ᴍʏ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ✩ ᴛᴢ11

TWENTY SIX

penelope

i sit in my large office with a heating pad on my back while i type away with charting. i groan and adjust the thin, flimsy pad for what feels like the hundredth time this afternoon. a sudden fit of anger rushes through me when it doesn't sit where i want even after adjusting it. i hastily grab the heating pad and throw it across the room, huffing and going back to my charting.

i don't notice my coworker and mentor, dr. stone coming into my doorway, his eyes wide as he knocks on my door. i'm annoyed before i can even glimpse up to see who's knocking in the first place.

"what!" i snap.

dr. stone's eyes widen just like they did when he saw me assault my poor heating pad-which i will be lucky if it still works from the way i violent ripped it away from the outlet. i sigh and run my finger through my hair when i realize it's just him.

"sorry," i mumble, huffing out.

he sits in my chair across from my desk, propping his ankle on top of his knee. his pink and blue unicorn socks popping through his navy blue dress pants. i glance at them and can't help but let out a short and breathy laugh. his eyes advert to his socks.

"emma," he nods and laughs as well.

emma is dr. stone's four year old daughter who is a spitting image of her father with her dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. he lets her pick his socks out every morning.

"no," i sarcastically say. "i thought the infamous dr. stone would choose the very fashionable and professional unicorn socks." he playfully rolls his eyes, pushing my cup of pens over on my desk as he tries to make a point.

"are you doing okay?" he asks.

well way to just rip the bandaid off, peter.

"i'm fine-why?" i ask, eyebrows knitting together.

he raises his eyebrow. "well for starters i watched you attack your heating pad five minutes ago. you snapped at me when i knocked on the door, and you've been walking around the clinic like a geriatric woman for the past week and a half."

"ugh, peter!" i groan.

"ugh, penelope!" he mocks me. "what's going on?"

i hold the weight of my head up with my palm. "i hate that you're a neurologist. noticing everyone's behaviors all the time-it's really invasive you know."

he stares at me. his eyebrow staying in place, high on his brow bone. he looks like a dad who just caught his teenager lying and he's waiting for an explanation. i huff.

"i don't know," i shrug. "i'm just exhausted."

exhausted doesn't even begin to explain it. i slept nearly 13 hours last night and i feel like i could go home and sleep another 13. my job that i once loved has me dreading walking through the clinic doors and the worst of it all? my alcohol abstinence still hasn't subsided.

"mentally or physically?" he questions.

i drop my head and give him a frown. "both unfortunately."

"what's changed in your life recently that could have you feeling this way?" it's like i'm sitting in front of a god damn psychiatrist.

"i thought you were my friend." i blankly stare at him.

he nods. "friend and mentor. i am, but it doesn't hurt to do a little shrinking from time to time. picked it up from dave." he's almost giddy when he talks about dr. hubbard, our psychiatrist-who is also peter's best friend and college roommate.

i roll my eyes. "well let's see-" i think. "i had all the stress of celeste's wedding planning. the bridal shower, the engagement party, the bachelorette party, making sure everything ran smoothly during the wedding. then, i was sent on a what i thought was going to be a relaxing vacation only to find out the person i absolutely hate was there-"

"hate is a strong word." he interrupts.

"whatever," i take a breath. "find out i have to bunk up with him for two weeks in a last attempt to get along with him for our friends sake. we end up flirting with each other hard-then! then peter! i go on a date with this pro football player-one of which trevor crashes the date and kisses me in the rain."

"that's a kinda poetic." he smiles. "what football player?"

"doesn't matter. we end up hook-we end up getting very close during the trip and become friends? i don't know what we are at this point, but he takes me on an excursion from hell where an venomous snake falls into my lap and i fall down a god damn waterfall and am still sore from it! now i'm back, i'm exhausted, i'm grumpy, everything i used to like before trevor-i hate now! food, drinks, movies, everything!" i rant.

peter stares at me, his hand placed on his chin. eyes widened slightly as he waits for me to finish my rant session. i take in everything i just said. the commons denominator of all my issues being trevor.

"oh my god," i whisper, looking up at the older man who sits in front of me. "do you think trevor is the reason for all this? he's bringing out the worst in me!?"

he gives me a knowing look. "i think he has something to do with it."

the look on his face is suspicious when he gets up to leave my office. i glare at him, attempting to study his behavior but i fail miserably. i feel bad that i've just ranted about trevor so harshly.

"i say give yourself some time to think." he points a finger gun at me.

the action makes me eye twitch. he's so painfully millennial. "two thousand one called." i advert my eyes back to my computer.

"yeah? what'd they say? they want their finger guns back?" peter waves his hands.

"no," i type. "they hit the second tower."

"dear god you know how to leave someone absolutely speechless."

i clutch my chest. "thank you peter."

"not in a good way!"

-

i have to excuse myself from a consultation with dr. hubbard when i feel so light headed i nearly pass out. god i hope peter doesn't find me like this. i sit in a hard chair that's placed in the hallway, merely for decoration and not sitting. i hold my head hoping my dizziness will subside, but i just gets worse. the room spins, my vision goes blurry, and i think i start having an anxiety attack when i feel myself almost fade out of consciousness. then comes the nausea, the spinning room triggering my motion sickness. i hardly make it to the bathroom before i dry heave over the toilet. very glamorous.

and as gross as it is, i sit myself down on the bathroom floor so my legs don't betray me and give out from underneath me. i groan in annoyance and frustration. i should have listened to my body and gone to the doctor after the rafting incident.

i pull my phone out, contemplating texting trevor to pass the time. but then i think back on the things i said to peter. he's the reason i'm feeling this way. he's the main source of it all. and just when i'm about to shut my phone off, the hot devil himself texts me.

from: trevor zegras
How are you feeling today sweet girl

i bite my lip. do i lie to him so he doesn't worry or do i not say anything back at all?

from: trevor zegras
How are the sweet girls doing ;) i'm still sorry for squeezing too hard

that text elicits a laugh from me. i sigh and type a quick reply to trevor before deciding it's time i should go back to the consultation i so rudely bailed on.

to: trevor zegras
feeling better. can't talk, at work.