It was my birthday yesterday, and thus:
1. No chapter yesterday (I blame Patron Citronge Lime 😉 )
So, as a compensation I’m posting two chapters today and smoothly bringing us to the end of this story! 😀 Since you all were so generous as to vote for continuation, next week we will start on Heal All Wounds.
2. As a birthday present from me to you, I’ve set up
In the week of April 23rd to May 1st, follow my writer’s Facebook page and/or Instagram, and send me a personal message or leave a comment in one or both of these platforms, for a chance to win my book. Messages in both double your chances.
The winner will be chosen by the means of a five years old pulling a name written on a piece of paper out of a tophat. The books will be signed and mailed to the winners Monday, May 2nd.
“And what exactly did you expect?’ Thea’s giving you a skeptical look. “You shag the most famous neurosurgeon in this hemisphere, in a hotel full of your colleagues, then there’s the scene at the tea thingie, and you think no one will know?”
You poke a slice of tomato with your fork.
“I wasn’t thinking about it at all. I mean I did… but sort of… not really…”
Thea switches from skepticism to pity.
“Wrennie, it was inevitable. Now the cat’s out of the bag. Great, no need to worry about that anymore.”
You wish you had her attitude. You inflict another stab wound on the poor vegetable. Wait, it’s technically a fruit.
“Blonde Dicky though…” Thea shakes her head. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”
“I mean I thought he actually fancied you, you know, your way, like ‘hearts and fluttering’ feels…” Thea makes a disgusted face. “And he is all ‘arranged marriage’ and ‘we’re a good couple’ cold now… Cold, cold tude…”
“I don’t think that’s what it was, Thea. His freaky Mum obviously added some pressure into this, but maybe he really wanted to start from a scratch and clean slate, and he did say exclusive and stuff…” You’re mumbling.
“Are you considering it?” You lift your eyes at her. She’s bloody serious!
“Are you mad?”
“Why not? He’s right, you two worked. You were all happy and perky, and you shagged like night and day, and you didn’t have this bloody sad arse expression on your face like you have now.”
“It’s because he’s not calling! I was very cheery on the weekend, and we had much better sex than with Phil!”
“Are you convincing me or yourself?” That’s a bloody good question. You pick up the plate and shove it into the fridge.
“I’ll finish it later. Not hungry…” Thea shakes her head.
“Are you going to start getting super skinny and bottled up again?”
You do not bestow her with a bloody answer.
It’s nine, and you decide that you’re not going to go to bed, though it’s all you really want. It’s a slightly wonky behaviour already, and the last thing you need right now is to spiral into a full scale depressive episode.
You decide to clean up your room. Always helps. Organize your thoughts. Decide what to do with Perkins. Ouch. One thing is clear, you are not apologising. He crossed the line, humiliated you in front of other students, and if the Dean calls you into his office tomorrow, you are going to fight. And whatever they say about you behind your back these days, fuck it, you are a new star of biochem, and you do indeed have the Yamataki grant! You will demand respect.
Doctor Who… You check the screen and pick up.
“Evening, John. Well, morning to you.”
“Morning, Wren. Am I interrupting?” Oh, that’s his sarcastic tone, heard it many times before. Is he actually miffed?
“No, not today. Sorry about yesterday. Thea drama.” You’re poised and calm. He’s silent for a bit. Is he doubting you? What the fuck?
“I got an email from a kind colleague of mine regarding your aggro with Perkins.” Sod it! Is there anything that doesn’t get discussed among the medical community?!
“Um, yep, he was out of line.”
“You might end up in trouble for this, Wren. That wasn’t a very smart move.” He sounds peevish. Great…
“Thank you for your evaluation, Dr. Thorington. I’ll take your concern into consideration.”
Yuck, that was way too snarky. He’s quiet. Fuck it, you are not going to speak first! Enough of this shite! He sighs.
“Let me talk to Perkins, Wren. After all as I was informed my name was mentioned in his speech as well…”
“No, just no! That’s ridiculous!” You really shouldn’t raise your voice at him, but the dam around your emotions has been compromised this afternoon when his nephew called the most beautiful weekend in your life ‘shagfest.’
“You have no right to interfere, John. You are not my father, and I wouldn’t let my father to speak for me either! It’s my life. And you will only make it worse. I will look like your mistress!”
“You are my mistress!” Wow, did he just snarl at you? “Bloody hell, Wren, you can’t sleep with me and expect that it won’t influence your life! You didn’t shag some first year student from an unknown family. Obviously, people will talk and discuss, and you seemed to not care in the Sheraton! Are you backing off now?”
You definitely did not look at it from this angle. Is he seeing this as you regretting and being ashamed of him? You try to speak calmly. “I am not backing off, I’m just saying that it is my life…”
“You are not single anymore, Wren. It concerns me too now!” Fuck, he is straight yelling now.
“You are dating me, and you can’t expect me to just sit and watch you struggle.”
“We are dating?” That was a god honest squeak there, Wren. But you’re not quite sure that wasn’t an auditory hallucination.
He sighs again, an exasperated sigh. “We had a date, Wren. We are dating.”
“We had beer in a pub.”
“You slept with me.”
“I didn’t know it is dating in your books.”
Let’s face it, if by this age you haven’t developed that filter between your mind and your mouth, there’s very little hope left for you.
And then you realize what you are saying! Fucking fuck! Bloody hell! He’s going to think you are pressuring him, pushing him into commitment. And he will just dump you – just like Phil said – and then you’ll die.
“Shut up, Wren.” His voice sounds strange.
“John, I’m sorry…”
“Please, can you stop talking, Wren? I’m gathering my thoughts here.”
You literally clasp your hand over your mouth. Your heart is beating somewhere in your throat. Please, please, please, tell me I didn’t arse this up!
“Wren, I understand you don’t trust me. Makes sense, we had a rocky start, but I thought I was clear on what we’re doing here. There’s no need to twist my arm into any declarations.”
Declarations? Is he talking about what you think he’s talking about? No, of course not, don’t be bloody stupid, Wren!
“I don’t need any declarations. A phone call would be nice, but no declarations.” Shut the gob, Wren!
“I am calling you.”
“Before Japan, John!” Oh, you are getting emotional again. “You could have called and said you were leaving!”
“Didn’t you get an email?”
“As your ‘mistress,’ don’t I get a more personalized message?”
Oh, stop it, stop it, you are ruining it all! You’re sitting in a corner of your room, your knees pulled up to your nose. Remember, Wren, how Thea showed you an article in Cosmo that said that the worst phrase you can say to a man is “You could have blah-blah-blah?” Because they can’t change anything anyway, and they hate feeling guilty and apologise? And Thea said the worst phrase to say to a man is ‘I thought it would be bigger.’ Yep, that’s exactly what Cosmo was talking about.
“I sent you a text…” His tone is very even, no emotions in it whatsoever.
“And you haven’t called me for four days.” Oh bugger. Kill me now. Where’s your common sense, Wren? Where is ‘I want to build relationships with Dr Sexy and I’m going to be smart about it?’
He’s going to say he was busy. He will be irritated, you will feel like he brushed off your complaint, the aggro will just stay here, hanging above your heads. You lips tremble. Don’t cry, don’t cry…
“I’m sorry…” His voice is low and heavy. “I really am, Wren. I just needed some distance. Some time to think. To sort it out in my head.”
Oh no, he’s dumping you. Just like Phil said.