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

Chapter Eighty

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Two Days Later...

I let out a long, tired sigh. I've been trying to read the same sentence for the last half hour. I can't focus. I can't do anything but think about my life's situation and what it really means in the long run; potentially die from cancer, or never sing again and give up any chances I ever had at pursuing my dream. I've always wanted to sing. That's the only reason I even came back to finish college. The only reason I've been busting my ass trying to work so I can pay off my tuition. The only reason I've been able to move on with life and keep it relatively together after my parents passed. Music is my life. What exactly would I be saving if it meant I couldn't have it anymore? I'd be a zombie; a walking, talking shell of the person I am now, and I've already lost too much as it is. I can't give this up, too. I just won't. Physical death would be easier than having to live a life of constant resentment, misery, and regret. I won't do it.

Besides, it's not as if removing the tumor would guarantee that another one would never form, or that I'd be free from any other type of cancer for sure. For all I know, they could take the tumor out, I lose my ability to sing, and then another tumor forms somewhere else and then I'd be back in the same situation, only with nothing to live or fight for. No dreams or aspirations to look forward to or pursue. Frost had even admitted as much when I asked him—though it didn't really sound like much of an admission coming from him. More like the beginnings of another attempt to persuade me to change my mind about the surgery. I mean, of course it's easy for him to tell me to get the surgery. To him, this is a pretty cut and dry, black and white scenario. A 'no-brainer' that I shouldn't even have to think twice about.

"There are plenty of other careers out there for you to choose from" and "It's not too late to switch majors" he'd said. I can't even explain how pissed off I was hearing those unbelievably insensitive words falling so casually from his perfect lips.

If it were only that simple.

I didn't just choose music. Music had chosen me as well. As it had my grandfather. I can't imagine doing anything else. There is simply no other option for me. And this isn't me being stubborn or idealistic. This is me being honest with myself.

Dwelling in the aftermath of my life's latest unexpected turn has been...well...it sucks balls.

And ass. And...everything else that sucks. I realize I'm still recovering from the news and all the other events of that day. I also realize that I've pretty much been isolating myself from everyone—including Trixie and Bill—and right now, I have mixed feelings about going out and socializing tonight. Okay, I totally just lied. My feelings about going out and having to be around people and forcing myself to smile and make annoying small talk are pretty damn singular; I don't want to do it. But the Mary Higgins' dance is tonight and I'd already promised Drake I'd go with him, and it's kind of short notice to cancel right now, although I'm really tempted to call him up and do just that.

He'd insisted on picking me up from my place, but now I almost wish I hadn't agreed to that—not that he'd actually given me a chance to disagree, anyway. In fact, I wish I didn't agree to go to the dance, period. But I already said yes and I know that no matter how much I want to, I'd never flake or pull a no-show on Drake. Which is why I despise myself so much right now. He's always good to me. And maybe it might just be the optimist in me—or whatever itty bitty fragments of her are left—but who knows? I might actually have fun. At least, I hope I do. But I won't hold my breath.

My mind randomly reels itself back in time to my conversation with Frost yet again, his words resounding in my head, as if the past and present have somehow merged and I'm reliving the moment all over again.

"Screw you."

"Believe when I tell you this, Miss Gallo...I have every intention of doing just that."

Frost had "admitted" that, too - albeit with no hesitation and a hell of a lot more enthusiasm than before - right before he opened up the box in front of me and handed me a cell phone that was inside it. He'd immediately instructed me to use it exclusively to contact him and only him. He, however, did stress that he would be the one to make contact first and that I, under no circumstances, should initiate contact. I have no idea when to expect a call from him, or a text for that matter. I don't even know if someone as uptight as he is communicates through text messages.

Then the good ole' Frosty-eyed doctor sent me on my merry way—to the most talkative gynecologist on the planet five doors down from his office, "just to make sure everything is fine and in tact down there," in his own lovely words. Right. Because my vagina would suddenly just decide to up and leave my body and never return or some shit.

It was the most torturous hour of my life. I got tested for absolutely everything you could think of while praying my eardrums didn't commit suicide. Blood tests. Urine tests. Stool tests. The works. And then some. I don't even want to think about the damn Pap smear. Even got my vitals taken again even though it's barely been a week since my last check-up with Frost. You'd think I was being sent off to Mars or some shit. And just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, the crazy OB/GYN finally ended my "glorious" visit to the surgical center by handing me a brand new birth control prescription. Never in a million years could I have ever imagined that this—this crazy, surreal, mind-blowing situation—is how I'd end up finally getting on the pill.

My head was still spinning hours later. I'd looked over my new "exclusive" phone several times when I got back home. I've even jokingly dubbed it the "Ice Block". Not that it actually looks like one. Not even remotely. It's a sleek, gorgeous, slim touchscreen smartphone, and looks like it was just very recently launched. Pretty outlandish and frivolous just for someone you're only going to be screwing a few times, if you ask me. A simple pre-paid burner phone would have done the job, and cost a hell of a lot less. I guess the saying is true; rich people have no idea what to do with their money, spending it in the most absurd and ridiculous ways. But I guess I'm really in no position to talk seeing as not too long ago, I pretty much agreed to be bought by one such rich person—even if just temporarily.

Another tired sigh.

I close my composition textbook, silently resigning any more effort to study tonight. I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I'm not going to get any actual studying done until I can clear my head. I can't remember the last time I've felt so unmotivated to do anything, and with finals coming up soon, I can't afford for things to keep going on like this for much longer.

I make my way over to my room, shuffling along like I'm in the desert and on the verge of dying. I feel so weak and tired, but I know it's the mental and emotional exhaustion taking a toll on my body. I lay in my bed, curling into a fetal position as I let my eyes flutter closed and willing myself not to focus on anything else but the warmth of my blanket and the silence surrounding me. It's both tranquil and unnerving, simultaneously giving me a sense of peace and making me all the more aware that I'm alone. That I'm in this by myself. And I have to deal with it as such.

Just then, the doorbell goes off, forcing my eyes wide open.

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