Resident Rival

Challenge Accepted --- Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Dr. Ethan Scott's POV

"Do you mind telling me how you're going to clean this mad house you call "home"?" My best mate Philippe yelled from the room across.

I was done packing my things and have been hopelessly trying my very best to leave the place a little bit organised, seemingly to no avail. I'm leaving this place not because I flogged it, no. It's still mine and I won't be selling it. Philippe can stay here if he wants to, I don't bloody care. I just received my letter from the hospital in the US that I've been accepted and may continue my residency program there. Not that I'm surprised, I have actually been expecting the assent, to be perfectly honest. Crusoe Memorial Medical Centre is a reputable institution and going there may open more doors for me, not to mention that it does give me a breath of fresh air to be in a different surrounding for once.

"Off the trolley eh? That's why I called you in here, mate. Help me out." I wiggled my eyebrows at him. His expression turned from disapproval to being horrified, I tried very hard to supress a laugh.

"Are you-- are you out of your mickey? Ethan, you're my best mate but there is no way I can give you a hand with those. Every room of your shambled house is piled with your books " He said, scanning this whole room, eyes wide.

I know, I know. I have issues when it comes to organizing my stuff. The only telling off my mum has frustratingly done to me over the years is with regards to the tidyness of my space. She grew so tired of all my rubbish that she took it to herself to fix my things back when I was still living with them. Now that I'm living by myself, it would always seem like I flung books and papers for fun because it was so messy. But let me defend myself by saying that I do the chores. I don't leave food to rot in plates for days or crumbs anywhere, like a fat-bottomed american. The sink and dishes are always done and I think I cook pretty decently. I just---well, I am just such a piss poor, hopeless case at organizing or arranging my stuff. Everytime I allot time to organize them, I'll find myself swimming in the clutter of books and papers, in sixes and sevens once more after 3 or 4 days later. It's maddening.

"You know how I gave up my cause of trying to arrange them. So I reckon that maybe if you'd do them for me...."

"Blimey Ethan. NO." He was laughing at the thought as though I have just asked him to pole dance. 

"I'm just pulling your leg, mate. I know you won't, and you'd kill me before I force you to. Mum's going be gobsmacked silly when she finds out how much mess I'm leaving behind..."

"You're really going off to Amireekuh, huh?" he said, making that weird pronunciation.

"Yes. But it won't be too long, Philippe. It's just a bloody residency then I'll come back here, by then maybe you'd wish I stayed in America for good because I'm going to annoy your arse of every chance I get."

"ha-ha.." he replied dryly. 

"Don't be such a nancy boy, are you going to cry now, eh?" I thumped his shoulder.

Philippe is like a family to us. His childhood was pretty hard lined. And as much as I was a very snobbish, self-righteous kid while growing up, I had an inkling that he needed company when I met him at secondary school. He did seem like one who isn't plagued with too much brain tosh, like most idiots of our age. Philippe's big brother has gotten ill at that time and had to undergo treatment. With their father long deceased, his mum had to work double-time to make ends meet. Turns out he used to be really close with is brother, but after his older sibling's mishap,  he's mostly left to himself. Poor chap had enough reasons to feel distraught. It might be a really foul reason to forge a connection but I have to admit that it was pity that made me want to talk to him in the first place. Nobody wants to be pitied, but with a situation like that written all over his mere existence, it's hard to not feel sorry. He did know about this, of course. But then keeping him company and being friends with him, eventually,  turned the pity party into a jolly good chum. So I think I understand all this crestfallen feeling he's giving off. We're finally having a taste of how it feels to go our own ways. Separation anxiety. I just hate admitting much of it though, too queer for my ego.