by Sammie Joyce
And the cut was accidental although I had to wonder if subconsciously, I hadn’t brought it upon myself. While I’d pretended that I wasn’t thinking about Vivian anymore, she remained, lingering in the back of my mind like a shadow.
Unable to sleep, I found myself pattering around the kitchen that night, cooking for the week. It wasn’t something I’d usually do but it beat staring at the ceiling or playing on my phone. I liked cooking and it kept me properly distracted. In fact I was so distracted, the knife slipped from my grip, creating a deep, bleeding cut inside my hand. For a moment, I was stunned by the pain emanating from my body. It had been a long time since I’d been hurt and to see a wound in that depth was shocking.
Perhaps that was the reason my first instinct was to go to the hospital. Wrapping my hand in a dish towel, I climbed into my Lexus, barely noticing the mess I was making as my mind grew hazy. I’d really done a number on myself.
The ER was oddly quiet, not that I had a lot of experience in hospitals. I’d never been accident prone and even if I had been, my cells regenerated much faster than that of the average human. If I’d just stayed at home, eventually, the cut would have healed, even though it would have taken much longer without proper medical attention. Still, if the Council found out I was seeking human attention for something so trivial, they wouldn’t be pleased.
I considered that I was in shock as I entered through the sliding doors, my eyes trailing around for help but even before I saw her, I knew Vivian was there. I could almost sense her, despite the floaty feeling encompassing my body.
“Marcel!” she gasped, appearing at my side, her beautiful face etched in concern. “What happened?”
I eyed her sheepishly, allowing her to lead me onto a bed as she unraveled the blood-drenched cloth from my hand.
“I cut myself,” I admitted. “With a butcher’s knife.”
She made a commiserating sound and sprayed solution on the affected area to clean the area. Then she let out a low whistle, surprise coloring her face.
“Jesus. You really got in there deep,” she muttered. “What were you cutting?”
The worry in her tone warmed me and I relished the feel of her soft hands against mine.
“I was cooking a stew to pack my lunches with this week,” I mumbled, hearing how weak my voice sounded but I felt like that had more to do with Vivian’s nearness than the injury itself. I could already feel my body growing stronger as a doctor appeared at Vivian’s side.
“What do we have here, Nurse Hunt?” the olive tone physician asked warmly but her brow was wrinkled as she studied my hand.
“Marcel Rhodes,” Vivian volunteered. “Presented with an accidental cut apparently made by a knife. Wound is clean but deep…”
Vivian trailed off as she continued to look at my hand and I immediately tensed, the headiness wearing off slightly as I noted her expression.
“You’re going to need stitches, Mr. Rhodes,” the doctor told me, her eyes fixed on my hand and suddenly, I was very uncomfortable. I was already healing, even if it was barely perceivable.
“I can stitch him up,” Vivian volunteered and I nodded in agreement.
“Works for me,” I offered brightly.
“Don’t forget to take his blood pressure and measure his responses if you haven’t already,” the doctor told her. “I don’t think he’s lost too much blood but you can never be too sure.”
Without warning, she shone a light in my eyes to gauge my pupil response and I blinked at the unexpectedness.
“Looks good. Stitch him up and send him home.”
Without so much as a goodbye to me, the doctor was gone, leaving Vivian and I alone again.
“Well that was a waste of her time,” I joked. “I hope I’m not getting billed for that.”
Vivian looked at me curiously.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she just told you what you already know,” I chuckled. Vivian’s face relaxed into a smile as she turned away to gather the supplies she’d need to fix me up with. When her back was turned, I examined my cut closely and gritted my teeth. I could already tell that the gash was closing but Vivian didn’t know my body as well as I did. A long as she started sewing soon, she wouldn’t be any wiser to what was happening inside my body.
“I’m afraid it’s hospital protocol,” she explained as she moved back toward me. “Everyone needs to see a doctor.”
“Good thing I have insurance,” I replied dryly and Vivian chuckled again.
“You’d be grateful for that rule if you were in a car accident or something,” she assured me. “You wouldn’t want a nurse doing surgery on you.”
“Well now, I guess that would depend on who the nurse was.”
I met her eye meaningfully and her cheeks flushed. Quickly, she looked back to the stainless-steel tray beside her and busied herself with the surgical thread.
“I don’t have the training required to do surgery,” she laughed.
“I won’t sue you,” I joked and her beam widened. She again took my hand and in hers.
“Hold still. I’m going to give you some local anesthesia for the pain,” she explained. I opened my mouth to argue but I clamped it shut again. I didn’t need it but it wasn’t going to hurt me either. There was no reason to rouse her suspicions by denying it, especially when I was healing so quickly.
Vivian got to work and I stared at her classic profile, studying the lines of her face like I was committing them to memory.
Who knows? This might be the last time you see her, I reasoned but even then, I knew it wouldn’t be. The fact that I’d stayed away, even briefly, was somewhat shocking to me.
“Did you know I was working tonight?” Vivian asked, her voice startling me slightly. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into a reverie.
“What?”
“Is that why you came here? Because you knew I’d be on shift.”
I tittered.
“I really hope you’re not suggesting that I hurt myself to see you again.”
Vivian’s head whipped up and she looked aghast.
“No! Of course not!” she exclaimed, her face reddening with embarrassment. “That would be…”
She didn’t finish but I did.
“Crazy?”
“I didn’t think that therapists could use that word,” she muttered, shooting her eyes back down toward my hand.
“We can only use it around sane people,” I replied lightly. “And no, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight…but I’d hoped you would be. You were the first person I thought of when that blade went through my skin.”
I cringed as I heard the words.
“That sounded better in my head,” I added and she snorted, her hands continuing to work evenly along the lines of my cut. Her stitches were even and tight. I knew that there wouldn’t be a scar anyway but even if I had been human, her handiwork would have ensured that there would be no hint of the injury once it healed.
“I’m glad you came here,” Vivian said softly, her voice so low, I had to strain to hear.
“Me too,” I said, sensing her nervousness. “I doubt I would have found better care anywhere else.”
She didn’t speak for a moment and she finished pulling the surgical thread through my hand, tying off the ends before stepping back from the bed.
“I mean, I’m glad to see you again.”
There.
She had put it out in the open, leaving the ball completely in my court.
She’s still a client…isn’t she?
There was only one way to find out.
“How are you doing?” I asked quietly, examining my hand as to avoid her eyes.
“Good!” she said too quickly. “I-I mean, I haven’t had anymore episodes since I saw you. Those breathing techniques are working and I joined a yoga class.”
My eyebrows rose with interest.
“Really?” I asked. She nodded, a wide beam on her face.
“I actually feel great. I’m alre
ady sleeping better and I don’t worry about any panic attacks or anything.”
What she was saying only confirmed what I’d already known about her. She hadn’t needed therapy, just a bit of guidance.
“Did you want to make another appointment?” I asked. She eyed me, her smile faltering slightly.
“I-do you think I need one?” she asked slowly, looking uncertain.
“That’s up to you,” I replied. “I told you what I think already.”
Relief flooded her face and she shook her dark bun vehemently.
“No, I think I’m good. I mean, thank you for all your help and all. I can refer my friends to you so you don’t lose any patients but—”
I held up my hand, laughing.
“I’m not worried about losing business,” I assured her. “I’m asking to make sure.”
Perplexed, Vivian cocked her head to the side.
“Make sure about what?” she asked. It was my turn to feel embarrassed under her gaze but I’d come too far now to back off.
“To make sure that you’re not my client anymore.”
More confusion crossed over her face.
“Do you want me to be a client or not?” she asked, trying to make sense of our conversation.
“The matter is completely in your hands but if I had a choice, I’d say no. I don’t want you as a client anymore.”
Hurt shot over her expression and I wondered if she was purposely missing what I was trying to say.
Maybe you read this all wrong. Maybe she’s not attracted to you at all and you’re being inappropriate.
The idea filled me with dread but I knew there was only one way to find out.
“Why don’t you want to be my therapist—I mean, if I needed a therapist. Which I don’t…do I?”
The conversation was becoming far more complex than it needed to be. I cleared my throat, knowing that I needed to just lay it out before I screwed it up. I’d done nothing but think about Vivian for days and now that she was in my sights again, I was about to blow it.
“Because a therapist can’t date a client. It’s unethical and frankly, it’s weird,” I blurted out. Understanding colored her face and I didn’t miss the look of excitement that crossed over her.
“You’re asking me on a date?” she mumbled, looking around like she might be overheard. I lowered my voice and leaned in, not wanting anyone else to hear either.
“I promise to never come back to your ER,” I teased. “So you don’t have a conflict either.”
Vivian giggled and the sound caused me to relax. We were on the same page after all.
“Look at us,” she said. “A couple of ethic-breaking heathens.”
Her face melted into the warmest smile I’d ever seen and I wanted to capture her in that moment forever. She looked angelic in her pink scrubs, her face fresh yet professional as she stared at me.
“So?” I asked softly. “What do you say?”
She gnawed on her lower lip as she cast her eyes down demurely.
“Sure,” she breathed. “I’d love to go out with you, Marcel.”
6
Vivian
I had some questions about Marcel, ones that I didn’t honestly address right off the bat. There were things that tickled the back of my mind but I dismissed.
I noticed the way his cut seemed to be healing abnormally quickly, even before I touched it. A part of me questioned if he’d hurt himself on purpose just to see me again but I dismissed that idea almost as quickly as it came into my mind. Only a psychopath would do something like that and Marcel didn’t give me the remotest vibe he was off-center. If anything, I had been the one to go to him for help—not that I thought I was off-balance either.
In any case, when we met for drinks in Three Rivers, I had slight reservations but not enough to keep me from canceling our date.
The minute I walked into Kelly’s Roadhouse Bar and Grill, I felt all those second guesses melting away as I saw him sitting at the counter, his eyes trained on the football game.
For a moment, I could only stare at him, studying his attractive face from the entranceway. Of course I’d notice how handsome he was before but it had been different the last two times we’d seen one another. This time, I was looking at him as a man, not a patient or a therapist.
As if he could feel me staring, he turned his head suddenly, his icy blue eyes capturing mine and a slow smile formed over his lips.
“You looking for a table, Miss?” the bartender called from behind the bar, shattering the moment between Marcel and me. The spell between us temporarily broken, I reluctantly turned my attention to the burly barkeep and shook my head as I moved forward to meet Marcel.
“Just meeting someone,” I replied, joining my date’s side. I felt conspicuously overdressed for the venue but I had agonized over what to wear. Everything either seemed to be too much or too little and I’d eventually settled on the tried and true little black dress. Now, standing in the blue-collar bar, I wondered if I’d been trying too hard.
At least until Marcel’s expression told me otherwise. His eyes raked over me and I felt heat creeping up my neck to follow his gaze until it rested back on my eyes.
“You look amazing,” he said quietly. “Should we get a table?”
Not trusting my voice, I nodded and he slid off the stool, grabbing his beer and nodded toward the bartender who gave him a knowing wink.
“We’ll just be in that booth, Carl,” he said.
“I’ll send Lucy right over,” Carl agreed. Marcel took my arm and led me toward the table.
“They know you here, huh?” I said when I shrugged out of my jacket and slipped into the booth. Marcel grinned and shrugged.
“I’ve been here before,” he agreed but he shifted his eyes downward when he said it. I got the sense that he had purposely picked such an out of the way location for our date.
“It’s…charming,” I offered, unsure of what else to say. Marcel chuckled.
“It doesn’t look like much,” he replied. “But the food is excellent. The cook makes everything from scratch—even the sauces.”
I nodded appreciatively, reaching for a menu to look over. I realized I was starving.
“You weren’t on shift today?” he asked after a moment of silence and I saw that he had been watching me, not reading the menu. I blushed slightly and smiled, shaking my head.
“I got a day off for once,” I joked, placing the plastic laminate down to meet his eyes. “You?”
“I only had few appointments this morning. I had an easy afternoon.”
I cocked my head to the side.
“Do you like your work?” I asked. Instantly, a light shone in his eyes as if I’d flipped a switch. He leaned forward, nodding eagerly.
“Mental health is the gateway to everything,” he explained, passion creeping into his tone. “I have always believed that if everyone cared for their psyche as well as they do their limbs, emergency rooms would be virtually empty.”
I frowned, trying to keep up with his reasoning.
“You mean drug overdoses?” I asked tentatively. He nodded.
“That’s just one small piece of the spectrum,” he replied. “But think about the people you tend to day-to-day. There are abuse victims, alcoholics driving drunk, suicide attempts, psychotic breaks—I could go on forever. What is the root cause of these ailments?”
“Mental health,” I said slowly, realizing I’d never looked at it that way before.
“Imagine what kind of world we could live in if everyone knew the warning signs that something was wrong in their heads, the same way we’re taught to watch for signs of cancer or the flu? With the proper training and care, the world could be much safer for everyone.”
I admitted to myself that he had a valid point. It almost didn’t seem real that Marcel could be so attractive and so smart in one package. Whatever I’d felt for him before was suddenly multiplied as he continued to speak.
“So yes, I love my job and the resu
lts it gets but our resources are limited. I mean, I do what I can pro bono but that’s not enough.”
I chewed on my lower lip.
“It’s a national epidemic, mental health issues,” I agreed slowly. Off the top of my head, I could think of ten people I knew who had suffered from some form of anxiety or depression at one point in their lives.
I hadn’t noticed I’d flopped back in the booth until Marcel chuckled dryly.
“I didn’t mean to depress you,” he said lightly.
“What? Oh, no, I’m not depressed,” I replied quickly, leaning forward again. “I just never considered the repercussions of so many people running around with chemical imbalances before.”
“It’s daunting, isn’t it?”
Our eyes locked again and a small smile toyed at the corner of my lips.
“You do pro bono work?”
Marcel shrugged modestly.
“I do what I can,” he replied. “I work with a team of psychiatrists who can prescribe so I do all the counseling, make my recommendations and the bigwigs write the scripts.”
My eyebrows rose in surprise.
“You’re basically a shrink then!”
He shook his head.
“I don’t have a medical degree,” he replied. “But I’ve seen enough to know what’s what.”
I laughed and he seemed confused.
“What?”
“Trust me, I know exactly what you mean,” I giggled. “Sometimes I feel like the doctors aren’t doing any of the work at all.”
His face relaxed as he seemed to realize that I was agreeing with him and he nodded.
“I guess you really do understand,” he offered. “I’ve always maintained that nurses do just as much work as doctors, if not more.”
A warmth blanketed me and for a moment, neither of us spoke as we smiled at each other.
“You guys just about ready to order?” a tall redheaded woman asked, once more shattering our moment.
But we’ll get other moments, won’t we?
Something told me that our moments were just getting started.
* * *