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But it must’ve been someone else. I took the stairs and pushed that out of my mind.
3
Lori
He had me do menial, awful tasks for an entire week.
Every morning, in at five. I’d bring him coffee so he couldn’t make me serve it to him like that first day. We’d walk to his office together, then he’d give me some task: polishing instruments, cleaning his rug, organizing his files, stuff like that. He even had me follow the other surgical residents one afternoon because he didn’t feel like dealing with me.
I sucked it up and didn’t complain.
Even when he made his snide comments about my connections, I still ignored it. I couldn’t help it that my cousin decided to pull strings for me—I hadn’t asked him to do it. I ignored his remarks about my work, and even ignored him when he complained about having to babysit me.
The only thing I couldn’t ignore were the looks he gave me.
Searching, piercing.
He didn’t make any sexual comments, not after that first day. I thought he might’ve been embarrassed.
But when he said I could help him change his scrubs, the image of getting on my knees to pull them down broke into my mind, and I couldn’t get it out of my brain.
He drove me crazy. I despised him, and each day was somehow worse than the day before.
And yet I kept coming in, and I never once complained.
After a week, I staggered into the lobby at five in the morning like always, but found it empty. I stood there, a little confused, looking for Piers, but the place was deserted.
I heard the sound of heels on the marble floor and turned as Chief Resident Monica came toward me. She looked exhausted, her hair messy and up in a half-fallen bun, her clothes rumpled, deep bags under her eyes. She forced a smile and held up a hand.
“Hey, Lori, right?”
“Hi,” I said. “Good morning.”
“How’s it going?”
“Not too bad.”
She stood a few feet away, smiling a very forced smile. “Great, well, uh, so Piers sent me down to get you.”
“Really?” I tilted my head in confusion. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no, not at all, he’s just prepping right now and couldn’t come himself. I think his exact words were, ‘Hey, you, blondie, you’re the resident wrangler, right? Get your ass downstairs and find my damn resident.’ So here I am.”
“God, I’m sorry. He can be such an asshole.”
She laughed nervously. “I know, but he’s a genius, so what can you do? Anyway, I think he wants you in surgery three, so let’s go before he gets mad.”
I followed Monica to the elevators, feeling confused. This hadn’t happened before. Normally, his first surgery wasn’t until eight, and I didn’t know what was different about today.
But I felt a spike of excitement as Monica showed me to the surgery suite. I stepped into the prep room and peered in through the window as Piers stalked around the table, speaking with his nurses and the anesthesiologist.
“Get scrubbed,” Monica said, waving. “And good luck.” Her smile slipped on that last word before she ducked out.
I stood there feeling stupid for exactly five seconds before I threw my stuff down in the corner and started prepping.
I knew how to do this. We’d gone over it a hundred times in school. Still, I wished someone was here to make sure I was getting it right. I scrubbed in, washing my hands and arms, then got my gown and hat on—then scrubbed again for good measure. I went into the surgery suite, feeling jittery, nervous, and scared, but full of excitement—I was finally going to get to watch Piers work, finally getting to stand in the room and assist. This was what I’d been training for, what I’d been waiting for this whole time, and I was almost brimming with energy.
Piers gave me one look and all that energy flowed away.
“You,” he barked at me, “in the damn corner. Do not speak. Do not move. You watch. You keep your mouth shut. As far as I’m concerned, you’re furniture, and if you make me realize you’re a real human being, I swear to whatever fucking deity you believe in, I will cut you. Do you understand?”
Everyone stared at me. The nurses, the anesthesiologist. I felt blood rush to my cheeks.
“Yes,” I said in a small voice.
“Good.” He turned away and began marshalling everyone like a general on parade.
I did as instructed. I stood in the corner of the room, behind him and off to the side where he couldn’t see me, but where I could watch what he did. The nurses gave me sympathetic looks, and the anesthesiologist—a young guy with red hair and a kind smile beneath his surgical mask—gave me a reassuring wink. At least, I thought it was meant to be reassuring.
