Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Fifty-Two

Music blares through the night, streaming loudly through the entire two-story duplex, the bass of the speakers booming through the floor. There are red plastic cups and fake cobwebs scattered everywhere. Halloween-themed decorations line the walls and furniture, and there’s an abundance of candy and candy-flavored alcohol all over the countertops.

Loud, rowdy voices and even louder Pop music fill my ears, and in spite of the loudness around me, it’s hard to ignore the obnoxious laughter of some fellow dressed up as Gandalf sitting right across from me. We’re finally here at the ‘infamous’ Halloween house party, and after tonight, my ears probably won’t ever function again from the sheer torture I’m subjecting them to.

My body is slightly sinking into an old, worn couch as I grip one of the many identical red cups in my hand. I’m surrounded, in a house full of people I don’t know, and the only person I do know, is busy flirting with one of the basketball players over at the ridiculously large pool table behind me.

We’ve barely been here for thirty minutes and I’m already bored—and annoyed—out of my mind. I absently look to my right and I see a group of girls in various R-rated costumes dancing and singing along—quite badly, I might add—to a Britney Spears song a few feet away from me.

Everyone, including Trixie, is present and lively, enjoying the night and everything else it has to offer.

I, on the other hand, am on a completely different wavelength. I’m here, but I’m also not here. My mind is absent, in some other place and preoccupied with other things that don’t involve red cups, cobwebs, and rowdy people in costumes that are only slightly less revealing than see-through lingerie.

A guy dressed up as Ace Ventura comes up to me for the third or fourth time since I’ve been here, holding out yet another red cup to me.

“Here,” he says, smiling eerily behind his dark shades and bringing me out of my thoughts. “Try some of the Halloween punch. It’s really good,” he offers for the millionth time.

His “Hawaiian vacation” shirt, tight pants, and slicked-back hair only add to his creepy demeanor instead of offering comic relief. To say that I’m leery of him would be the understatement of the century.

I shake my head and give the same reply I did before. “No thanks, I’m good,” I gesture with a slight raise of my cup, showing him that I still have a good amount of whatever it is Trixie gave me when we got here.

It’s sickeningly obvious that “Ace” is trying to get me drunk—or more likely, roofie the hell out of me—and is making no attempt whatsoever to conceal his intentions. Frankly, his approach is beyond tacky, not to mention pretty insulting. The whole exchange just feels cheap and gross. I mean, jeez, what the hell ever happened to at least trying to be inconspicuous?

As I try in vain to ignore his annoying and persistent advances, I only know one thing for sure; I’m really starting to regret coming here. I’m pretty sure I would have been better off if I’d stayed at home. Instead of keeping my mind off things I’d rather not be thinking about, all this ‘party’ is doing is pissing me the hell off.

My eyes keep darting toward the door. I honestly contemplate leaving several times, and I feel extremely tempted to just walk out of there when Ace Ventura offers me yet another drink.

This guy seriously doesn’t get the hint! Or more likely, doesn’t care enough to take it. Either way, I’m not at all in the mood to deal with his—or anyone else’s—bullshit tonight.

I get up just as Ace tries to make another pass at me, thankfully dodging him and his uncoordinated body. I make a bolt for it, walking briskly to the balcony because it’s the only escape in sight.

As soon as I step outside, frigid air pierces through the flimsy layers of my clothes and shoots straight into my bones.

“Jesus,” I mutter, wincing as I brace myself against the iciness seeping into my skin. As cold as it is out here, I’ll take having popsicles for legs over dealing with a sloppy, drunk asshole and torturing my ears with obnoxious music.

I slide the door closed behind me and exhale long and deep, willing my lungs to expunge all the tiredness and frustration I feel along with the air that’s leaving them, but I guess life doesn’t work that way.

I lean against the wooden railing, putting virtually all my weight on it as my eyes cast themselves on the view ahead; buildings and bare deciduous trees scattered all over campus, dimly lit by sparse yellow lights.

Even in the darkness of winter, the stretch of the university is quite visible from here. The view is great—relatively, anyway—showcasing the better part of campus and all it has to offer.

I remember the first time I had laid my eyes upon it. I had been so excited to be here, ecstatic and hopeful for the future and everything it had in store for me—until I realized that the future had nothing but pain and misfortune as far as I was concerned.

In just six years, looking at the same place I had first seen at eighteen only reminds me of how much I have lost; time, my family, my friends, chance at a normal life…myself. Most of all, I’ve lost myself. So much that I’ve grown to accept the incessant hollowness that’s been with me ever since. A void that won’t go away. A hollowness that can’t be filled.

It’s hard to believe how different I was back then, practically a lifetime ago; completely different from the person I am now. Everyone changes somewhat over time, but it was different for me. Certain outlooks and views change with experiences, but the fundamentals always remain the same.

Except with me.

I had changed fundamentally, at the very core of my being and existence. I had become someone else entirely, someone others didn’t recognize any longer, someone even I couldn’t recognize anymore after a while.

And I learned to be okay with that.

I sigh in exasperation. I came here to get my mind off everything, not plunge deeper into my self-pity woes and…

The balcony door slides open, and I turn to see who it is.

Immediately, my eyes are met with an immaculate, white lab coat, and instantly, the sight of it makes my brain fire up a single, distinct image;

Frost’s image.

My eyes remain glued to the white fabric for some unknown stretch of time before I even notice the body that’s wearing it. I eventually look up to see its owner staring at me, and despite the shadows that are cast over most of his face and his sandy brown hair, I can make out his slightly quizzical expression that transcends his dark eyes. For some reason, he screams frat boy even if he’s in a lab coat and scrubs instead of khakis and a polo shirt.

Suddenly, the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the relative silence, and I finally notice that there’s someone else standing right beside him—a fairly tall brunette, wearing a rather scanty nurse costume.

She shoots me a death glare, her eyes narrow slits and borderline homicidal, and it’s then that I realize that they are a couple. This whole time, I’ve been staring at her boyfriend, and quite blatantly, too.

Christ, this is just not my day.

I can’t seem to escape unwanted attention for shit.

The “nurse” continues to stare me down, but as awkward as the situation is for me, there’s obviously no point in trying to explain that I didn’t mean to oogle her boyfriend, considering her eyes alone would have killed me ten times over already if they were even remotely capable of murder—which, with the way she’s looking at me, I kind of have to wonder if they are.

I quickly avert my eyes, but not before noticing the pleased expression on the guy’s face. He obviously thinks I was checking him out—much like his girlfriend, despite their polar reactions. And that’s definitely not a good thing. Flattered boyfriend plus pissed off girlfriend equals a very bad migraine for Ramona—and probably worse. So what I need to do is exit stage left. Right now.

I don’t want to give either of them—mainly the girlfriend, really—further opportunity to blow an innocent misunderstanding way out of proportion.

Plus, the last thing I need right now is to be dragged into some unnecessary relationship drama that doesn’t even concern me. Besides, I’ve had enough fresh air and enough time to be alone with my wandering thoughts; thoughts that seem to keep coming back to the same person.

Damn Dexter Frost.

I’m miles and miles away from him, surrounded by over a hundred people on one of the busiest nights of the semester, and somehow, he still manages to find a way to occupy all the space in my brain.

I sigh.

So much for a distraction.

***