The Virgin

Chapter Fourteen - Failure Is Not An Option

Have you ever had the sneaking suspicion that everyone is staring at you, but because they all smile and continue to speak to you politely, you think you are just being paranoid? Only to later find out that your paranoia was actually instinct, because the next time you enter the ladies' room you discover that your skirt has been tucked into your underwear all day long? Well, today feels like my skirt is in my underwear, except I'm wearing pants. This would be pressing on my mind more, except that Lacy still hasn't called me and she has been staying with Mark for two days. Two entire days, my sister has been in Mark's apartment doing God-knows-what. I've been studying. That's it. I refuse to talk to anyone or discuss anything other than the surgery. But rumors have swirled in those two days, and if I were to guess, most of the hospital thinks I'm either a highly-paid escort on the side or just your average neurosurgeon nymphomaniac.

I do my rounds while obsessively checking to see if I have a text or voicemail from Lacy. Based off the looks I'm getting from half the nursing staff, I can safely wager they think I'm sexting or setting up an appointment with my next "John".

Mark changes out Mr. Rodriguez's fluids. He sees me check the volume on my cell phone.

"It's only been two days. She's mad. She'll call you back. She's safe and sound," Mark tells me.

"Staying with you, my knowing you, it doesn't sound safe."

"Safe and sound on my couch. Come on, what kind of guy . . . don't answer that. Look, she needed someone who she doesn't have a history with, someone who accepts her for who she is."

That is a low blow and he knows it.

"I accept her!"

Mostly.

"You don't get it. It's not easy trying to be you, trying to compete with you and your success."

"I never asked her to be me or compete with me."

"That doesn't mean she wasn't trying."

An orderly comes in, interrupting our quiet argument, and grabs Mr. Rodriguez's food tray. As he turns to leave, I hear him make kissy noises behind my back. I turn around to chide him when he puts his hand up to Mark for a high-five. Mark gives it to him—the high-five, that is.

"There it is. The guy my sister is safe and sound with. Right."

"Sorry, it was a dude impulse. Where were we?"

"It was a douche impulse and I was leaving."

You know what I don't have time for anymore? Listening to other people tell me that I'm not living my life to their standards, which if put up to observation are lower than mine.

"Just the person I was looking for. We need to talk."

I look up as I enter the hallway. Dr. Strong has apparently been waiting for me. Great, here we go.

"Sure, what can I do for you?" I ask, as he begins walking ahead of me toward his office. This can't be good. He isn't even looking at me.

Being asked to Dr. Strong's office is kind of like being called to the principal's office. If you did something wrong, you head there knowing what you did, thus you can begin creating a defense. But if you did nothing wrong, you head there wondering why you were called, going through every moment of every day, confusing yourself into thinking you are guilty of something but have no idea what that thing could be. I may know why he is calling me in. I did leave a mock surgery unannounced and in a huff. But it has been two days. Surely that is water under the bridge? So, by the time I walk into his office I'm flustered, defensive, and feeling very vulnerable. All of which are a bad combination under any circumstance.