Chapter 5 - Does the Janitor Also Smell of Damp Laundry? (Tamara)

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December 25th 

Guess what happened,

Continuing on from my strangely intimate moment with Dr. Carter, I began relaying the moment over and over in my head. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what he had just said. Surely, it is not normal for a medical professional to just randomly say "I will always be here" and then refer to me using my nickname. 

Only my mother is allowed to call me that, nobody else. Well, technically he is always going to be here and he never specifically said he was going to be here for me... But that is besides the point; the point is I think he thinks of me as more than just a patient. 

Just as I began to ponder as to whether this could actually work. He storms back in abruptly and this time with a tensed look on his face. I gauge that he isn't happy and then all of a sudden he slides one hand under my waist and the other hand under my legs, to then lift me off my bed.

However, nothing about this was romantic. He just rigidly scooped me out of my bed and placed me in a wheelchair. When I questioned him, "why he had to do that so abruptly and why I wasn't capable of walking," there was no reply. He just gave me silence. 

All the way to the main desk all I could hear was the sound of my own breath intensifying and the beeping of many machines that were quite possibly somebody's life source. As my wheelchair stopped at the front desk, I asked him one last time, "what was the point of this entire wheelchair drama?" Once again; silence. 

But this time he looks around to see if anyone is there and then gently pulls me off the wheelchair and quickly leads me to the janitors' closet, making sure to shut the door behind him. We all know what goes down in the janitor's closet, my mind was racing with a million thoughts, does he like me the same way, am I dreaming or am I just reading too much into something that must have a practical explanation?

Nevertheless, I couldn't help but think that this was by far the sexiest thing anyone has ever done to me, except... it was not sexy at all. He just seemed concerned and as we crammed into this tiny closet, I felt that his body was tense. 

Before I could say anything, he looked me directly in the eye placed his hands on my shoulders and said, "look I know this must be really confusing for you but trust me that everything is going to be alright the minute I explain this to you." 

I had so many questions to ask, but my voice box had failed me because of the simple fact that he had his hands applying a gentle pressure on my shoulders. Instead I just waited in silence staring right back into his gorgeous steel blue eyes.

"Okay, so listen Tamara. This whole mess started the day you were brought in. Yes, you had food poisoning and yes, you were severely anemic, but my real concern was your mental health. You had basically zero self-esteem and you refused to internally accept that you were the ideal body weight. The minute I saw your damaged esophagus lining and gauged the way you behaved around others, I knew you had a form of bulimia. I could have discharged you the day you arrived, but I kept you back a few days to understand your habits and try to prove to you that you were perfect in your own skin. You are the ideal weight, even though your mind perceives differently and you need to understand that."

Damn! I wasn't expecting this sudden deep conversation to hit so close to home. 

For some reason I felt guilty and slightly ashamed, the same mixed feelings I had when I would childishly break my mothers favourite vase. But this time it was much worse, like instead of failing my mother or anyone else for that matter, I had failed myself. 

Dr. Carter went on to explain how he put me in the same room as Alex on Christmas eve, hoping that she would teach me a little something about overcoming adversity (little did he know she lacked the will to live) and that we would get on like two nice, civilised people. He kept talking more about his efforts to cure my bulimia and less about what was happening now. 

Oh and about Alex, if you didn't make the connection already she is the person whose life I saved and yes despite that favor we still cannot stand each other. But my encounter with her is for another time, just not precisely now.

Finally, he got to the point and said, "I could see that the hospital was simply a distraction from the bulimia and so I decided to discharge you. But just this morning your mother called in saying her financial and mental state were deteriorating and that she did not wish for you to come home, especially at such a difficult period in her and your father's life. Do you understand that this means we are going to have to extend your stay here until your mother has proven that she can sufficiently provide for a minor? However, the other option is that you remain under our care until you turn eighteen, which according to my records is in another four weeks, and then find accommodation independently."

I had been overwhelmed with so much information within the span of five minutes that my mind was slowly melting. Either I was too tired to care or too engaged in him to comprehend what was actually happening around me. 

There were so many things to think about; like my extended stay at the hospital, my mental disorder, my parents' potential divorce and on top of everything my growing feelings for this guy whose body is lightly pressed against mine. 

Despite all of this, all I could think of was the damp stench of this janitors' closet diffusing its way through the air.

In the spur of the moment I say without realising, "Does the janitor also smell of damp laundry?" 

He cracks a smile and wittily replies, "forgive me I'm not quite sure, I haven't particularly been paying close attention to the janitor's scent." And with that we both burst into laughter. 

I guess Christmas miracles are a thing now?

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