Doctor-Patient Confidentiality 01

It looks disgusting.

Suddenly, my appetite evades me. I can almost actually feel it leaving my body. If being at the clinic earlier hadn't already made me nauseous, the sight of this floor would have done the job perfectly.

After more minutes of rummaging through the crowd to find Bill and having Trixie say, "I can't hear you, you're breaking off," twenty times over the phone, I finally spot him at one of the bar stools by the east wall, frowning at a newspaper from behind nerdy glasses and running a hand through his disheveled dark blonde hair.

I tug at Trixie's elbow to get her attention. "There he is," I say, pointing over to where Bill is seated. We make our way over to him with a bit of difficulty, trying to not get knocked over as we constantly rub and bump shoulders with every other person who's also trying to get by.

"Ugh, why the fuck does it always have to be so damn crowded in here? It's like a goddamn flea market on steroids," Trixie scoffs.

I completely agree, but I don't say anything. My mind is still preoccupied with worry. I'm worried about what this Doctor Templin guy might potentially find. I'm worried that I don't have health coverage in case it is serious, and that I can't afford to be sick on any level right now. The Koplan performance is two weeks away, and I don't have the money to deal with this.

Aside from my grandmother, singing is all I have left. It's really the only thing I can rely on and call my own. Without it I'm...lost. And whatever this thing is, it's disrupting it. I simply cannot have that.

I try to breathe and think positively. It might be nothing. Maybe it's all in my head. I'm probably freaking out for nothing.

I let out another frustrated sigh as I realize that I can't seem to convince myself that things are truly okay. They're not, and I can feel it my gut.

Literally.

As we approach Bill, I grab Trixie's arm and pull her back for a second to whisper in her ear.

"Hey, you mind not saying anything to Bill about earlier? I don't really want anyone else knowing about it. At least not until after I know what's wrong."

It's not that I don't trust Bill or that I can't confide in him. I'm just not comfortable with sharing a lot of my problems with people, even with Trixie at times. I'm not really sure why, especially since they're fairly open with me about the nitty-gritty of their own lives.

"Sure," she nods. She has a slightly worried look on her face, but a smile soon brightens it up again.

"Come on, we'll get run over if we keep standing in the middle of the way here," she says as she continues to walk.

She places her backpack on the seat next to Bill with a loud thud.

"Hey, Pooch," she says as she snatches the newspaper from his hands before he even gets a chance to speak. "And what a surprise! You're actually here without your girlfriend for once," she adds snarkily with a bitter undertone.

He offers a groan in response. "I was reading that! And are you really still going to keep calling me that? We aren't ten anymore, you know."

She looks at him with a nonchalant expression. "What? 'Pooch'? You love that name," she adds with a wry grin. She loves teasing him.

"Right. I love a being called a name you only gave me because you thought I was a good replacement for a pet after your dog died," he says sarcastically, smiling nonetheless. He turns to me and puts his hands up dramatically. "You see what I have to put up with everyday?"

All I can do is chuckle and shake my head. I've known both of them for over a year now, but these two have been friends long before I came into the picture, and the chemistry between them is undeniable. Any outsider can see they're meant to be together, even if they aren't.

Trixie hasn't explicitly told me this, but it's not hard to see that she has feelings for him, and considering that they've been friends since they were both eight years old, she's probably had them for a while. And if I know her as well as I think I do, Satan will go ice-skating in a bright pink tutu before she tells him how she feels about him. And I can understand why.

Potentially losing a great friendship over feelings that might be unrequited is an incredibly scary and awkward thought. Plus, I'm not sure if Bill's feelings for her go beyond friendship like hers do. He can be a bit hard to read at times.

In the same vein, I can only imagine how hard it must be for Trixie to see Bill with his girlfriend, Gina, almost all the time. My heart truly breaks for her every single time we see the both of them being affectionate with each other in public.

Seeing the person you love with someone else just...stinks. It sucks ass big time. I know all too well how that feels. I definitely wouldn't want to be in her shoes.

But then again, that's where Trixie and I are completely different. I'd cut Bill out of my life completely if being around him caused me that much pain, no matter how far back our friendship ran.

Heck, I'd cut him off the nanosecond I realized I was falling for him. But then again, I suppose Trixie isn't dysfunctional. At least not in the way that I am.

Her voice comes through in an equally sarcastic tone that matches Bill's. "Oh please, you'd be lost if I wasn't in your life. Not to mention, bored out of your fucking mind."

He just shakes his head and picks up another newspaper from a nearby stand.

I set my bag down and grab my wallet before we head over to the food dispensers. We walk around, looking at the array of choices as we decide on what to get. I've lost most of my appetite, and the food here is expensive. I consider just skipping breakfast altogether, but Trixie won't let me.

She's like a second mom, insisting I get something, especially since I'll be heading to the surgical center later. A shiver creeps up on me, and I try not to think about having to go there.

I keep looking around some more, searching for something cheap. I end up opting—well, more like settling—for a plain bagel and a small cup of coffee, more to appease Trixie and her continued nagging than my stomach. She tells me to go ahead and pay for my stuff at the counter as she waits for her freshly made vegan wrap.

I head over to one of the counters, and I'm struggling to get my card out when I feel someone bump into me as I stand in line. I look up to see Jamie Wrighton, the head running back of the football team, and one of the best ranked college football players in the nation.

"Sorry," he smiles. "I wasn't paying attention."

He's much taller than I thought, and standing next to his big body makes me a bit uneasy. Even covered in his heavy winter gear, his good-looks are apparent, and even I of all people can admit he's cute. It's no wonder every girl on campus is constantly on a mission to hit him square in the face with their underwear.

He also seems like a decent guy, and that's saying a lot for someone on the football team. He's definitely outgoing, a classic people's person, and he certainly seems to be a lot friendlier and grounded in reality than most of his teammates. I wish I could be even half as outgoing as he is, but I guess we can all dream.

I shake my head at his apology. "It's okay," I simply offer. I turn my attention back to the line in front of me without another word, slight discomfort etching its way into my body at his closeness.

"You're Ramona Gallo, right?" I hear him ask, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

I turn back to face him again, a bit surprised that he knows my name.

"Yeah," I confirm with a bit of suspicion.

He nods. "I thought so. I was at the Mushroom with a few buddies on Saturday and I saw you perform there. You have a beautiful voice."

I feel myself blush slightly at the compliment. My ego can certainly use the flattery right now, even if it's just generic praise from a sweet-talking ladies' man.

"Thank you," I smile back.

He continues to look at me, still maintaining his friendly smile. I hold his stare for a few seconds too long, and am grateful when I hear the girl at the counter ask for the next in line.

Any other girl—any normal, college girl—would see this as an awesome opportunity to exchange phone numbers with a star athlete, but not me. Besides, even if I were looking for casual sex, I wouldn't go for a football player who's younger than me.

I pay for my items quickly and head back over to Bill without looking back at Jamie.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A minute later, Trixie comes back with this huge, giddy smile on her face.

"Oh my God, you little slut! I totally saw that," she says to me as she sits down.

I raise my eyebrow. "What?"

"As if you don't know," she waves her hand in a dismissive fashion. "You and Jamie Wrighton ogling each other in the middle of the cafeteria, that's what."

"I was not. He was just apologizing for bumping into me," I say nonchalantly.

Trixie can be extremely dramatic when it comes to two things in life—Bill, and anything college sports. She's pretty much the only reason I've attended any of the games I have, even going as far as buying me a sports ticket package so that she'll always have at least one person to go to football and basketball games with.

She's tried endlessly to get Bill to go to more games, but he's just not sports-inclined. Still, that doesn't stop her from continuing to try. The only reason she doesn't bug him about going with her as much as she used to is because she doesn't want to have to endure watching a game with Gina around. Needless to say, Trixie can't stand her and can't understand what Bill sees in "the skank".

Yeah. Trixie has a nickname for her, too.

"Is that all he said?" she asks, bringing me back to our 'discussion' as her whisky eyes search mine with impossible curiosity.

"Yup," I lie. I take a sip of my coffee and wish I hadn't. It tastes awfully bland, and I might as well have put the money I just spent on it in a shredder instead of on the cardboard cup in my hands.

"I don't believe you," Trixie says.

The girl can read me a lot better than I'd care to admit sometimes.

"What else did he say, Roni?" she pushes.

I sigh, knowing that she'll just keep poking and poking at the matter until I say something. I might as well just get it over with.

"He said he saw me singing at the Mushroom and thinks I'm alright," I admit, now picking at my bagel.

The round pastry is beginning to look like it was made to go with Swiss Cheese from all the craters I'm absently making in it.

Trixie lets out the kind of squeal that she only does when she talks about things she's obsessed with—in this case, college sports and the "hot athletes" who go with it.

"Did he ask you for your number?" she asks with visible anticipation.

"No," I answer simply.

"Well, did you offer it?" She has this incredulous look on her face, almost as if it's a no-brainer to give your number to anyone you come in contact with simply because they're an athlete.

I feel my mouth curve into a slight frown. "No. Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because he's Jamie fucking Wrighton, Ramona! Duh!" she says dramatically, waving her hands for emphasis. She goes on and on for a few minutes, telling me I should know better by now and insisting that I should have given him my number as if world peace depended on it.

In the midst of Trixie's dramatics, I notice that Bill is unusually quiet. After Trixie and I go back and forth a few more times, I turn to him with a bit of concern.

"Everything okay, Bill? You'd normally be telling Trixie to get a new hobby by now."

"Yeah, Poochie," she concurs with a teasing smile. She tries to mimic the Joker's voice. "Why so silent?"

Bill remains quiet for several seconds, as if he's in deep thought, before exhaling deeply. He rubs the bridge of his nose and runs his hands through his hair again, obviously distressed about something.

"Bill?" Trixie asks again, her expression showing a bit more worry now.

"I think Gina's cheating on me," he says without looking at either of us.

The hurt expression on his face gives me the impression that he's pretty sure his speculation is true. He can be a bit private about certain things, like I am, and he's definitely not the paranoid type. So that fact that he's telling us that he thinks his girlfriend is being unfaithful to him means he's probably been feeling this way for some time.

He still doesn't look at us.

I look over to Trixie. She's equally silent, but her eyes are seething. She looks like she wants to kick something; no doubt, Gina's forehead.

Suddenly, I feel even shittier than I did before. I can't even begin to imagine how betrayed he must feel. I really hope it doesn't turn out to be true, but somehow, I'm certain it is. I wouldn't put it past Gina to do that to him. He's a bit of a pushover when it comes to her, and she knows it and takes full advantage of it.

The fact that she does that enrages Trixie to no end, but there's only so much she can do about it. Bill's in love with Gina, almost hopelessly so.

I never want to feel betrayed like that.

Fuck love with a sandpaper dick. I want no part of it and the inevitable mess that it eventually causes. That's why I keep avoiding guys who show interest in me or anyone I can actually envision myself being with.

"I'm just gonna go. I'll see you guys later," he finally says. He gets up from his chair and leaves before I can say anything else.

I'm not sure if I expected Trixie to openly gloat or bask at the sign of possible turmoil in Bill and Gina's relationship, but I didn't expect her to be so quiet about it, either.

The creasing on her forehead becomes more prominent as her scowl deepens. She's pissed. Really pissed. That's the only time she ever gets this quiet.

"Trixie, don't do anything stupid," I say, my voice dripping with concern—for both her and Gina. She looks at me but she continues to remain silent.

All I can hope for now is that she doesn't run into Gina any time soon. Or go looking for her, for that matter. Somehow, I can't envision the latter being possible.

CHAPTER TWELVE

My feet tap uncontrollably as I find myself sitting in a waiting room at the surgery center—a gloomy health facility, yet again.

I sit there trying not to heave as I do my best to accurately fill out a patient form that's too many pages long. The fact that I'm in a place like this for the second time today only frazzles my nerves even more, making the simple task of even holding a pen ten times harder.

It had taken me thirty minutes to get here from campus, including the fifteen minutes it took for my car to heat up enough for me to drive it. My Polo isn't the easiest car to run, and winter only makes it that much harder.

The drive to Greenwood itself was fairly smooth, rattled only by the increasing nervousness I had felt on my way here.

I had tried extremely hard to keep calm, feeling my hands shaking as they'd gripped the steering wheel hard. Thankfully, I managed to get here without driving myself into an electric pole.

The sterile smell of the building makes me want to hold my breath until my face turns purple. My hands are trembling so badly that I'm still on page one of the patient form after ten minutes at it.

It seems like an eternity before I'm done, noting how much I struggled with filling out sections asking about previous drug use and family history.

I glance at my watch.

Only ten minutes more.

I head over and hand the completed form to a receptionist behind a glass window, and she smiles politely at me as she takes it. She looks around thirty or so, with warm dark brown eyes and medium long hair to match.

"Doctor Templin should be done soon. Just have a seat, okay?" she says. Even her voice is kind, and I'm not sure if she's being sweet because she sees the distress written all over my face.

I nod and head back to where I was sitting. I'm even finding it hard to speak right now.

The minutes seem like eons as I sit here by myself, watching staff members in their scrubs and lab coats constantly walk up and down the hallways or bend into corridors or enter the elevators.

The morbidness I feel is too daunting, and the discomforting familiarity of being in this place makes me want to throw up.

The unmistakable sensation of bile rising in my throat unsettles me, and I have to grip the arm of the chair and hold my breath at the bitter, disgusting taste.

I feel myself breakout in a sweat all over my body, and beads of perspiration form on my forehead, temples, and just above my lips. All telltale signs of one thing.

I'm gonna be sick.

I dash to the nearest restroom and barely make my way into a stall before the remnants of what little coffee and bagel crumbs I had earlier come gushing up my throat and out of my mouth in a forced, painful strain.

I heave and heave as my stomach empties itself, and continues to do so even when there's nothing left to get rid of.

Damn it. I knew I should've just skipped on breakfast.

I know better than to eat before coming to a place like this. After several minutes, my gag reflexes take a break and I stop heaving. My brows furrow at the ill sensations I feel as I try to take in deep breaths and calm myself.

I feel my body give in and slump over the toilet bowl in exhaustion. I feel like I'm carrying dead weight, and my legs feel like heavy wooden stumps.

My temples are throbbing, and despite my efforts to control it, my breath is still coming out in short, shallow strains. I feel tears quickly welling up in my eyes, and I blink them back ferociously.

I can't cry.

I won't cry.

I've already done enough of that to last quite a few lifetimes.

I stand up, trying to balance myself on shaky legs as the bowl flushes itself automatically. I brace myself against the tile walls with hands that visibly tremble.

Blurry stars fill my sight, and I have to shut my eyes tight so that the dizziness and unease can pass. After a few moments of deep breathing, I begin to feel myself getting somewhat centered again.

I stumble out of the stall and head to the sink to quickly rinse my mouth out, putting a few splashes on my face as well. The cold water feels good against my skin, and helps me calm down some more. I fight the urge to look up at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I know I'll see;

A frightened little girl who, after six whole years, still can't deal with her past.

I walk out of the restroom before uninvited memories that threaten to come rushing back get the chance to consume me. I can't be by myself right now. As much I hate being here, I need to be around other people.

At least for the sake of my sanity.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I head back to my seat feeling incredibly somber. Just as soon as I sit down, a deep, commanding voice comes through that makes me jump in my chair.

"Ramona?"

I turn to the side to find the owner of such a demanding voice, and I'm stunned to stillness as I see a man covered in a crisp white lab coat walking towards me.

I feel my eyes widen as I take in the sight of him.

He's incredibly good-looking, possibly the most handsome man I've ever seen in real life.

He's really tall, maybe even taller than Jamie, and perhaps just as big. His strides are long, as are his legs.

I look up to meet his eyes, and my breath catches in my throat as the iciest, coldest pair of eyes settle on mine. They're beyond intimidating, and they seem to pierce through my very soul with their frosty, pale blue color.

They give off this strangely intense vibe that I've never experienced before, and I can't seem to look away from them. They're alluring and enticing and frightening all at once. It's almost like looking into the eyes of a beautiful serial killer. You know it will be the end of you, but you can't for the life of you look away.