Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Fifty-Nine

Day 26

I smell puke.

To be more accurate, I smell puke, gin, cigarettes, and more puke.

There’s a guy passed out at the bar next to me, and I’ve been trying to wake him up for the last fifteen or so minutes to no avail. Last call was half an hour ago, and this son of a bitch is still passed out on the bar counter, snoring away under a puddle of his own vomit like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Typical Friday night at the Mushroom.

I let out another exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I leave his immobile body to go look for Rory, tonight’s bouncer, to help me out with this douche.

The last few weeks have been shit.

Absolute shit.

Ever since grandpa’s memorial, my life has basically been a shitty accumulation of time, stress, and disappointing situations; from finding out about Gran’s mind-blowing debt and her sudden stroke, to my own health and academic issues, and last but certainly not least, what seems to be the crux of them all, Doctor Dexter Frost and his shameless proposal—a proposal that would theoretically solve all the other above problems. I’d essentially be using one evil to eradicate a handful of others.

It would seem like the smart, even logical thing to do considering I don’t have many other options. But again, that’s only in theory. And everyone knows that theory is a world away from the practical, real thing.

Plus, we’re talking about a married man, here. He may not seem to care about that detail, but I sure as hell do. I may be a lot of things, but a homewrecker is absolutely not one of them.

But another part of me, the more desperate part, keeps begging me to just do it and get it over with. I mean, if he doesn’t care about his vows and honoring his marriage, then why should I, right?

I release a deep, tired sigh. I can’t believe how shitty my life has become and that this is the kind of thing I’m mentally fighting with myself over on a Friday night. More than that, I can’t believe I’ve gotten into this much of a financial bind that I’m actually giving it some serious consideration! Needless to say, this situation is one hell of a mind fuck.

I spot Rory in the distance, talking with a girl outside. As I get closer though, I realize that they’re arguing, their voices raised and their hands flailing. The girl looks distraught and on the verge of tears, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing around her face with all the angry words that leave her lips.

Uh oh…

I know this scenario. I’ve seen it play out quite a few times with him. He’s undoubtedly breaking up with her, or maybe even telling her that whatever they had together never existed to begin with. Talk about bad timing. I must have one hell of a knack for getting myself into really awkward situations.

Either way, it won’t end well for her. It never does. Not when Rory’s involved. He’s one hell of a commitment-phobe if I ever saw one in my life. After all, it takes one to know one. The only difference between he and I is that he doesn’t mind sleeping around.

Their yelling quickly dies down once they realize they have an audience, and both of them turn their attention from each other toward me as I stand there feeling like an intruder.

It’s always incredibly awkward when you unknowingly walk into a personal dispute, so I force myself to say something before things get a chance to become even weirder.

“Oh, hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I begin, my eyes shifting to Rory’s, but I can still see his counterpart’s disbelieving expression from the corner of my eye, though she doesn’t say anything.  “We’ve got another snoozer tonight,” I say, gesturing toward the bar’s entrance, referring to the guy who’s still passed out inside.

Rory simply nods. “Alright, I’m on it.” He doesn’t even turn back to his lady-friend or say anything else to her before storming back into the bar, as if she’s a pest and he doesn’t even want to acknowledge her presence.

She huffs incredulously, slowly shaking her head as she watches him walk away from her. She struggles to blink back tears, but a few escape despite her efforts, sliding down her face and leaving wet streaks against her pale skin. She sniffs a few times, wiping furiously at them.

She turns to me and looks at me apologetically, offering a nervous laugh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see that,” she says.

I shake my head, still feeling kind of awkward. “You don’t have to apologize,” I say. I take a few steps toward her. “Are you okay?” I really don’t even know why I just asked her that. It’s a stupid question. Of course I know she’s not okay, but I’m not quite sure what else to say in a situation like this.

“Not really,” she says with another laugh, and this one has undertones of sadness and perhaps just a hint of bitterness. “But I guess that doesn’t matter. At least not to him.”

I don’t know this girl, and while  a part of my heart breaks at seeing her this hurt and vulnerable, another, much bigger part of me also want to shake her and give her some serious tough love right now.

The younger version of me would have been much more empathetic toward her, and would have probably confronted Rory and asked him if he doesn’t see how much he’s hurting her, and more importantly, if he doesn’t care that he is. But I’m not that naive anymore. I know better, and reality is a lot less cut and dry than I used to believe it was.

The truth is that there are no guarantees in life in general, but there are especially no guarantees when it comes to love. Just because you have feelings for someone, it doesn’t mean that they’re going to feel the same way about you, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean that they’re obligated to reciprocate any emotions you have toward them. It’s a hard, extremely bitter pill to swallow, but it is reality, and the sooner she accepts that, the better off she’ll be.

“Have you ever been in love before,” she asks suddenly, bringing my attention back to her tear-streaked face.

I raise my brow, surprised by the question, but I answer honestly. “No.”

She nods with a tight smile, wiping her eyes again as she does. “You’re lucky, then,” she says, her breathy voice drenched in sadness. “You might want to keep it that way…for your own sake.”

I almost wish I could tell her that she’s wrong and that she just needs to wait for the right guy to come along and he’ll see her for the wonderful woman that she is. That he’ll treat and cherish her the way she deserves to be, but I know that would be a large, steaming pile of lies and bullshit. So I just stay silent.

She gives me another forced, tight smile before she walks away, glancing once more at the bar entrance with the same solemn, desperate expression she had on while she spoke to Rory.

As I watch her walk away, I can’t help but wonder if she’d still think I was lucky if she truly knew the depths and pits of my own current, crooked situation.

I’m willing to bet everything I have—however little that may be—that she’d take unrequited love with a single guy over whoring herself out to a married one any day of the week.

***