Page 9 of Violent Things
I feel the tear widening even as I desperately try to pack the open cavity in front of me. Shit.
Fuck, shit, motherfucker.
The guy on my operating table is eighteen years old, and he’s been suffering from bowel cancer since he was thirteen. I’m not even his regular doctor. Since I came back to work, I’ve been making headway in the trauma department, forging a serious name for myself. I was always steady before, but now, after spending so much time with Zeth, dealing with psychotic mob bosses, human traffickers, and DEA agents, it’s like I’m bomb proof. Unshakable. People have started noticing, especially the chief.
So when Miles Rosenblat, eighteen, was rushed into the emergency room an hour ago complaining of severe stomach pains and Dr Wishall, his oncologist, wasn’t on shift, I was handed his patient and told to save his life.
“His father donates a huge amount of money to this hospital, Dr. Romera. Better not let his son die on your table,”were the chief’s exact words, in fact.
At this point, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to accomplish that. The kid’s bowels are a mess. He was supposed to be in remission, but it’s very clear that the cancer snuck back in and made itself right at home while no one was looking. His colon has just torn so badly there’s no way I’m going to be able to repair it. Best case scenario: I’m gonna be giving this kid a colostomy before I can close him up and his life changes forever. Worst case scenario: I give him the colostomy, close him up, he gets an infection, and then he dies in a couple of days’ time.
Either way, it’s not the bright and shiny outcome the chief’s waiting on up in the observatory. I’m sure she can see what I’m dealing with though.
Oliver Massey, my closest friend at the hospital, leans over the patient’s body and shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”
“There’s too much to resect. You’ll have to take the whole thing.”
“I know.” I’m working quickly as I say this, already preparing to remove all of the damaged, necrotic tissue. Some doctors might be irritated by being told something so obvious by their colleagues, but I don’t mind Oliver giving his opinion. It makes me feel better about the decision I’ve made.
For the next three hours we work tirelessly over Miles, doing our best to remove anything that might be even faintly cancerous. When we’re done, Miles Rosenblat has a brand new stoma. He’s a fit, good-looking kid with a perky blonde girlfriend waiting for him out in the hallway. I already know he is going tohatehaving a stoma.
“Poor bastard,” Oliver says, ripping off his gown and tossing into the HAZMAT as we clear the OR. “I think the chief said he’s on his high school football team. Football jocks are assholes when it comes to this sort of thing.”
I scrub my hands over my face, my eyes stinging and tired from concentrating so hard. “But he’s alive.”
Oliver pulls a cautiously optimistic face. He knows Miles isn’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t say anything, though. He knows I don’t want to hear it right now. Instead, he says, “Damn. It’s ten thirty. You wanna grab a beer before all the bars shut?”
My stomach rolls when I hear the time. Oh, boy. Zeth knew my shift was ending at eight. He was coming to get me. He’s either been waiting for me in the parking lot for two and a half hours or he’s already left. Neither of those options are good. “Ahh, crap. I can’t tonight, Ol. Maybe tomorrow?”
Oliver doesn’t even look surprised. I’ve bailed on him more times than I can count over the past few months. I’m a terrible friend. “Sure, Romera. Tomorrow it is. I’ll just head on over and pay Grace a visit instead.” He winks, leaving no doubt as to why he’s going over to see some girl called Grace. He holds the door to the residents’ locker room open for me, and I duck inside.
“Who’s Grace? What happened to Melanie?”
“Melanie decided she wanted to get married. Grace is happy for me to come over whenever we both feel the need to release some tension.” Another wink. Obviously code for sex.
“What? Melanie didnotwant to get married. You guys were dating for, what, six weeks?”
“Seven. And she wanted to introduce me to her parents. That’s what chicks do when they wanna get married.”
I stifle laughter as I remove my dirty scrubs, shrugging out of my shirt and kicking out of my pants. I bundle everything up so I can dump it in yet another HAZMAT bin. In just my camisole and the lycra shorts I wear underneath my scrubs, I place my hands on my hips, facing Oliver. “I never had you pegged as a player. Here was me thinking you wanted a steady girlfriend. You used to talk about that all the time.”
Oliver smirks, stripping off his own scrubs to reveal a tight white wife beater underneath. He’s gotten bigger over the last six months. He has always worked out, but now he looks like he could be a fitness model or something. Clearly all of his random five-minute hook-ups have kept him in shape. “Yeah, well,” he says, rummaging in his locker. “Things change. The girl I was interested in having a proper relationship with went and got herself attached to someone else, didn’t she?” He doesn’t look at me. Taking out a clean t-shirt, he pulls it on over his head, not saying anything else.
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Oliver’s always treated me as a friend, but I’ve known he cared about me for a long time. Recently things have been different, though. Used to be that he’d give me the odd playful shove or pull on my hair when we were walking through the hallways. There were many times when he’d give me a hug after I’d lost someone, or I was gripped by panic over my missing sister. But not now. Not anymore. As I get dressed, pulling jeans and a sweater on, it hits me that he’s avoided all forms of physical contact with me for a long time now.
Sadness wells up inside me, making my throat tight. I don’t have feelings for Oliver; I never have. Yet, the change in our dynamic is saddening. I feel like he’s pulling back as a friend, which is ridiculous since I’m the one turning him down every time he asks to hang out. I guess with Zeth being, well,Zeth, I haven’t wanted a moment away from him. Being in his very presence is like a drug I can’t get enough of. Is that healthy? I can’t remember the last time I saw Pippa. Maybe three weeks ago when we caught up for coffee at Fresco’s?
“Oliver, I mean it. I really do want to go for a drink with you after work tomorrow. You think you can skip Grace for one night?”
Oliver gives me a tight smile, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. “Of course, Romera. I’ll make time for you whenever you need me, you know that.” He makes a gun out of his right hand and fires it at me. If only he knew how many times I’ve had the real thing pointed at me. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” he says.
“Yeah. Night, Oliver.”
I check my phone as soon as he’s gone. I have one missed call and one text message, both from Zeth. The call came in at eight thirty. The text fifteen minutes later.
I hear you’re wrist-deep in some kid or something. Come home soon so I can be balls deep inside you.
