Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 . . . ❜ 018. does she mouth, "fuck you forever"?
━━━━━━━━━━━
"You're not Oncology."
That's what he said first.
She inhaled sharply as she heard his voice, cautiously crystalline as it spilled over the threshold of his office. It was said to the back of her head, chin tilted downwards as she read over a pamphlet that she'd found on his desk.
Beth was sitting there, one leg crossed over the other and teeth buried sharply into her right cheek, almost in restraint. She could almost physically feel the hives that burned against her clothing as she registered his very strained attempt at amusement––
Three words, frankly, had never been so romantic.
"They cancelled," She said instead, smoothly and nonchalantly. She didn't look over at him, instead just stayed there, reading the pamphlet as if his whole existence disinterested him. "Something about the patient going into remission so the surgery isn't needed... amazing for the patient... terrible for your pay check, right?"
Jesus Fuck, Beth, her inner voice said to her, What happened to playing nice?
She didn't look back as she spoke, but just heard the way his foot seemed to catch very slightly in the doorway. She could picture him, caught off-guard by the suddenness of her: one moment she's evading him at all costs, and the next she's burning a little too brightly in his office.
Yeah, nice was pretty boring. She'd lost patience with that a hot minute ago.
Beth hoped it was hesitation she could feel in his entrance.
(It wasn't. It was just preparation.)
What's the matter, baby? Beth wanted to ask with a voice like honey, turning and giving him an innocent smile, I made an appointment just like you told me to.
But, she took her time and he took his.
"I'm sure I'll live," Mark said, after too long of a pause, "I don't know if you've heard but, I've made quite a name for myself––"
"Sure have," Beth breezed a little too easily, "Just this time, you're a big name in a little bit of a different crowd, huh?"
He didn't respond to that.
Beth bit the tip of her tongue as she stared into an image of a child smiling with a cleft lip, printed under some bullshit about how he, Mark Everett Sloan, had bolstered the future of surgical innovation. (Future my ass.) The way he'd treated women had been straight out of the 1950's––
