Page 3 of Deprivation

“No. Apparently, I’m not up on the gossip, but Jess and Meghan educated me on the first, Dr. Lee,” I state as a matter of fact. “I don’t know who the other one was, but whoever he is, no thanks.”

“Ah, the illusive Dr. Sebastian Lee. All the women want him, and all the men hate him,” he says without hesitation. “Well, except me. He’s kind of a smug bastard, but he is good at what he does and he’s come to my aid when no one else would more times than I’d like to admit. He’s professional and willing to help when he’s on the phone. Yet, if the whole world doesn’t revolve around him once he arrives, look out.” He scratches his head and smiles. “So long as he doesn’t put Melanie under his spell, he’s okay by me. But he can be a condescending motherfucker, so he tends to rub a lot of his colleagues the wrong way. And he leaves a trail of women in his wake, so as much as I’d like to see the dust knocked off of your girl parts, I’d recommend you start with someone else.”

I stare at him in disgust. I don’t like him worrying about my girl parts. They’ll rise to the occasion when someone who isn’t a complete douche nozzle shows up. “On that note, I’m heading home to a hot soak in the tub and then bed. Don’t forget, you and Melanie promised to take me out to the new club that’s opening soon. I need to get my groove on,” I say, dancing in place.

“Kat, you’re twenty-nine, not twenty-one. Can’t you get your groove on at The Sports Page down the street?” he groans. “The food’s better, it isn’t as loud, and you don’t have to wait an hour to get a beer.”

“Well, we can go there until the club opens. You know going out dancing is the closest thing to sex I get,” I joke. “We need to get the guys together for beers soon. It’s been way too long. Maybe we could meet up Friday. I’m actually off.” Thank God for my guys. I know I’ll never meet anyone hanging out with a bunch of firefighters, police officers, and medics who all think of me as a little sister, but I’m okay with that.

“Sure, I could do Friday,” Jake says with a little more excitement in his voice than I expect. “You’re actually doing me a favor. I think I saw Melanie write something on a piece of paper about book club at our house this Friday. Hell if I want to be there for that noise.”

* * *

On the drive home, I think about how lucky I am to have the Harris family in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom and dad. I was raised in a traditional two-parent household, in a suburb in central Virginia, with parents who remain married after thirty years. I have a younger sister, Rachel. We didn’t have a fancy house or car growing up, no brand name clothes or electronics. Yet I never really felt like we wanted for anything. I was never hungry. I wasn’t truly neglected. My mother stayed at home with us until we were in high school and then returned to working a clerical job to help with expenses. She was always there for us, but there wasn’t the closeness I yearned for. Maybe I’d been watching too much ofThe Brady BunchandLeave It to Beaverwhen I was young. Unattainable family standards were great entertainment.

I always felt I lived in Rachel’s shadow. Two years my junior, she was beautiful and charismatic, and regardless of my grades and hard work around the house, I was a small star eclipsed by her dramatic rays of sunlight. Any boys of interest, or friends for that matter, quickly fell under her spell, and I was pushed into the background. Poor, plain Katarina Kelly. I love Rachel, but I can only handle being her shadow for so long before detaching from her and her throng of admirers.

I eventually distanced myself from everyone but my grandmother. She was my rock. My immediate family was never warm and fuzzy, but my grandmother wouldn’t hesitate to hug me every chance she got. She tried to care for Rachel and I equally. Every birthday, she’d bring gifts for both of us, so the other didn’t feel left out. But I knew when she looked into my eyes there was a special soft spot in her heart just for me. Now that I’m older, I miss that more than I can admit. If she were still around, I wouldn’t need to consider seeing a counselor about my constant bad dreams and lack of sleep. She would be all the therapy I needed.

* * *

Nick

Heading home after another long day, I rub the back of my neck as I drive my Audi toward my neighborhood. After work, I left the office and stopped by the ER to introduce myself to the physicians that were working. This took longer than I planned, as they were all busy taking care of patients, but hopefully leaving my business cards and asking to be invited to their next quarterly meeting would bring more referrals. I’m not lacking in business, but I’m new to St. Luke’s and want to dive into work there and shrug off the feeling of being an outsider. I wear that cloak enough in my personal life, I don’t need to be that way at work, as well.

At almost thirty-six, I’m divorced and still living in the home we shared as a married couple. The neighborhood is nice enough, but the house was Sophia’s choosing, along with everything in it. When we split, she initially demanded she take all the furnishings, until she met with her high-powered divorce attorney who must’ve enlightened her on the windfall she was coming into. Now, it’s new everything for her. New townhouse, new furniture, new man.

As I park my shiny black Audi R8 in the garage, I grab my keys and work bag and enter the house. Walking into the kitchen, I look into the near empty refrigerator and stare like something edible is going to materialize.Unless I want a mustard sandwich, I guess it’s take-out again. Thankfully, I have beer. I pop the cap off of a lager and lean back against the kitchen island, looking around the house. There are no fond memories of our life together here causing me melancholy. The place doesn’t fill me with dread. Quite honestly, it’s utterly and completely flat. It’s just a place to park my car and my body until I head back to work. This home feels like the type of place you’d start a family. While I realize I’d wanted that when I proposed to Sophia four years ago, it no longer looks like a future I’m interested in. I’d suffered enough betrayal at the end of my marriage that I don’t foresee ever risking a relationship again.

I hadn’t planned to marry after my mother died. I saw what losing her did to my father, but Sophia had seemed different. I cared for her and thought she’d make a good partner and a good mother. I can’t say it was the type of love I witnessed between my mom and dad, but I planned to avoid that sort. The kind which could only cripple you if the other person was no longer around. The more I contemplate the last few years, I realize I was more disappointed about the possibility of never having kids than the loss of my marriage… Well, that and the utter humiliation of the way it ended. I abhor liars. Particularly a liar and cheat who made vows to the contrary. Making a clean start and moving to a new hospital just felt like the right thing to do. Sophia didn’t work in medicine, but gossip about my divorce had spread through the hospital and I needed a break from all of the drama.

Coming to St. Luke’s seemed like the right move, but why did I feel so irritated? I’d dropped off my business cards and was eventually able to meet the physicians on duty in the ER. They appeared receptive to referring patients my way. Dr. Silver seemed a little suspect. He reminds me of talking to a politician, but there’s one in every crowd, so that isn’t terribly surprising. The nurses seemed nice enough, when they weren’t gawking at me.

I accepted long ago that God granted me with features physically appealing to women. Even as a teen, my mother would laugh when young girls and older women alike would stare and giggle. It was ridiculous. It’s just skin deep. I had nothing to do with it. Granted, I don’t mind it allows me to easily obtain a willing participant for a night of pleasure when I desire it. I just have to be upfront that one night of hot sex is all I’m interested in, nothing more. I do not entertain those dalliances often, and when I do, I try to avoid dating women where I work. I don’t need that reputation, and quite honestly, it limits the chance of bumping into them again. But that girl, that brassy, brown haired, beautiful girl…Why can’t I stop thinking about her?

I stop my wayward thoughts and type my Thai food order into the delivery window on my phone. As soon as the payment is sent through, thoughts of her return. They aren’t necessarily alluring, more like annoying. She’s definitely not my type. Sure, she’s educated and capable or she wouldn’t be employed at such a busy ER. But she isn’t the most professional PA I’ve encountered by a long shot. First, she rolled into that parking space like a race car driver. Then, I find her sitting at that messy work station with various scribbled notes, headphones, pens, and reference material all scattered about her computer area in a heap. Yet seeing her slumped in her chair, chewing on the end of her pen, I felt an instant magnetism pulling me toward her I couldn’t put my finger on. I have no business considering anything with that one. Looking her way caused a conflict of emotion, intrigue versus irritation. Taking orthopedic consults in the ER, I’ll see her frequently. With no plans to date in the future, I don’t need that in my life, no matter how mesmerizing her big brown eyes are.

I finish my Thai food and clean up my kitchen. The food is always good, but I still feel unsatisfied. I’m sure all of these changes just take time and are affecting my eating. It’s been a year and a half since Sophia moved out. The divorce was ugly and took months to finalize, but I’ve been a free man for three months.Maybe I should consider moving. Getting a place that’s more my taste and fitting of a lifelong bachelor. That’d probably improve my mood. I head up the stairs to the master bathroom to take a hot shower. I want to make it to bed early so I can get in a run before work tomorrow. Plus, I have soccer this weekend, so that’ll take my mind off of things. It’s a recreational league, but a good group of guys who love the sport as much as I do, so it’s a great way to spend a beautiful Saturday.I should also visit Dad this weekend.

I love Dad, but he’s no longer the man he was when Mom was alive, and the visits always leave me depressed. I miss her and our life together as a family more every time I drive away.I’ll see him early Saturday for breakfast before my game so I can shake off the past and focus on soccer.

I enter the large marble bathroom and turn on the shower. It’s meticulously kept, but it’s just me now, so it doesn’t take much effort. I drop my discarded clothing into the hamper then enter the hot, steamy shower.Yes, this is what this day needs. Finally.Maybe the Thai food and beer were the foreplay I needed for this epic moment. I adjust the setting on my shower head to allow for increased water pressure and feel the scalding water pound into my head, neck, and shoulders.

The more relaxed I get, the more thoughts of the crass creature with the long brown braid flash in my brain. Soaping up my body, my mind begins to drift. Like a movie in my mind, I watch as her soft pink lips nibble on the end of the pen in her mouth and picture it is my cock. I reach out to stroke her hair, removing the tie that keeps her dark locks braided, and I run my fingers through her coffee-colored strands as she sucks me in deeper. I can feel her soft hand reach up to cup my balls, and as I look down at her I’m captivated by her big brown eyes staring up at me while she services my thick length like a pro. She starts moving her head up and down greedily over my shaft, and I feel my hands gripping her long, gorgeous, wet tresses in my fists. The sensation is building quickly, and I don’t want it to end. But I’m abruptly brought back to reality when I hear my phone ringing on the bathroom counter.Dammit.I quickly jump from the shower, grabbing a towel to see if I’ve missed a call from the ER.

“Nick?” I hear Sophia inquire on the other end of the line. Well, I won’t need to return for a cold shower now. Just hearing the sound of that self-righteous bitch on the line has caused my dick to soften. “Are you there?”If I said no, would she hang up?

“What do you want, Soph?” I spit out.

“Well, there’s that sweet disposition I don’t miss for a second.”

“Is there a point to this phone call, Sophia?”

“Yes, I just wanted you to be aware I plan on coming by the house this weekend to pick up a few things and didn’t want to walk in on you with a guest.” Not likely, but I guess I can at least appreciate the warning.

“What could you possibly need from the house after all of this time that you haven’t already packed up?”

“I’ve joined a cooking class and wanted to grab some of the cookbooks I left behind. I’m certain you won’t be needing them, as you barely know how to use the microwave.”

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