Page 49 of Love Sick

Look how sexy he is, they say.No one with that jawline can be evil.

He holds up his Slytherin cup, rattling me with a lopsided grin. “I guess they will.”

I release his arm like he’s electric. My lips part, uncertain what game he’s playing.

He brushes the tip of his thumb over my bottom lip, down to my chin so he can pop my mouth closed. “Merry Christmas, she-devil.”

Julian

FEBRUARY, YEAR 1

Among a group of IM residents on the general medical floor, Dr. Sharma’s unblinking eyes zero in on me. “Dr. Santini, please present your patient.”

Internal medicine is kicking my ass. I can only thank the scheduling gods that my IM rotation is the shortest month of the year. My attending is practically a Mensa genius and her uncanny ability to quote directly from UpToDate, the most used point-of-care medical resource, makes my skin itch.

I am dangerously dehydrated. I haven’t sweat this much since I was training for that marathon in college, and back then I had the time to drink fluids and eat meals not singularly composed of MSG. When was the last time I peed? Yesterday?

My patient is a fifty-year-old man with a GI bleed of unknown etiology and a recent heart attack necessitating stent placement. It’s a tricky combination. I finish my lackluster presentation outside his hospital room and trail off, hoping Dr. Sharma will take it easy on me.

“So you’ve replaced fluids and blood,” she says. “Is he still bleeding?”

“Er—yes?”

“Yes or no, Dr. Santini?”

“Yeah. Yes. He’s still bleeding.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And what are you doing about that part?”

“I consulted GI. They’re seeing him this morning.” My palms dampen the papers in my hand, scrawled notes smudging to create some artistic study in fear and desperation.

Two blinks. That’s what she gives me. How do I read that? Is she pissed? Disappointed? Regretting that she’s staring at my stupid face instead of inventing some state-of-the-art medical technology like her brain issupposedto be doing?

“Is he still on his blood thinner?” she asks.

“Yes?”

“Yes or no, Dr. Santini?”

“Yes.”

She pauses. The tense atmosphere smothers me, and every other resident looks away from the carnage. I can’t blame them. Instead of the information that Dr. Sharma might want, my brain helpfully supplies me with the urge to turn and run.We’re crashing and burning!

Dr. Sharma widens her eyes expectantly. “But he’s bleeding. Do you see any problem with this?”

“So I’ll—stop the blood thinner.” I hate that it sounds like a question.

“He had a cardiac stent placed three days ago.”

“Then I’ll…not stop it.”

“You have to pick one, Dr. Santini. Which option is least likely to result in your patient being dead in the morning?”

A tiny pang of irritation hovers at the edge of the adrenaline coursing through my blood, finally scattering my remaining thoughts. I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want tosayI don’t know what to do. This innate desire to get questions right when they have nothing to do with my specialty or anything I’ll ever be doing in the future is a hard one to shake.

She gives me an exaggerated blink. “You’ll have the correct answer by lunch. Right, Dr. Santini?”

“Yes,” I croak out. Guess I’m not eating again today.

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