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

Chapter Eighty-Five

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Two and a Half Weeks Later...

The steam whistle goes off, the makeshift bell blasting its signature roar all over West Campus, signaling that my last final is finally over.

"Alright, time's up everyone," Mr. Belikov, my mechanical composition professor, says. "Stop writing and hand in your exams, please."

It's been a tough week, but I'm just relieved it's over and done with. I put my pencil down and look to find that I'm one of only five people left in the auditorium—including Mr. Belikov and his TA, Shanda.

The two other students get up, but I continue to sit for several more seconds, feeling a particular sense of emptiness and hollowness fill me to the brim—a feeling I haven't felt in six years, not since right before I dropped out of college my freshman year.

I breathe out a tired, slightly depressed sigh, and the action only makes me feel physically weaker and even more sad. When I made the hard decision to come back to school, I never once anticipated that my academic goals would get derailed yet again, not in the way they've been. I never imagined that I'd find myself in a similar bind all over again, experiencing the same feelings of demoralization, losing focus, defeat, demotivation, fatigue, and worst of all, indifference.

I'm not completely there yet, but if the way I feel right now is any indication, I'm bordering pretty damn close to it, and that's not anywhere near where I want to be mentally or emotionally. I don't want to go through any of it again. I can't. I wouldn't be able to survive it a second time. If I lost interest in pursuing music, in singing, there's nothing out there that can or will revive my desire to have even the smallest inkling of living a fulfilling, satisfactory life. There would be no coming back from that after everything I've been through. I know that better than anyone ever could.

I stand slowly, bracing myself against a bout of oncoming lightheadedness. My skull feels like a cheap balloon that's been stretched to capacity, like it's made of flimsy rubber instead of bone, as if it's been pumped full of hot, humid air while the rest of my body feels contrastingly heavy and uncooperative, as if I've just been stuffed with a hundred pounds full of sand and gravel from the neck down. I wish I didn't feel so funked-out, but I guess that pretty much describes my entire existence for most of this semester. It's practically been my M.O. for weeks on end so I suppose it's only fitting that the semester ends with the same "crappy-feeling" theme.

Still, I'm grateful that all my finals went fairly well considering all the bullshit I've been dealing with for the past several weeks. I make it down the center aisle staircase, one heavy step at a time as I hear the last pair of footsteps filtering out of the large room, followed by the soft click of the double doors closing. I hand in my exam, placing the stapled sheets of paper on the table, avoiding my professor's eyes even as I feel his on me. I barely register the generic but soft-spoken "Have a good break" from Shanda. I can only manage to mumble the most unenthusiastic "You too," in response as I head out of the auditorium.

The hallway is mostly empty, with only two or three other people walking about, more than likely getting ready to leave. Usually, I'd meet up with Bill and Trixie after this and we'd all head straight to the Mushroom to get an early start on celebrating the fact that finals are over and to get ourselves into the "holiday spirit". It's actually become something of a tradition between the three of us over the two years I've been here. We've done it every semester without fail, and even during shorter school interims like Fall and Spring Break. But not this time.