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How am I going to survive a journey home? Fuck, I can’t think like that. I nod.
She presses her lips together. “Let me find some medications to take with you and give you something for the nausea before you go. Do you think you could keep some tablets down?”
I look up at her and nod. I was expecting a lecture and form filling. Not this. She gives me one last glance before disappearing. Queasiness rolls down my throat, so I lie down again and close my eyes: I need to gather myself for heading out. In minutes she’s back, clutching packets of drugs in her hands.
“Okay,” she says. “This is for the nausea.” She places everything on the locker by the bed and passes me a tablet and a glass of water. My hand shakes as I lift it to my mouth. This better get me home before I pass out again.
She purses her lips, before handing me a small packet. “Here’s some more anti-sickness meds to take home. I’m not sure what the base of what you’ve taken might be. We gave you naloxone which would have helped if what you took was opioid based. Cocaine is more difficult, although, if it was a serious overdose, you’d probably be dead by now.”
My eyes roam her creamy skin and blonde lashes, and a reluctant grin breaks free. “How come you know so much about illegal drugs?”
She straightens and squares her shoulders. “We have to learn about all the drugs that end up in the human body; they’re pretty well known to the medical profession.” She shrugs, then grins, looking a bit bashful and leans in like she’s sharing state secrets. “We actually have a database called TOXBASE that tells you all about drug interactions and the effects on the body. There are chemists that make their own stuff, but that’s very rare … and dangerous. You’re not a chemist, are you?” I shake my head at her. “Many things are poisons in quantity. You’d have to be good to make your own.”
Well, fuck me. I glance at her name badge: Dr. Thurman. A doctor who happily swears in front of a patient. And could I be any more of a cliché? I think I’m doing something alternative, but the truth is I’d know a lot more if I could have been bothered to study medicine or even chemistry. Turns out Janus was right: Iaman idiot.
Something about this guy has loosened my mouth. And three things have become abundantly clear: He’s a real worry, he’s smart, and he’s cute. Why do intelligent guys mess around like this? The analyst in me is watching every muscle twitch under his decorated skin, but all the doctor in me sees is red flashing lights. I’ve only been working in the ER for a couple of weeks, but I’ve had a few people walk out after treatment, and I understand the money thing. The nurse, whose name I’ve now remembered—Melanie—comes back in with a set of scrubs and pieces of the patient’s clothing. She raises her eyebrows at me.
“Ah, we had to cut off your clothes,” I say.
He blinks at me, and then his lips turn up in a wolfish grin, gray eyes dancing between his thick lashes. My cheeks burn.
“Didyoudo that?”
I fold my arms and open my mouth, but he shakes his head and flaps a hand at me, taking the scrubs Melanie is offering.
“It’s fine. It’s fine.”
I learned in my first week here that we can’t stop people from leaving; they just need to sign the piece of paper that absolves us of all responsibility in case they expire on the way home. I don’t think this guy is going to die but getting home might be a struggle.
“Where do you live?”
“Brooklyn.”
A slight tremor is running through his hands, and his eyes go unfocused every now and again. He’s also wincing from the nausea cramps in his stomach, but they seem to be growing farther apart as the meds kick in. He strips off his hospital gown, and although I’ve seen his body already, I look away. What am I doing? I’m a doctor! Amusement flickers through his eyes. And there’s something about him—the sharp stare, long ropey muscles over a skinny frame: He’s like a panther, all coiled strength and danger. But cold memories of another man, a disaster like this one, seep up in me. Melanie coughs, raises her eyebrows at me, and hands me a clipboard.
“I need your signature on this form to say you’ve checked yourself out against medical advice.”
He nods, and the way he inclines his head and doesn’t ask any questions makes me think he’s done this before. He pulls on the pants, not in the least bit embarrassed, and his right bicep bunches as he takes the clipboard from me and scribbles on the form. He knew where to sign; there was no hesitation, no looking for the box. Have I missed something here? I scan his body. Maybe these tattoos are hiding other things, marks on his skin? Dammit, I need to check whether we’ve got any notes on him on the system.
“Be careful, okay?” I say. “You’re likely to pass out if you try and move too quickly; go as slow as you can and rest often. Can you afford a cab home?” The thought of him going under the tracks on a subway line because he lost his balance doesn’t bear thinking about.
He nods and waves his hand. “Yeah. And thanks. Thanks for everything. I probably seem ungrateful, but I’m not. I just hate hospitals.”
“Why’s that?”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s not how this works. You’re my patient. Promise me you’ll come back if your symptoms deteriorate.” I give him my best doctor smile, but he just rolls his lips together. I glance down at his feet as he stands, the small, strange marks all over them. His chest is still bare. Close up, the tattoos are some combination of a script I don’t recognize plus tiny words that look like they’re in English. He coughs, and my eyes shoot up to find him smiling at me. I swallow.
He grabs the top from the bed and shrugs it on, swaying a little, and I grab his elbow to steady him. His skin is smooth and damp under my palm.
“What made you want to be a doctor?” he asks.
I laugh. “I’m not quite one yet. I’m still training.”
He stares at me. “Seriously? Jesus, I’d have been more worried if I’d known.” His face relaxes into that grin again, and he winks, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Are you sure you gave me the right stuff?”
I shake my head, laughing. This is not the usual way I engage with patients at all. Why am I finding it so hard to maintain my professional distance?
