessions."
Alex folded her arms on the table, leaned closer to O'Rourke. She was hooked. Entranced. "What are Friday mornings like?"
"Well," he started, "I actually learned shit these past two Fridays. That's an anomaly. Dr. Shapiro's residents indicated she was very relaxed last Friday. One of them used the word 'mellow.'"
Hell yeah, she was. I had to steal Acevedo's apple to hide my grin over that.
Cal snatched up the butcher paper from his sandwich and mine, saying, "Is there a point to any of this? We're sitting here reading the tea leaves of this bastard's behavior as if there's ever any rhyme or reason to his moods. And Shapiro, well, I don't know what to say about that. For all we know it's her residents, the ones selling stories about her down the hall, who are ticking her off. What's there to be done about any of this? Nothing." He pushed to his feet. "I gotta go find some walnuts."
"I don't have a point," O'Rourke said after Cal stalked off. "Just a few things I've noticed."
"That's great because I don't need a point," Alex said. "Though I am wondering if my residents spend this much time talking about me behind my back."
"They don't," Nick said.
At the same moment, I replied, "Of course they do."
"How are those sessions going?" Alex asked. "Any progress?"
There was no way to answer that so I didn't. "Define progress."
O'Rourke flipped a page in his notebook. "Another thing I've noticed—"
I reached for the notebook but he pinned it under his elbow. "Oh, for fuck's sake, that's enough noticing from you."
"No, I need to hear this," Alex said. "What else?"
"Everyone has noticed that they take great effort to avoid each other," O'Rourke said. "Especially on Thursdays."
"If you have this much time on your hands, I'm not giving you enough to do," I said. "Believe me, I'll fix that today."
"Right, right," O'Rourke murmured. "Because I'm so good at following directions and meeting expectations."
Nick clapped me on the shoulder. "Best of luck. That's all I've got for you. Best of luck."
I was going to need it.
Chapter 17
Sara
Alex: Do my residents talk about me behind my back?
Sara: Constantly but you have to ignore it.
Alex: Whyyyyyyyy though?
Sara: Because they're residents. They need something to gossip about and we're one of the easiest targets.
Alex: How can you be so chill about this?
Sara: I'm not. I've just compartmentalized it enough to be able to say that it's normal and it's not about me. I can disconnect myself from it.
Sara: Unless there's something you've heard that you think I should know.
Alex: It's not something you NEED to know. I'd tell you if it was. It's just chatter.
Sara: Now I have to ask. What's the chatter?
Alex: The trauma fellow appears to have befriended some of your residents.
Sara: Has to be the trauma fellow, doesn't it?
Alex: He's noticed that you and Stremmel seem to avoid each other on Thursdays.
Sara: Hmm. That's an interesting observation. Can't say I avoid him more on Thursdays than I do any other day of the week.
Alex: Like I said, chatter.
Alex: Anyway, Riley and I are going to a new restaurant tonight. Will you come with us?
Sara: I am not a great third wheel but thank you so much for thinking of me.
Alex: One of these times, I'll get you!
Sara: Just be honest…you're really looking for a third in your threesome, aren't you?
Alex: It's a damn good thing you didn't say that around my husband because he'd never be able to unhear it, babe.
Chapter 18
Sara
In this week's session, we had to complete a maze game using vague clues Milana read from a set of cards she kept in a janky old Ziploc bag. We had to navigate taped-off squares on the floor using these clues. Any time we misinterpreted the clues, we were sent back to the beginning. We went back to the beginning eleven times before Sebastian insisted that requirement be suspended.
He'd demanded my bag of trail mix upon arrival. It was mostly pretzels on account of an overly ambitious run-in with baby carrots the previous day, and he sorted out the raisins as I watched.
That evening, he'd bent me over the back of my sofa. When we were finished and I was a hoarse, boneless wreck, he left me on that sofa, a blanket tucked up to my chin and a glass of water within reach.
The following week, we roleplayed difficult conversations from a binder with Demanding Dialogues in Healthcare splashed across the front. Sebastian rolled his eyes into next month at my croutons and then helped himself to the rye, which were my least favorite.
We yelled and stumbled over several of the conversations until Sebastian plucked a pen from the pocket of my white coat and started rewriting the prompts on account of them lacking any connection to reality. He told Milana he was doing her a favor.
After the session, Sebastian followed me around while I visited a few patients. The scowl I received upon informing those patients that Dr. Stremmel was observing me for his skill development was worth the torture he inflicted upon me later.
It was good torture, the likes of which I'd only heard about from clickbait headlines and the noises coming from Alex and Riley's apartment. It was really good torture.
We didn't talk about it. We didn't even talk when it was over. He tore me to shreds and then put me to bed with a glass of water and a growly warning to lock the door, and that was our routine. He didn't stay and I didn't offer. There was no cuddling, no kisses good night, no promises to text later, not even a shuddering laugh and some wow, I didn't know my body could do that.
We never ventured into the waters of what the fuck are we doing or why can't we stop?
That was safer, which only spoke to the unbelievable danger of the situation we'd chosen for ourselves. It was bound to blow up on us at any moment and it was going to hurt like hell when it did. It was going to leave marks.
My perfectionist desperately, urgently needed me to stop doing things that made my career, my reputation, my entire life messier. I didn't pay attention to her often, but when I did, she was this close to losing it. I was really testing her.
My bitch stood stoic against the chaos and kept insisting I was allowed to feel good and I didn't need to build a firewall of distance and denial to protect myself from that. I sure as shit didn't need to apologize for it. Most of all, I didn't have to run away from it.
I wanted to believe her.
The next session was an especially spicy one where we were been tasked with building a bridge using marshmallows and pipe cleaners. We'd spent the majority of the time arguing about engineering and the last few minutes actually building the thing while Sebastian treated us to a chorus of, "This is a waste of marshmallows. It's a damn waste."