The Virgin

Chapter Thirteen - Pizza and Porn

Today becomes like all the others. It is a routine of checking on my patients and scheduling consultations. Being one of the few neurosurgeons in the United States with my resume, I book up pretty quickly. So, once my consultations are spaced out and my schedule cleared, I start rounds. Mark usually does these with me when he is on my schedule. Today, he is.

We are standing in Mr. Rodriguez's room. Mark checks his vitals as Mr. Rodriguez snores loudly. Usually, Mark and I would be cracking jokes, but things have changed since he became a fixture in my apartment without my invitation. He looks up and watches someone outside the patient's door. I turn and watch Bodhi talking to Grace. She is touching his arm and flirting. I turn back to Mark who gives me a look.

"You're going to let her get away with that?"

"With what?"

"Come on, she's with your guy."

"He's not my guy."

"OK, clearly you are in denial, but I'm not going to let her take away the one good thing that has happened to you, ever," he says, slamming down his clip board onto Mr. Rodriquez's legs and heading for the door.

I step in front of him, "Wait!" He stops. "Not that it's any of your business, but I wasn't with Bodhi last night. I wasn't with anyone . . . in particular . . . at all."

Mark lets this sink in. "So who were you with?"

"Maybe I wasn't with anyone," I say defensively.

"Wait? You mean you were alone in your room last night?"

"Yes, I was listening to music. Why are you asking me that? A girl can listen to music loudly and be alone."

"You were alone?"

"Yes, did I stutter?"

And Mark's face lights up. I know I'm in trouble now.

"Holy masturbationathon! You were alone last night? I have a new hero!"

Mr. Rodriguez opens his eyes. "What did I miss?"

"A lot," Mark tells him.

I'm out of here.

I open the door. Bodhi and Grace are down the hallway. All clear. I head toward my office. Mark is on my heels.

"Kate, wait. I shouldn't have said that." He's caught up with me now. I'm going to ignore him. Just an entire wing to walk and down five flights in the elevator. Surely I can lose him at some point. He's still talking. "But I am impressed. You should be proud!"

"Proud of what?" I ask, not going with my gut to ignore him. He pulls me in every time.

"Of your passion! You bring so much energy and focus to everything you do," he continues, tripping on his feet behind me. "That's why you're so good at everything, I guess. Me, on the other hand, I let life wash over me. I mean, when I masturbate I'm usually watching a show about hillbillies mating possums while I simultaneously shove half a gallon of peach ice cream into my pie hole. Most of the time, I don't even know if I came or just projectile-vomited from too much dairy. There's nothing in my life I'm truly passionate about. And after listening to you last night with your . . . vibrator? Amazing. I am truly in awe of not only your focus but your triathlete-like stamina. Across the board, slow clap, my friend. Amazing."

Everything around me goes into slow motion. I swear I can hear my own heart beating and it's going half speed. I turn and grab Mark by his collar.

"You were listening to me?"

"You were awfully loud, and Lacy said it was OK."

This is getting worse by the second.

"You think it was OK to sit outside my bedroom door with my sister and listen to me?"