Tormentor Mine

Chapter 2-1

2

United States, Present Day

Sara

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out for drinks with me and the girls?” Marsha asks, approaching my locker. She’s already changed out of her nurse’s scrubs and put on a sexy dress. With her bright red lipstick and flamboyant blond curls, she looks like an older version of Marilyn Monroe and likes to party just as much.

“No, thank you. I can’t.” I soften my refusal with a smile. “It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you are. You’re always exhausted these days.”

“Work will do that to you.”

“Yeah, if you work ninety hours a week. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to work yourself to death. You’re no longer a resident, you know? You don’t have to put up with this bullshit.”

I sigh and pick up my bag. “Someone has to be on call.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be you all the time. It’s Friday night, and you’ve worked every weekend for the past month, plus all those nightshifts. I know you’re the newest doctor in your practice and all that, but—”

“I don’t mind the nightshifts,” I interrupt, walking over to the mirror. The mascara I put on this morning has left dark smudges under my eyes, and I use a wet paper towel to wipe them away. It doesn’t improve my haggard appearance much, but I suppose it doesn’t matter, since I’m heading straight home.

“Right, because you don’t sleep,” Marsha says, coming to stand behind me, and I brace myself, knowing she’s about to get on her favorite topic. Though she has a good fifteen years on me, Marsha is my best friend at the hospital, and she’s been increasingly vocal about her concerns.

“Marsha, please. I’m too tired for this,” I say, pulling my unruly waves into a ponytail. I don’t need a lecture to know I’m running myself ragged. My hazel eyes look red and bleary in the mirror, and I feel like I’m sixty instead of twenty-eight.

“Yeah, because you’re overworked and sleep-deprived.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I know you need a distraction after George and all, but—”

“But nothing.” Spinning around, I glare at her. “I don’t want to talk about George.”

“Sara…” Her forehead furrows. “You have to stop punishing yourself for that. It wasn’t your fault. He chose to get behind the wheel; it was his decision.”

My throat closes, and my eyes prickle. To my horror, I realize I’m on the verge of crying, and I turn away in an effort to control myself. Only there’s nowhere to turn; the mirror is in front of me, and it reflects everything I’m feeling.

“I’m sorry, hon. I’m an insensitive ass. I shouldn’t have said that.” Marsha looks genuinely regretful as she reaches over and squeezes my arm lightly.

I take a deep breath and turn around to face her again. I am exhausted, which doesn’t help the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

“It’s all right.” I force a smile to my lips. “It’s no big deal. You should get going; the girls are probably waiting for you.” And I have to get home before I break down and cry in public, which would be the height of humiliation.

“All right, hon.” Marsha smiles back at me, but I see the pity lurking in her gaze. “You just get some sleep this weekend, okay? Promise me you’ll do that.”

“Yes, I will—Mom.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get the hint. I’ll see you Monday.” She walks out of the locker room, and I wait a minute before following her to avoid running into her group of girlfriends in the elevators.

I’ve had about as much pity as I can handle.