The Beauty of Intelligence

2.

•REINA•

People empty me, I have to get away to refill.
-Charles Bukowski

The familiar sensation of my blood pumping through my veins as I scavenge in someone's brain. I've never felt a feeling like it, nothing compares to the power of being able to save a life or to end it. Every surgery I have the weirdest intrusive thought of just making a "mistake" and permanently erasing this human off the planet.

I never act on my intrusive thoughts that would be a weakness on my part but I can't lie and say I haven't come close once or twice. Having someone's life in the balance of my hands gives me an adrenaline rush I've never experienced outside the operating room.

Life tends to be a bore until I snap those rubbery big gloves around my wrist and get to work. I've had plenty of people pull me into hugs thanking me for saving their loved ones' lives but every time I think of putting them in the ER for touching me without permission.

I get it. I do. Their prepubescent brains can't handle the idea of having a loved one die so when they hear it's not going to happen their emotions span out of control and they just can't help themselves but cry in the arms of the person held responsible for being the reason they're not losing someone that day.

It's the simplicity of humanity.

Today I'm dealing with a stage two malignant brain tumor. A fast-growing cancer that spreads throughout the brain. I take my time extracting every last piece of the tumor through the tubular retractor. Hours pass until I'm finished and sew the patient back up.

I lean my head back against my locker feeling exhaustion take over my sore muscles. I've been working my ass off for the past seventy-two hours and I'm finally off. Taking off my scrub cap and throwing it into the locker before grabbing my purse I head my out of the hospital towards my deep burgundy Bugatti.

Cars are something I've always been in love with and when I got enough money I splurged. I only own one car when I could really earn about twenty and it wouldn't even put a dent in my bank account but I live in a penthouse and don't have anywhere to put my cars that are too expensive to be parked in that damn garage.

I speed down the busy streets of Chicago feeling a sense of calm swerving past the other vehicles. The light ahead of me suddenly turns red and I have to press on breaks to prevent from getting hit by the other cars driving across.

"Fuck!" I mutter under my breath a smile creeping onto my lips. I rarely feel this good and when I do I choose to bask in the moment until the heavy weight of darkness crashes onto my shoulders.

The light turns green and I continue driving like the goddamn psychopath I am. The car screeches to a halt as I pull into the garage of my building.

A sigh escapes my lips when I make it onto my floor, feeling a sense of relief. Nothing feels better than being in the comfort of your own home.

When I got my first apartment I never thought I would be able to build a sense of home since I never experienced one. Now sixteen years later I'm living my best life in a place I can call my home.

Sometimes my mind still wanders off to my mother wondering how she's doing and if she's still alive. Slimy little emotions snake up my throat hoping that she's doing okay. But I smash those thoughts as soon as they come because she doesn't deserve not one single thought from my perfectly shaped head.

She never deserved anything besides a slow painful death that I can not but hope that she acquires.

15 years ago

My eyes burned from the long hours of studying over the notes I've written. My roommate softly snores as raindrops pelt the window slowly trickling down. The glass illuminates as a loud crack adorns the sky.

I allow myself to take a break and watch the chaos of a thunderstorm take place outside. I always loved thunderstorms the way the trees shake from the force of the winds and the utter disarray of the sky.

I sit with my legs criss-crossed for ten minutes before I'm interrupted by the low buzzing of my phone. I search my bed for the device pulling up covers and pillows until I find it wedged inside a pillowcase. Hmm.

I answer the unknown caller with a, "Who is this?" I never get phone calls so for an unknown caller to be calling this late a night something has to be up.

"You traitorous bitch," a raspy familiar voice says from the other line. "I should've killed you in my stomach if I had known you were going to be a selfish ungrateful brat."

"Mom?" my voice cracks and I immediately harden myself not letting my emotions take over. I've learned since I was a kid how to keep my emotions in check and I'm not going to fail now since my mother decided to make an unexpected phone call.

"Don't call me that, you don't have the privilege," she seethes.

I mentally roll my eyes, "what do you want?"

"To let you know that I hate you and wish I never had you," she's obviously high off of whatever drug she's doing.

"Congratulations you just wasted mine and yours time with that useless information," I say before hanging up not letting her speak another word to me.

My eyes go back to the window letting the storm calm the storm inside. I've worked so hard to not get worked up over the past and she makes one phone call and threatens to ruin the little progress I've made. No, I won't let her nor will I let my father or the drug dealer keep me from obtaining my goals.

Fuck every sing one of them.