Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t matter if he is,” Penny says and goes back to reading. I have no idea how she does it. I wish I had her focus.
“Exactly. I mean, he’s hot enough, older enough, and unavailable enough for me. I’m gonna go for him anyway.” Renn shrugs, balancing her chair on the back two legs.
Vi snorts, flicking the channels on TV.
“God, he’s handsome. Like, really handsome, you know. I’ll really have to stop myself from not calling him daddy at our appointments.”
“Ew. Stop,” Penny snaps.
I’m right there with Penny as I toss my book on the table. “Yes. Stop. He’s like every other jerk doctor I’ve ever met.”
“Don’t be a sore loser. Besides, I thought I was dead to you.” Renn throws me a flying kiss.
I roll my eyes at her. After what she did to me in front of Beth and Dr. Blackwood, I’m super mad at her. But of course, she doesn’t care. She’s Renn.
“You are. I just like talking to dead bodies.”
“You’ve got issues.”
I stick my tongue out at her and that only makes her laugh. When I go to glance really quickly at the group standing in the hallway, I find Dr. Blackwood staring straight at me. I feel a jolt run through my body.
He’s all gray eyes and cool face. Of course, from here I can’t really see their color, but I remember it from before. I remember it from every time I look up at the rainy sky.
Why did his eyes have to be the color of my most favorite thing? It’s really not fair. It’s like hating someone dressed like Hagrid, the friendly half-giant from Harry Potter. You can’t hate Hagrid; he’s too nice.
I look away from him, disgusted.
“I don’t think he’s like every other doctor you’ve met. I mean, his dad founded this place. Hello? Genius alert. So technically, it’s in his blood. Science and medicine,” Renn concludes.
She is right.
Medicine is in his blood. Like illness is in mine. My blood is tainted with poison and his is laced with the antidote.
The fucking contrast. Don’t know why it even occurred to me, let alone bothers me.
“Yup, Dr. Alistair Blackwood was one of the best psychiatrists. They teach one of his books in med school. I wonder where he is these days,” Penny says.
“What happened to him? Did he retire?” I ask, despite myself.
“Kinda. He just stopped practicing a few years ago,” Renn contributes. “My dad was pretty broken up about it. The hospital board wasn’t happy with the change. Meaning, my dad wasn’t happy about the change.”
Renn’s dad is one of the board members of this hospital. Sometimes I feel that Renn keeps coming back here because she wants to get his attention. And he keeps sending her here because he just doesn’t care.
But then, what do I know of fathers? I’ve never met mine. I don’t know anything about trying to get your dad’s attention, like Renn, or following in his footsteps, like Dr. Blackwood.
Cool and aloof, Dr. Blackwood.
He’s barely talking to the group of people. He’s simply listening, punctuated with polite nods. I bet he doesn’t even remember their names. I bet he doesn’t even remember our names, Renn’s and mine, and we met like a couple of hours ago.
Anyway, it’s none of my business. I don’t care.
I’ve got enough problems of my own. For example, being stuck on the Inside. Away from everyone and everything. Where you only get to talk to your family or see them once a week. I’ve asked my mom not to visit – I draw the line at her seeing me like this, locked up and crazy – so talking on the phone is my only option.
Today’s that day. I call it the phone call day. Another thing about being on the Inside is that days run together. I don’t know if it’s Monday or Tuesday or if they even follow the normal calendar like on the Outside. It’s all the same.
The only reason I know it’s phone call day is because people keep disappearing down the hall with either a huge smile or apprehension on their faces, and they come back ten minutes later with either that smile in place or with tears or anger in their eyes.
I dread phone call days. I want them too much and when it’s over, I’m left feeling bereft and homesick. And angry.
A few minutes later, I find myself in a small room with a couple of couches and desks and old-fashioned rotary dial phones. Black and monstrous things.
I take a seat at the small table, just under the rainy window. Swallowing, I pick up the receiver, lying on its side. “Hello.”
“Lolo. Hey, sweetheart,” my mom says.
A sting in my eyes and gravel in the back of my throat steal my breath away for a second. I miss her so much. So freaking much that I have to press the receiver tightly, hold on to the arm of my chair, so I don’t fall off.