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Surprisingly though, the Army helped ease the suffering. Blood never shook me, or made me uneasy. Operating on my fallen brothers overseas doesn’t haunt me like my childhood memories do.
I know I need therapy, but I’m too ashamed to admit all the things that happened to me. Besides, it doesn’t matter. A therapist won’t believe me, the same way my own family thinks I lied. The same way they believedhimover me.
Jason Parkin, my stepfather, betrayed all the trust I had in anyone. He broke me when I was already down. He ruined everything, and he got away with it because he manipulated everyone around him, tricked them into thinking he was the victim, and I was the troubled stepdaughter who couldn’t handle the trauma of a broken home.
I step inside the warm shower with my mug in hand, and sloppily plop my ass onto the bench. The water scorches my skin, and I sip my booze in a state of bliss. This is what Heaven must be like for twisted assholes like me. The hot water and booze make me feel so numb that I forget.
I forget the man who broke me when I was just a child, and I forget about my sister who didn’t survive the car crash that left a scar on my neck. If only temporarily, until the buzz wears off, I can live without the pain coursing through my veins.
By the time I’m out of the shower, my mug is empty, and my mind is at peace, even if this is going to fucking hurt tomorrow. My mouth is dry already. I need to keep myself better hydrated.
I concentrate as hard as I can on not busting my ass while my feet touch the cold floor. The last thing I need is to hit my head on the tile and get a concussion. I’m alone, so it could be months before someone comes looking for my body.
I stop, shrugging as I think about that. Andi actually would look for me. After not hearing from me for a few days, my best friend would fly her ass from California to Boston to make sure I’m okay.
Glancing at my phone, I decide I shouldn’t drink anymore and should focus on getting a full eight hours of sleep before my twenty-four-hour shift. I need water before I can sleep, though.
I take the steps delicately, my hand on the railing. The last thing I need is to fall and bust my ass.
When I get downstairs, I head for the kitchen to grab a large glass of water and take some Advil. All the lights are out in the house, except the ones under the cabinets in the kitchen. The streetlight from outside shines into the large window of the breakfast nook. My brownstone overlooks Public Garden. It’s only across the street, and the view during the day is amazing. At night, there’s rarely anyone around, so I don’t worry about the fact I’m naked and the windows aren’t properly covered. I’ll only be a second, anyway.
I do need to get some curtains though. I’ve been here almost three months and still haven’t done much to decorate or make the place feel like mine. At this point, I need to just pay someone to come in and do it.
I glance at the lack of decoration and furniture. I seriously don’t have the energy to do it myself, but it is kind of lacking in here. Maybe having some personal touches can help me feel more at home?
The familiar sensation of something bad happening overcomes me. The one where my gut feels like it’s gnawing on itself, and I can’t figure out why it’s there. I try to push it away, chalking it up to the alcohol lowering my senses.
As I pour my water, shadows move outside. Someone is watching me through the windows. It’s a silhouette of a man wearing all black with his hood up. I can’t see his face, but I immediately reach for the gun I have stashed under my kitchen island, check that it’s racked and ready, and approach my front door.
This is the third time in as many weeks, and now I’m kicking myself for forgetting. If I’d been sober tonight, I would have remembered to dress myself before heading down. Fucking creeper! I should confront this fucker, except I’m naked, so I can’t go outside. Plus, he will probably be gone by the time I make it out there.
I won’t open the door, but if he kicks it in, I’ll be ready to place three bullets in his chest. My heart pounds, as I stand there for a few minutes before relaxing when no one tries to come inside. Well, fuck. Now I won’t be sleeping tonight.
Chapter four
Myheadispoundingwhen I wake to my four o’clock alarm. I groan, my eyes still shut and slide out of bed. I land on the floor with a hard thump. Fuck.Everythinghurts.
See, I’m not an alcoholic. If I were, I would prevent my hangover by drinking now. Instead, I force myself awake for a shower. Once I get to work, my mind will be off the stupid shit memories that drive me insane. I’ll be focused on saving lives. And as much as I hate the idea of someone’s life on the verge of ending, I pray for a trauma that keeps me in the operating room. Surgery is the only place my mind feels at peace.
I flip the light switch in the master bathroom. The sudden switch from dark to light causes my brain to fry. The light is so strong at four in the morning that I squeeze my eyes shut while I walk to the shower stall.
Being a trauma surgeon in the number one hospital in Boston comes with a nice salary. Added on top of all the money I saved living in assigned housing with the Army, I bought myself a nice, spacious brownstone less than a mile away from Massachusetts General Hospital.
I’m only a block away from Boston Public Garden, and I’ve got more space than I need. The townhouse is fucking beautiful, and I’m always in awe at how I’ve made it from a homeless teenager to a successful surgeon.
I definitely worked hard, but a lot of it came to chance. It was pure luck that Andi and I had become friends when we did. I was sixteen and she found me taking a shower in the high school locker room. She confronted me. When I admitted to living in homeless shelters or on the streets of Washington State whenever the shelters had no room; she took me into her own home.
She helped me get into a paid program through the county and eighteen months of schooling later I walked out as a paramedic. From there, I went to school and busted my ass to become a doctor. I worked at night, went to school during the day, and fortunately never had to take out a single loan. After a fellowship in Texas, I joined the Army.
Andi saved me. I probably would still be homeless, working for tips in a shit hole diner if I’d never met her. Her mom had been a better parent than either of mine could have been. I’ll never understand parents who let their children suffer. My parents failed me.
I force the negative thoughts away. Thinking of my family brings too much turmoil, and I need a clear headspace for a successful day at work.
After my shower, I choke down some water and more Advil, then head back to my bedroom to change into scrubs. It’s going to be a chilly morning, but the brutal winter will be over soon so it’ll be one of the last where I’m freezing as I walk to work.
It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, and I usually listen to an audiobook to keep my mind occupied and off my demons. At night, I stay up to prevent myself from having nightmares about the monster who hurt me.
By the time I reach Mass General, the tip of my nose is ice cold. Hurrying inside, I head straight for the coffee cart to order a hot coffee. The warmth of the cup will thaw my stiff fingers.
