now that we’ve masturbated in front of each other, we’re back to the awkward phase. He doesn’t talk, look, or even acknowledge my presence, and I, well, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop trying to get his attention, trying to get him to spare me one word, so we can talk about the kiss and everything else that came after.
Working every day with Travis since the incident at the bar hasn’t been a walk in the park either. Some days, things seem completely normal. He smiles and pretends we’re friends, but then, there are days when he snaps at me much quicker than he normally would. Those are the days he seems perpetually upset with me, and a part of me wonders if things could possibly get any worse. How do the rest of the women he’s slept with in the clinic handle it?
From what I’ve seen, he’s been nothing but a gentleman to them. I can’t say the same for myself, though. During every shift we work together, I’m just waiting for him to snap. I’m waiting for him to blow up.
Just as my mother requested, I finally open that list on my break and research all these potential doctors. And, of course, just as she promised they would be, they are the best of the absolute best that are here in the Bay Area. After work today, I have an appointment with one of the doctors on the list. He’s the closest, and they were even able to squeeze me in for a consultation, so I figure it’s worth a shot.
I only have about ten minutes to kill in the waiting room, before I’m called back to the calmly decorated office. Using this time, I scroll through the other links my mother sent me. They’re all from home décor sites. She clearly thinks my house could use some sprucing up. While she and my dad were here visiting, she managed to unpack all my boxes and get the house organized for me; only now, I can’t seem to find where anything is, because she put them in places I never would. With new piping, and no more clutter, my house looks much more put together than it did before. But, obviously, my mother still thinks it lacks character. Can’t say I don’t agree.
Ten minutes come and go, before I’m seated in a stuffy office. There are plaques and awards along the walls that should make me feel better about my choice in coming here today; yet, it doesn’t. The doctor, an aging Asian man, regards me, as he reviews the files I requested to have sent over. His brows furrow, and every so often, he glances at me, more than likely judging me for my life choices.
“Have you had any episodes lately? Anything that should be of concern? Are you being more active than usual, any high-stress jobs?”
I push away the stress of Travis, the stress of fighting with my neighbor, and all thoughts of him stroking his cock out of my mind.
“No,” I lie.
“Well.” He sighs, taking off his glasses and setting them on the desk in front of him. “I’d be happy to take you on as a patient, but things would need to change in your everyday life, and first and foremost, I’d need you to take better care of yourself. While I’m not saying you can’t live a normal life, you do need to proceed by taking precautions. I noticed you mentioned to the nurse that you live alone, which is a bit of a red flag. Do you have someone who comes by regularly to check on you, in case you have any episodes or an emergency occurs?”
I nod, forcing a thin smile on my face, to appease him.
He’s not buying it.
My lips purse, and I tune him out for the rest of his speech, once he starts talking about new medications to try and possible surgeries. By the time I leave and am back in my car, I let out an infuriated scream at how unfair life is. How unfair my life is. As if life itself is showing me just how right I am, my mom calls. And like the fool I am, I answer.
“So, have you called?’
“Hello to you, too.” I roll my eyes.
“Knock it off. This is serious, Olivia. This is your goddamn health.”
“Yes! I just left his office now, and you know what? I’m done. I’m so over this bullshit. I’m over it. I’m tired