Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

I tried not to cry as I turned and trudged back into my room.

My arm ached and my ribs felt like they were on fire. I wondered if maybe I should have stayed in the hospital, but I knew that wasn’t a long-term plan. I could keep Cosimo and his thugs away for what, a few more days, but then I had to face them sooner or later. I closed my bedroom door and collapsed on top of my tiny twin mattress and pulled my sheets around me.

I stared at the white ceiling then let my eyes drift to the navy blue walls with geometric painting prints in simple black frames placed at random intervals. I had a thing for minimalist stuff, and my room reflected my taste: bare desk with an old MacBook in the center, tattered white chair, fuzzy white carpet, sleek dresser. I’d furnished it all myself with my own money and moved all my old childhood stuff out over the years. It was the best I could do with my limited resources.

I helped my mom with rent and utilities, and saved everything else. She sometimes tried to talk me out of pitching in, but I wasn’t sure I could live with myself if I didn’t at least give something. I was twenty-three and still living with my mom: it would be too pathetic if I let her pay for all my food and bills.

I roll over onto my side and squeeze my eyes shut. Right away I see that doctor again with his handsome smile, his tilted head—and I feel his hands on my body. There was spark between us, a spark I hadn’t expected, but it was there and burned with a white-hot flash that drove me crazy. I wanted to kiss him right there in the stairwell, even though I hated him too, hated him for getting involved when he shouldn’t have—and for eavesdropping on my most embarrassing conversation.

There was nothing he could do for me, unless he wanted to pay off my debt, which I wouldn’t accept anyway. It was bad enough that Cosimo thought he owned me, but if I let Gavin give the man money, then I’d truly be bought and sold.

I let out a groan, sat up, and headed into the bathroom. I looked like shit: bags under my eyes, hair a mess. I ran the shower and stood as the room filled with steam and tried to picture marrying a stranger, some mafia bastard. I tried to imagine living in his house, sleeping in his bed, and yes, letting him undress me, letting him fuck me. I felt sick and gagged, almost retched into the toilet. I spit once down the shower drain and hugged my knees to my chest for a few minutes, forcing the thought from my mind, before undressing and showering away the hospital.

When I was done, I felt better. I got changed into fresh clothes and went to make myself some tea. As I put the kettle on and got down my favorite Elizabeth Warren mug, I heard footsteps on the stairs outside of our apartment door.

I froze like a rabbit. My ears perked up. I heard the water bubbling in the kettle, but I didn’t look at it. I stared wild-eyed as the footsteps stopped right outside the door and I thought I heard male voices, two of them, one a little lower than the other. I couldn’t make out the words but the tone was clear: they were arguing about something.

It was them, the guys from the hospital. I knew it the second I heard their steps. I knew they’d show up sooner or later, but I thought I had more time to plan and figure out what I was going to do. I wanted to spend the night here and get my stuff together, figure out if I had any money, and figure out a course of action from there—instead, they were already outside.

One of them banged on the door. I jumped, let out a yelp, then covered my mouth.

“Are you in there?” he shouted. “Did you hear that?”

A muffled response.

Another knock at the door. I turned away and shut off the stove before walking fast into my room. They banged on the door again, and again, and then the banging turned into something else, more insistent, more violent.

As I grabbed a bag and started shoving clothes into it, I realized they were trying to break down the door. I wanted to scream as I scrambled for my stuff, throwing a random assortment of underwear, socks, shirts, jeans, and my MacBook into the lime-green backpack I used to take to high school. My head buzzed as I tried to figure out what the heck I was going to do, when one enormous thud was followed by a metallic ping, like the sound of a screw bouncing off a hardwood floor.