Medicine Man

He might. Not to mention, he’s blocking the fucking door.

“Out, as in…” I trail off.

Actually, fuck it.

Fuck all of it.

I’m not running away. I’m tired of running, feeling like I have to hide. I have to lie. I have to keep the peace because the alternative is unthinkable. It’s not.

The truth is that I have feelings for this man in front of me. He’s my doctor, my psychiatrist. A lot older than me. But I don’t care.

I’m taking a chance.

“Out as in, on a date. Are you going on a date with Josie?”

“Who told you?”

“I overheard a couple of nurses talking.”

His expression is unreadable. He’s gone from being confused to totally closed off, completely shut, and it hits me like a sharp dart.

“And what if I’m going?”

That dart was poisonous. I can feel it. It’s spreading everywhere. My legs, my arms, my chest, my stomach. It burns. Like my veins are on fire.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Why?”

Okay, here goes. I can do this.

I can fucking do this.

I blow out a breath, and say, “Because I want you to go with me.”

The only reason I’m standing on my own two feet is because he hasn’t looked away from me. There’s power in his eyes. Maybe even in that beautiful, cold face of his.

“With you.” He makes it sound like a flat statement, and it’s not helping my confidence. Like, at all. But I’ve said it now and well, I can’t take it back.

I don’t want to.

“Yes. When I get out of here. In a little over two weeks.”

“Why? Why should I go with you?”

Taking another deep breath, I whisper, “Because I want you to. Because I want you. And because I think if you tried, you might want me, too…”

I trail off when I see a muscle jump on his cheek and he breathes deep. His shirt-encased chest rises and falls with it. I don’t know what to make of it.

Actually, I do know what to make of it. He’s angry.

This was a bad idea. A super fucking bad idea.

What was I thinking? He’s never given me any indication that he likes me. At all. He’s always been so professional and cool and what the fuck was I thinking?

I haven’t done anything like this before. I’ve never had the urge to. Not until him. Not until I heard he was going out with someone else.

Maybe I should backtrack, after all. Maybe I should –

“What about Lee?”

At his words, my thoughts come to a screeching halt. I feel a jolt. In my chest. Like something really heavy fell on me.

“What about the boyfriend you love? What was it he called you again? Right. Snow princess. He calls you that, doesn’t he? He called you that when he pulled you into a dark alley, pushed you into a wall and pressed up against you. What about him? I thought you were heartbroken. You were so heartbroken that you jumped from a roof. So, have you moved on, then?”

My vision’s filled with him, the line of his broad shoulders, the strands of his rich hair grazing the starched collar of his shirt. Somewhere in the past few seconds, Simon walked closer to me. So close that I have to crane my neck up to look at his face.

I’ve never seen him like this before. So angry. More than angry. More than furious even. He’s leaning over me, like a thundering cloud, all dark and dangerous.

“What about that love? What happened to that?”

“H-he cheated on me.”

“Right. He kissed someone. What was her name again?”

I shake my head but I can’t stop my lies from spewing out. “Zoe.”

“Yes. Zoe. Tell me Willow, is Zoe real or did you make her up too?”

A few moments ago, I couldn’t breathe because there was something heavy sitting on my chest. But now, I can’t control the breaths I’m taking. They are wild. Fearful. They are crazy.

Oh God.

“Huh, Willow? Is Zoe real or did you make her up like you did Lee?”

His face is flashing with fury. Heated, scorching. My eyes water. My skin stings. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simon stays silent, but I feel something. I look down and watch him sliding my book out of my grasp. I want to tell him to stop but I can’t form the words. His knuckles are leached of any color. They look white, almost like the color of the walls surrounding us, this place. This godawful place.

“Interesting shirt,” he murmurs dangerously.

I can’t remember what I’m wearing. Something with a Harry Potter quote, I think. His eyes go through the fabric of my shirt. His intensity is so potent and all I want to do is hide myself.

Always hide myself.

How could I have forgotten that along with being a fighter, I’m a liar, too? I have lied to him so many times. I’ve made up stories, told him things that weren’t true.