Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: New Adult Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Chapter Twenty

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I flip the light switch on and I'm immediately greeted by the sight of my living room; a small, confined space full of utter chaos.

There are books and old newspapers scattered everywhere, littered all over the floor and the counter and the sofa, and there's an ever-growing pile of plastic bottles in the kitchen corner that I should have taken out to recycling over a month ago. It's messy as hell, to say the least, and a perfect reflection of my current state of mind.

I just stand in the open doorway for a few seconds, feeling weak as I regard the disorganized space and knowing good and well that nothing about it will be changing anytime soon. At least not for the better. Not with the way I'm feeling right now.

I lock the door and lean on it for a moment, closing my eyes as I try to decompress from the day. I try to shut everything out, just for a moment, but I can't even seem to manage that. I can't stop worrying. My mind adamantly refuses to take a break, constantly racing with thoughts of everything, past and present. It's almost as if it's become a separate being, no longer part and parcel of me, doing whatever it wants whenever it wants to. It also seems pretty hell-bent on making me miserable, refusing to yield even as I feel the faint, tell-tale throbs that warn of an oncoming headache.

I let out an exhausted sigh—something I seemed to be doing a lot today. I attempt to push myself off the door, and it's such a miserable attempt that I end up leaning back on it in a tired slump.

Another sigh.

I can't even muster the strength to move my body off the damn door, much less to my bedroom.

At least it's nice and toasty in here. The heating is exceptional, despite how old the apartment complex is, and that's one thing I'm incredibly grateful for during winter here. Honestly, the apartment was a godsend considering how expensive it is to live alone on this side of town and relatively close to campus without being stark in the middle of it.

I definitely lucked out with this place. Most landlords charge twice or three times what I pay for my apartment, but Henry's a pretty cool guy, and just happens to be a huge fan of my grandfather's early music, so he cut my rent in half on the condition that I'd get him limited edition and exclusive copies to all his albums and other musical collaborations. Plus, I'm sure he appreciated it when I referred Trixie here the year after I moved in.

He has a thing for her, and has for some time now, although she won't give him the time of day because she can't seem to look past Bill for even a second. She's been stuck on him for so long and I'm afraid she's only going to get hurt in the end. The fact that they're best friends only makes it ten times worse.

And speaking of Bill, I wonder if he's confronted Gina about his suspicions yet. Knowing him, he won't. He won't even so much as allude to it when he's with her. I feel bad for him. I feel bad for Trixie. Fuck, I feel bad for myself! I sigh tiredly as I continue to lean against the hollow door, feeling utterly shitty for all of us.

Several moments later, my phone starts vibrating, forcing me out of my innate pity-party. I fish the device out of my bag as it continues to buzz, getting louder and louder as it does. I feel unusually irritated by the sound. It's like a really annoying bumblebee that won't leave you alone.

I pick up as soon as the phone's in my grasp, frowning slightly as I notice the 'Unknown Caller' display on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Muffin," I hear in response.

I recognize the voice immediately. "Gran?" I ask, my brows drawing closer to each other in question. "Why is your number showing up as unknown?"