Beneath The Facade

Chapter Ten

HERMIONE

I drag myself to my office at the wee hours of dawn, my eyes groggy with sleep and exhaustion deeply ingrained in my body. I manage to reach my office, stifling bouts of yawns along the way. As I plop down into my desk chair, sleep takes over at once.

The memories of the previous night's chaos linger in my mind. I operated through the night, struggling to save as many patients as possible. There were several crucial patients needing surgery, and we worked tirelessly to prioritize those who required emergency surgery.

We stabilized the conditions of those whose surgeries could be postponed until morning, but unfortunately, there were many death records. Last night was a total frenzy, and I might have come across as insensitive in my haste to move on to the next patient. My attitude, though justified by the circumstances, will likely stick with my reputation.

As I rest, the ER remains busy, with additional professors arriving to take over duty and relieve the few who worked through the night. I've barely managed to get a few minutes of sleep when someone knocks, stepping inside. I bite down on a hiss, forcing my eyes open. I observe that it's one of the resident doctors, looking nervous.

"What is it?" I demand, my voice harsh from fatigue.

"The Director requests to see you, Professor Pierce," the lady says, shivering slightly at my cold reception.

I roll my eyes, letting out a tired groan. "What's the urgency?" I ask, though I already know the Director wouldn't summon me without a good reason.

"She says you should come to her office without delay," the resident replies, her voice firm but respectful.

"I will be there," I say, already feeling myself getting lulled back to sleep.

I dismiss the resident quickly from my office, my hand feeling like lead when I raise it to wave her off. She leaves as I've instructed, and I try to push myself up, but my body refuses to cooperate. Recalling the manner in which I crawled to my office, on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, I give in to sleep once more.

Mother can wait, I tell myself. I need a few minutes of sleep before I can face her. I'm already physically drained from performing surgeries through the night, and meeting Mom will only add mental and emotional exhaustion to my predicament.

My thoughts drown out in my head as I fall into a deep slumber. I'm roughly awakened at the abrupt opening of my office door. My eyes flutter, struggling to clear the sleepy daze.

As my eyes struggle to focus, I make out a blurry figure of my mom standing at the door. The sound of her heels furiously matching toward me, accompanied by the familiar scent of her perfume, confirms my suspicion about her presence. My eyes, still heavily doused with sleep, fail to register her approach, and I'm caught off guard.

Before I can react, she slaps me hard across the face. The slap reechoes in my ears, my neck twisting to the side from its impact. I wince in pain, squeezing my eyes shut as a wave of agony washes over me. Pain shoots through every part of my head, and I work my jaw, suspecting a dislocation.

I blink my eyes open, and they're clear now, sleep long forgotten. However, tears blur my vision, and I struggle not to cry in her presence. But the tears spill down my face relentlessly. I keep my face turned away from her, blinking through my tears as I attempt to compose myself.

"I warned you not to miss that date," she hisses furiously through her teeth, barely containing her rage. "How dare you defy my orders! I called you to my office several minutes ago, yet you're here sleeping despite receiving my summons."

I realize that this is about missing the date with Aiden. Isn't she aware that I pulled an all-nighter to save accident victims? What use is a loveless date when people are dying? I want to scream at her, but I remain still, my body shaking with restrained fury.

Mother rants on, but I give no reaction. I sit unmoving, my eyes fixed on the floor, until she's done with her tirades.

"Next time you go against my orders, I will deal with you more thoroughly," she threatens, her voice dripping with malice. "This is only the tip of the iceberg."

With that, she storms out of my office, slamming the door furiously on her way out. The sound reverberates across the room, leaving me shaken.

More tears gush from my eyes as the weight of my exhaustion, the sleep I've been deprived of, and my frustration at my predicament crashes down on me. A shiver racks through me as the tears pour out, and I bite down hard on my lips to stifle my sob.

I push out of my chair, my movements uncoordinated as I walk towards my office bathroom. I don't bother with cleaning up; I simply rinse the tears off my face, glancing at my reddened eyes in the mirror.

I manage to get out of my scrubs and change into the dress I wore last night. I free my hair, and it falls loosely around my shoulders in curls, partially obscuring the burning red mark my mother's hand stamped on my face.

I feel suffocated in my office, desperate for a release. I grab my keys off the table and storm out, charging blindly toward the elevator.

"Professor Pierce," someone I don't recognize tries to gain my attention along the way, but I'm too far gone.

My emotions are strung tight between vulnerability, anger, and frustration. I shoot past the person, air rushing past as I cut across from him. He's saying something, but his words hang in his throat, and he immediately steps out of my way before I barrel into him.

I channel the strong urge to cry behind a scowl, wanting out of there. Anywhere far from where Mom is.

When I stormed out of my office, there were residents eavesdropping. They startled as I yanked the door open, each scampering in opposite directions. I feel too humiliated about the scene my mother has caused in their notice to chastise them. I couldn't vent out my anger at them as I couldn't find my voice. My mother's slap has affected my vocal cords. She makes me feel less than worthy at my place of work. She brings me down. She does this every time.

This is how she has been keeping me in check throughout my childhood: threats, abuses, and ruining my self-esteem. This is why I hate her. I hate Ezra Watson Pierce. I wish I could disown her.

I push the door to the elevator when I reach it, and mercifully, I don't have to wait before it opens. I drum my feet impatiently on the ground throughout the descent. I dash out of it when I finally reach the lobby, half-walking and half-running toward my car.

The tears are close now. My anger had thawed during the ride down, replaced with the heavy feeling of distress. I'm close to tears. I manage to get into my car before the first tear slides down. I reverse swiftly, my tires screeching in protest, and speed out of the hospital.

I race the car beyond its limits, blinking furiously to see past my tears. I swerve off the road abruptly, cutting off the highway into a remote location. I drive without a sense of direction, my vision blurred by tears. I find myself at a lake side, the serene atmosphere a stark contrast to my turbulent emotions. It's just what I need.

I get down from my car, my slippers sinking into the sand. I was too enraged to change into heels after changing out of my scrubs. I march over the golden sands to the rocky path that leads to where the water overlaps.

The sun is yet to rise, casting a gentle glow over the landscape. The scent of water and greens wafts thickly in the air, soothing.

When I reach the edge of the rocks, towering over the water, I ball my hands into fists at my sides.

I bend over and release a sharp cry, marked with all the emotions I feel: anger, frustration, hurt, and helplessness. The sound echoes across the lake, a primal release of all the pent-up emotions inside me.