Page 56 of Deprivation

Present Day

Kat

Sitting in my secret hallway, I’ve returned to my normal perch. I’d moved the other day hoping I could avoid Nick in fear I might snap. Looks like I came through on that prediction. Today is much calmer than the last few shifts I’ve worked. Jake’s here, and there’s been no sign of ‘the man whose name I shall not utter.’

Not in the mood to aggressively pick up new patients in my current funk, I flick through pictures on my phone.Lord, I’ve amassed quite the collection. Attempting to delete many of the photos I barely remember snapping, my mind harkens back to the one Jess and Meghan took the other day. Laughing to myself, I quickly scroll back through to my most recent pictures and find it.

Opening the file, I notice ‘the man whose name I shall not utter’ sitting in the background. I enlarge the photo to really take him in. He’s typing on the keyboard, his face in profile. His beautiful, dark honey hair appears more tousled than usual. His chiseled jaw almost slices through the screen. I can’t see the masculine, veiny forearms hiding under his lab coat, but I know they’re there.They’re attached to those strong, nimble fingers which dug into my hips-

I immediately shut the app, scolding myself.What the heck, Kat?This guy’s a dick. Just stop thinking about him. I barely get the sentence out of my head before I’m opening the picture again, zooming in on his gorgeous face. I can’t see his hazel eyes from this angle. His expression is unreadable. It’s not angry. Stern maybe, almost… What, pained?No! Don’t fall for this again. Do not fall for him, Kat Kelly!

* * *

“Kat, your twin is back,” Jake laughs. I review the track board. Katrina’s back and this time it’s a dental pain. Unlike many of the drug seekers I see in this ER, she at least has all of her teeth. I often wonder how many of my patients can have such debilitating dental pain when they barely have any teeth left in their head.

“Hi, Katrina. What brings you in today?”

“Hi, Katarina.” She smiles up at me, forgetting herself momentarily. “I have a terrible toothache,” she drones, suddenly in agonizing distress. As she holds her left jaw, she continues. “I haven’t been able to eat, it hurts so bad.” I notice her clothes, as disheveled as always, appear to be piled on in haphazard layers. It’s a temperate day, so I’m a bit baffled by all of her clothing. Maybe she’s homeless and wearing her closet so as not to leave anything behind. Honestly, there doesn’t appear to be any sense in asking. I fear I never get a straight answer from her, anyway.

Looking at her teeth, I ask, “Do you have a dentist?” knowing there’s little I can do for these complaints beyond providing antibiotics and encouraging follow up with a dentist or oral surgeon.

“No. I haven’t seen one in years. I don’t think they take my insurance.” She shrugs. I find this a little surprising. Her teeth are actually quite pretty. I’m amazed, given their appearance, she’s not had access to dental care.

“Well, I’ll send some antibiotics to the pharmacy, in case you’re developing an abscess, and give you a list of emergency dental providers who see people who are uninsured.”

“Kat, can I have something for pain?” she asks, barely missing a beat.

“I can inject a numbing agent.”

She quickly interjects, “Oh, no, Kat. I don’t want that needle in my mouth.”

“Katrina, how do you think the dentist is going to fix your tooth? They’ll have to numb it.”

“I know, I know. I’ll wait and let them do it. Can I just have a prescription for a pain pill?”

“Sure,” I reply, knowing it’ll be of the nonnarcotic variety.This girl, I think to myself, shaking my head.

Walking to the cafeteria, I chew on what I know about Katrina. Little clues about her cause me to think there’s more to this girl than meets the eye. I could be wrong. She may simply be a drug seeker, but my instincts tell me there’s something brewing beneath the surface.

Returning to the ER with my small salad and plate of fries, I turn the corner to my computer and see Jake seated as if awaiting my arrival.

“Hey, Kat. Have you consulted ortho today?”

My mouth goes a little dry. “No, why?” I ask, distracting myself from my unease by popping a salty fry into my mouth.

“I have Dr. Evans on call, but I haven’t been able to reach him. I’ve got a guy who was referred from one of the urgent care facilities for a foreign body removal. He got a nail from a nail gun stuck in his left forearm.”

Almost choking on my fry, I ask, “How the heck did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think the guy is being on the up and up. He said he was working on some project in his garage with his buddy. Anyway, my guess is one or both of them was sauced. I got the X-ray back, and the nail is embedded into the bone. I’d normally just pull it out, but I really wanted to talk to them before I got myself in too deep.”

“Wow,” I answer, feeling like a chipmunk with my cheeks stuffed with fried potato. “Have you tried texting Barnes?”

Looking completely stunned, he replies, “Why would I do that?”

“Well, you said you couldn’t reach ortho. I know it isn’t a shoulder, but he could at least consult on this if you can’t get anyone to call you back. Didn’t he give you his number?”

“Well, yeah. I have it for personal reasons. But I wouldn’t want to take advantage of my relationship with him outside of the ER. Hell, I don’t want anyone calling or texting me for something professional when I’m off.”

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