Page 393 of The Doctors Will See You Now

All night long, we danced and kissed and danced and kissed.

I couldn’t remember a night so good and an intimacy so right.

Assault rifles sounded and a trumpet blared, all within an inch of my head—a head, incidentally, that had just hit my pillow.

At least, that was what it felt like.

In actuality, the guns and music were just the harmoniously mixed trill of my alarm clock, and my head had really first made contact with my pillow three hours ago.

Back in my college days, three hours of sleep would have been more than sufficient. I’d have thrown a Hot Pocket in the microwave, scarfed it down, and hoofed it to my final with nothing more than a pencil and my calculator in hand.

But now—now that I was fucking old—three hours just didn’t cut it anymore. I hadn’t even had all that much to drink—though I was considerably out of practice—and my head still throbbed.

With a quick smack and a groan, I silenced the alarm and rolled over to my stomach to shove my head into the fluff of my pillow.

“Oh my God,” I grumbled.

Even the sound of my own voice was grating.

Great, I thought. This should make work interesting.

I grabbed my phone off of my nightstand, rolled back onto my back, and typed out a quick message.

Me: So, apparently, you’re a sadist.

A reply popped up nearly immediately.

Charlotte: Wimp.

Me: I’m actually sore.

Charlotte: It takes time to acclimate to the dance life. You’ve got good moves, though. Be proud, soldier, be proud.

Me: Oh, so I suppose you’re completely fine?

Charlotte: Yep. ;)

Me: I kind of hate you.

Charlotte: That wears off. Trust me. Pretty soon you won’t be able to live without me.

My heart jumped in my chest despite knowing full well she was teasing. But those words, written there together, taunted me and dared me to challenge them. They were cocky, almost as if I had no chance of choosing another fate.

But I was a man of science, and I knew better.

Right?

Me: I could live without the hangover for now. I have to be at work in thirty minutes.

Charlotte: You know, you wouldn’t have to be up for the job in California for another three hours.

Me: Funny.

Charlotte: ;) Get some coffee and some Advil. Take a shower. You’ll feel better in no time.

My phone beeped with a calendar alert, telling me I now had literally thirty minutes to walk through the doors of St. Luke’s. As much as I’d like to stay in bed for eternity, swapping playful barbs with Charlotte, I had to get up and follow her advice, pronto.

Slowly, and quite painfully, I climbed from my bed and to my feet, wiggling my toes in the carpet to force some kind of sensation. I felt slightly numb to the morning, like it wasn’t really happening—like I was Bill fucking Murray and this was Groundhog Day and I was living Thursday all over again.