Right Through Me

F I F T E E N

"Are you sure you should be working today, Lina?" Leslie finally asked after clocking in and readying the exam rooms.

"What do you mean? I'm fine," I assured her but she saw through me.

"No, you're everything but fine," she said, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay working today?"

"Yes, yes," I told her, giving her a weak smile. "I called off for tonight so I can have the evening to visit her."

"But she died--"

"No, Leslie. Nothing. Don't talk about it. I will be fine," I said quickly, looking at her sternly. "Let's get through today, okay?"

* * * * *

Get through today, huh?

Yeah, I made it through the work day. Barely. But I made it. Now, I sat inside the bar around the corner from the clinic, already wasted after drinking nearly five beers and having six shots. I stared into my sixth beer, my head leaning on my hand as I let my thoughts consume me.

"I don't need your help."

"You were about to insult me."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Because your father killed my brother and my dad."

"You're one hell of a woman."

"Oh, god," I mumbled to myself, tears falling down my face. "I'm such a horrible daughter, aren't I, mom? I can't even respect your memory on your anniversary."

Instead I'm thinking of that giant brute who's done nothing but been rude to me. Why am I thinking about him now of all times?

"Two more shots!" I called, raising my hand so the bartender could see me.

"What are you doing?"

Slowly, I lifted my head to see, none other than, Donovan sitting across from me in my booth. Also, in that moment, the bartender placed my two shots before me and I reached out to grab one but Donovan snatched them away.

"I'm thinking about you and now I'm seeing you?" I asked, looking the hallucination straight in the eye. "What do you want? Go away already. This day is about my mother, it shouldn't be about you."

"So you're sitting here getting wasted in memory of your mother?"

"I never asked you if it made sense," I barked, belching from the consumption of liquor. 

"What are you doing, Lina?"

"Leave me alone already."

"Why are you here?"

"Stop it!" I snapped. "I'm here because five years ago, on this night, my mother died on my table. She was depressed, consumed with guilt and grief once my dad was thrown in prison; she drank and drank and stuck her nose in the wrong people's business. Five years ago, on this night, she got shot. Not once, not twice, but three times. Five years ago, I tried to save her in my clinic, in my exam room, I tried to save her life. She was only my fifth patient and she died on my table. I couldn't save her and because of that she's dead and now...well, now, I have no one."

I stopped to take another chug of my beer and sighed in relief at the bitter taste of the liquid. "And now, on this night, five year's later; instead of thinking about her and the horrible memories I have with her, I'm thinking about you. A giant, selfish, egotistical brute who only cares about his won well-being and no one else's."

"Are you done now?"

"No, I'm not," I began, taking another gulp of beer. "What's more annoying is that I still can't figure out why I help you, why I torture myself and deal with your horrible attitude towards everyone. Usually, when someone like you crawls into my clinic I treat them and they move on and I move on but ever since the first night I helped you, I couldn't move on. All I wanted to do was help you and I have no idea why. It's so much more than how I feel towards random patient's at work."

He was silent, he stared at me, his face emotionless but his eyes warm and forgiving. 

"You don't even care about me. I'm only setting myself up for disaster. Now, give me my shots," I said, looking down at the two shots before him.

In a swift movement he picked them up and swallowed them easily, placing the shot-glasses upside-down on the table.

"This is very unprofessional for a doctor."

"Everyone falls apart sometimes."

He remained silent, his eyes narrowing at me. I found myself chuckling quietly under his gaze, tears falling down my cheeks. 

"I'm such an idiot," I mumbled. "To think that spilling all of this to a hallucination would make things better."

"You're one hell of a woman."

"Yeah, I seem to be getting that a lot lately," I grumbled, finishing my beer in one last gulp. "Hey, another IPA over here!"

"Enough, Lina," he said. "You've had enough to drink already."

"Oh buzz off."

"Tim, hon har fått nog [she's had enough]," he said. The bartender, Tim, nodded his head in understanding and worked on serving the customers sitting at the bar.

"What do you want from me, Donovan?" I asked weakly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "You send very mixed signals all the time. One minute you don't want me near, the next you're complimenting my work and then you're back to yelling at me; so, which is it, Donovan?"

"Get up, I'm taking you home."

"No."

Donovan stood to his towering height, flashing his tight leather pants, his bare chest and fitted leather jacket, paired with big leather combat boots. He held his hand out for me, his face still void of expression.

"It seems alcohol really changes a person," he commented. "You probably shouldn't go back to the clinic like this."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Sighing heavily, he grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the booth and into his chest. In a swift movement, he had me thrown over his shoulder, my stomach digging uncomfortably into his shoulder.

"Put me down," I struggled to say, trying desperately to hold in my vomit. "Donovan."

He set me down outside and I rushed to the side of the building, puking the contents of my stomach on the pavement. My head pounded and my throat burned afterward and I stumbled back, Donovan already there to catch me.

"Wait a second--" I began, my eyes barely open. "You're really here, aren't you?"

Right after I asked, darkness consumed me and I went limp in his arms.