Page 80 of The Fall

“Don’t bother, baby. I knew that wasn’t you talking.” She picked up the phone, ignoring my attempt to apologize. I waited for her to get off the line, but I could tell she was giving me the brush-off. I felt terrible.

Just become a nun. You can be a doctor nun. A nun doctor. You will be married to the Lord, have renewed virginity, and your precious guilt. A catholic nun doctor…a new dream.

“Dr. Whitaker, a moment.” I looked to see Dr. Nichols addressing me. I grabbed my tablet and followed him quickly.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this at the beginning of your shift, but Mrs. Tanner passed last night.”

“What?” I took a step back. “Why wasn’t I paged?”

Ted Nichols was head of oncology. He was one of the best doctors in the state of Texas. I admired him from afar and was excited about working with him. Upon my arrival, he’d taken an interest in my training that thrilled me to no end.

“I was here,” he said smugly.

I was thrilled about working with him—until that very moment.

“That was my patient. I wasn’t aware you’d taken the case.” Confrontation was clear in my tone.

“It was late, and there was nothing you could’ve done,” he remarked, finishing the conversation and heading for the door.

“Excuse me,” I said defiantly. “I was her doctor. She was my patient. I’m thankful for your consideration regarding my R & R, but I insist on being contacted when the condition of one of my patients worsens and needs to be addressed.”

“Lighten up, Dallas. It’s going to happen a lot.”

“Not with me,” I said as I took a step forward.

“Mighty aggressive this morning, Whitaker, but you’re going to need that R & R.” He left the room without another word as I fumed in the corner. I made my rounds to both day and night shift nurses, letting them know exactly how I felt about being informed. If my patients so much as sneezed and shit, I wanted to know.

I took a much-needed break around 2:00 P.M. and went downstairs to stare mindlessly at the large, triple-tiered fountain in the lobby. Water had a way of soothing me, and I could feel a headache coming on. My pocket vibrated, and I ignored it, taking a bite of my apple. When it vibrated a second time, I pulled it out to silence it and saw a text from Rose.

ROSE: I’m coming over tonight. This is bullshit. I miss my sister.

I quickly texted back.

DALLAS: I second that. I need you too.

ROSE: See you soon.

DALLAS: I’ll order a trough of food just for you.

ROSE: You do that, BIG D!

DALLAS: Kiss my ass, Rosie.

My sister ate like she was training for the Olympics and never gained an ounce of weight. If I ate one donut, I could practically hear my scale tick up. My phone vibrated again.

DEAN: Beatrice just felt me up. Where are you?

He was looking for me. When it came to patience, this man had none, but that was one of the things I loved most about him. Every single piece of me wanted to go save him from Beatrice’s clutches—wanted to answer his texts. I just wanted to be near him.

Years ago, I would have jumped at any sign of his attention. Now I was purposefully avoiding it.

I spent months curled up in my dorm room, listening to any song that held me prisoner on repeat. No amount of prompting from Cammie or anyone else could shake me out of the funk I was in. I’d bought a Columbia onesie when I found out I was pregnant and had planned to give it to him when I told him about the baby. The way I’d planned it—the vast number of scenarios that I’d imagined—would never have had me clutching that fucking onesie years later with no baby and no Dean.

I fell down.

Circling the drain had taken me so far away from the Dallas he’d left. I’d almost lost my scholarship at Austin. Then my first year of medical school, I became dependent on Adderall. I became an uncontrollable menace and got even more problematic—though my grades were soaring. I had no issues with my daily activities. It was the not sleeping at all and the consistent inevitable crash that brought me to the emergency room a record number of times during my second year of medical school. When I finally kicked the super pill to the curb my second year and was forced to work my load stimulant-free, I decided recreational sex was the best way to relieve the tension and never-ending heartache. However, true to my hedonistic nature, I didn’t limit my party to just one partner. I had laughed in the face of two of the guys I had been juggling when they confessed their love to me—quickly replacing them with two more.

I got sad, I got mad, and then I got disgusted—with myself.