Twisted Hate (Twisted 3)

My steps faltered for a second outside the relatives’ room before my hand closed around the doorknob and twisted. It was like I was watching a movie of myself—I was here, but not really.

Tanya’s parents jumped up when they saw me, their faces drawn tight with worry. A minute later, the worry exploded into horror.

“I’m sorry…did everything we could…”

I kept talking, trying to sound sympathetic and professional, to sound anything but numb, but I barely heard my own words. I only heard the mother’s keening wail and the father’s angry shouts of denial, which collapsed into shuddering cries of grief as he gathered his wife into his arms.

Each sound drove a phantom spike through my chest until I was so littered with them I couldn’t breathe.

“My baby. Not my baby,” Tanya’s mom sobbed. “She’s here. She’s still here. I know she is.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Not my footsteps, but the thundering of a broken heart.

I maintained my stoic mask until I ran out of useless words and left the family to their grief. I had a dozen other patients to treat, but I needed a minute, just one minute, to myself.

I quickened my steps until I reached the nearest bathroom. The numbness spread from my chest to my limbs, but when I closed the door behind me, the soft click of the lock sliding into place unleashed a sharp sob that ripped through the air.

It took me several seconds to realize it came from me.

The pressure building behind my ribcage finally exploded, and I doubled over the sink, dry heaving until my ears rang and my throat was raw.

Tanya’s lifeless body on the stretcher. Ava in the emergency room after she almost drowned. My mom’s open, empty eyes after she overdosed on pills.

The memories ran together in a macabre stream.

I gagged again, but I hadn’t eaten since I started my shift eight hours ago and nothing came out.

By the time my dry heaves faded, sweat clung to my skin and my head pounded with tension.

I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with cold water before paper toweling off the moisture. The rough brown material scratched against my skin, and when I caught my reflection in the mirror, I saw a faint reddish mark from where I’d rubbed it against my cheek.

Faint purple smudges beneath my eyes, sallow complexion, white lines of tension bracketing my mouth. I looked like hell.

God, I needed a strong drink. Or, better yet, a vacation with several strong drinks.

I set my jaw and tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash. By the time I returned to the main floor, I’d fixed my professional mask back in place.

I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in grief or self-pity. I had a job to do.

“Hi there.” I smiled at my next patient and held out my hand. “I’m Dr. Chen…”

The rest of my shift passed without any major incidents, but I couldn’t shake my clammy skin or erratic heartbeat.

“Are you okay?” Clara asked when I clocked out.

“Yep.” I avoided her sympathetic gaze. “See you tomorrow.”

I didn’t give her a chance to respond before I headed to the locker room. I usually showered at home, but I was desperate to wash the blood off. It stuck to my skin, thick and cloying, invisible to everyone except me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and stayed beneath the water until it ran cold and a deep chill settled into my bones. Normally, I couldn’t wait to leave the building after a shift, but right now, nothing sounded worse than being alone.

My friends were all working, and it was too early to go to a bar, which left me with one remaining option.

I toweled off, got dressed, and fished my phone out of my jeans pocket to text Jules only to find a message already waiting from her, sent twenty minutes ago.

Jules: You off work yet?

Me: Just got out.

Me: Where are you?

It was Tuesday, so she wasn’t working at the clinic today.

Jules: SciLi, in the back.

Relief rattled my lungs. That was within walking distance.

Me: Don’t move. Be there in fifteen.