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Sophia
Blind dates. I don’t do dates. Period. But Jenny, my sister, went ahead and set this up, anyway. As I look at myself in the mirror, I start to question my life choices. Why… God, why did I let her do it in the first place? It’s been three years since Luca and I broke things off. For three years, I’d invested all my energy into my career. Dating was the last thing on my mind, but it was at the forefront of my sister’s and mother’s. My love life matters more to them than school ever did. I know they think I’ll end up alone. I wish they would understand that I’m not looking for just anyone; instead, I’m looking for the right one. And since my life isn’t some Cinderella fairy-tale, I guess I’ll end up alone.
All I need to do is take a breath and calm down, then attend this date to get my mom and sister off my back. As I stare down at the clock, I realize I only have an hour to finish getting ready before I have to leave. I look around the room at the mess I’ve made. Clothes and shoes lie scattered everywhere, and I still have no idea what to wear to make an impression. Or something that will make me look less ugly.
Suddenly, my inner voice bombards me.
You're fat, too ugly. Nobody will ever love you. You’re not worth loving.
I fidget at the intrusive thought.
Growing up in a Hispanic household where you always had to look your best and be the best was hard on me. The panic attacks were nearly an everyday occurrence, and I was too hard on myself back then. I wasn't lucky enough to get my mom's perfect genes like Jenny. My weight had been a major hindrance for me growing up.
I had brains, and Jenny had beauty.
It wasn’t until I left home for school that I started loving myself for who I was and not for what others expected of me. It took some time and countless therapy sessions for me to accept that my curves, stretch marks, and the fat on my belly and arms were beautiful. That I am beautiful.
Sometimes my brain is my own worst enemy, though, and those dark thoughts try to tear me down. They always have a way of sneaking in on me at the worst possible times. After a few minutes of breathing and repeating my affirmations, I feel like the badass woman I know I am. Shaking off the negative thoughts, I head to the bathroom to wash my face and put on my makeup.
I don't know how I manage to get ready on time. Cutting it close is a huge pet peeve of mine. I give myself one last look in the mirror, loving how I look in this red, long-sleeve V-neckline bodysuit tucked into a black pencil skirt that hugs my body tightly. Smoothing and defining all my curves make me feel like the female version of Daredevil. I’m ready to fuck someone’s life up in this outfit. Making a mental note to buy more of these body suits, I pull my red hair up in a sleek ponytail with the ends reaching the lower section of my back. Concluding my look with some black flats, I finally feel ready to take on the world.
After locking the door, my phone starts to ring on the way to my car. When I notice who’s calling me, I wonder why they’d be calling at this time, and answer the phone.
“Hi, Miss Perez. My name is John, and I’m calling to notify you that the alarm for Perez Medical has been triggered, and an officer has been dispatched to the location.” I feel my heart beating faster as worry starts to kick in. Did someone break-in? What would they possibly want? I don't keep any narcotics. “Miss Perez, are you still there?”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks, I’ll head over there now.” I hang up without giving him the chance to say anything else and drop my phone back into my bag. Running to the car, I throw my bag in the passenger seat, put the car in reverse, and drive faster than I’ve ever driven before.
Within minutes, I’m pulling into my designated parking spot. After parking the car, I quickly get out and run inside. The moment I step inside my clinic, I'm welcomed with the sounds of someone screaming. Is that Russian, I hear? What the fuck? My heart almost leaps out of my throat at the sounds of the damn alarm blaring and the ruckus coming from the back. My hand starts to tremble, making it hard to punch in the code.
After a few more tries, I finally put in the correct code. Making my way toward the back, I freeze in my tracks at the scene playing out in front of me. An injured man, covered in blood, is laid down on the examination table, and near him stands a tall, bulky man, screaming bloody fucking murder into his phone. You can almost see the smoke coming out of his ears from how angry he is. If I weren't so confused at what’s unfolding before me, that thought would have made me laugh.
With his tailored black suit and immaculate blond hair, Mr. Bulky is too busy screaming to notice me standing here. I feel bad for the person on the other end of that conversation.
I feel like I'm losing my nerve. Who the hell are these people? Is someone pulling a practical joke on me? I look around in confusion. Nope, I don't see any candid cameras. It's almost as if I just walked into an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. That's it… I need fucking answers.
I put on my big girl pants and take a step forward, keeping my phone close to me, just in case. “What in the hell is going on here? And who the hell are you people?” I point at the bloody guy on the stretcher and back over at Mr. Bulky. “Is he shot? Did you get hit in the head? This isn’t a goddamn hospital. Get the fuck out of here.”
I hope the cops get here soon because these men are definitely bad news. The one on the stretcher looks like a shorter version of the angry young man who’s currently glaring daggers at me. He has blue eyes and black hair and is covered in tattoos. The tall man snaps his neck and looks straight at me with the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. That's the first thing I notice? Priorities, Sophia!
When Bulky assesses me from head to toe with a strange glint in his eyes, I start to feel a little self-conscious in the heat of his intimidating gaze. Not sure how I manage it, but I stand my ground without fidgeting.
“Who the fuck are you?” Bulky says in a strong Russian accent. I gape at him with my jaw on the floor. The fucking nerve of this man. If working at an ER in New York taught me anything, it was to always stay calm in intense situations. The things I saw would have an average person in the fetal position crying in a corner. But calm flew out the fucking window a long time ago. Hands firmly on my hips, I take a step closer to him.
“Excuse me. I should be asking you that fucking question. You’re the one who broke into my medical clinic. So, start talking,” I exclaim. “Who the hell you are, and why is this man lying on my table covered in fucking blood?” I swing my finger around, pointing to the blond-haired man on the table. He looks at me as if I’m the bane of his existence.
This is un-fucking-believable.
“Can you shut the fuck up and call Robert? Tell him to get his ass over here, right now! We need him.''
My anger turns to pure anguish when he mentions my dad. My heart starts to ache, and tears begin to blur my vision. No, no, no, no, not now. This is not the moment to break down. I take a deep breath, holding back the tears that threaten to fall.
“How…” I clear my throat and begin again. “How do you know my dad?”
“That is not a question you should be asking me, krasavitsa. Ask your father.” After a moment of silence, I can't help the tears that roll down my cheeks.
“He passed away a few weeks ago from a heart attack.”
“Fuck,” he screams as he slams his fist into the wall, making me jump.
