TRACY
I had no idea how much alcohol I had consumed until I excused myself to the ladies' room, and my steps were a little unsteady. All I could think of was ripping his clothes off and having him all to myself; the thought of my body on his was already having an impact on me, and I was already dripping down there, moist and heightened at the slightest touch.
Oh Tracy...put yourself together. "We don't mix work and pleasure, remember. " I said to myself.
I got out of the ladies' room, and I could feel his eyes on me from the other end of the lounge; he kept his gaze steady like I was something he had been longing for, and he just couldn't wait to have me all to himself. I walked straight to our table and sat down. "Hey, are you good?" he asked with his palm resting on my thigh, causing an electric sensation to run through my body.
Yes I am, I stuttered.
Okay, good. "Let's get out of here," he said and guided me out the door.
It all began on a chilly winter. And I just recently moved to Los Angeles for my residency. As the newest resident at Larissa Specialist Hospital, I was already the talk of the hospital. The goal was to start afresh in a new city after I called off my engagement. I wasn't bothered by the gossip in the hallway whenever I walked past. I knew what they saw: the tall, tidy girl whose skin seemed to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights. Having graduated at the top of my class, I developed the habit of keeping to myself, curling up with my books in a quiet corner of the cafeteria, and walking the hallways with my chin up. I believe the way I maintained the silence was what initially drew his attention.
Getting a prestigious residency was my primary goal for the year as a recent medical school graduate. I had set my sights on the "big three" in town, and Larissa Specialist Hospital was at the top of my list. I made the decision to collect from a "Godfather" in the same field who owed me a favor. I got the spot with just one phone call to the director of Larissa Specialist Hospital —Dr. Bloom Maxfield.
My strategy was straightforward: concentrate on the medication. No distractions, no friends, and most definitely no boys. Before moving to a neurology program to pursue my true passion, I had precisely one year at Larissa to prove myself.
It was a patience test on my first day in the wards. A couple of the younger doctors tried to get my attention, but I retaliated with a sharp, cool edge that made them flee. I politely but firmly excused myself when the veteran residents tried to pull me into the hospital gossip mill while pretending to be friendly. I came here to work. I was the perfect resident with everything under control because I was proactive, on time, and calm.
I did, at least, until I got to know Dr. Williams Shelby, the chief of staff in the hospital.
There's a usual ritual where all the new residents get a first-day orientation from the chief of staff, and it was about time. I got a page to be in the conference room in five minutes for the orientation. I hurried into the locker room to reapply lip gloss and powder. On getting to the conference room, he was already there.
As he stood at the head of the table. Even before he spoke, the room belonged to him. Chief Shelby was more than just a doctor; he was a presence, calm and collected. He looked very authoritative in a charcoal-grey suit that resembled armor rather than work attire. He had deep dimples that sliced into both sides of his face, and when he did smile, it was contagious.
He was probably in his early forties and older than the rest of us. He had a clean-shaven jaw and a well-groomed mustache, and his hair was kept in a crisp, tidy fade. However, it was his eyes that made me gasp. They were sharp, framed by thick eyebrows that appeared to be permanently drawn in a detached assessment.
He didn't blink when he finally turned to look at me. At that moment, he didn't smile. My "top of the class" confidence felt like a paper shield as he merely observed me with a raw, predatory stillness. He looked like a man used to being obeyed, and worse, he knew what I was thinking before I even said a word.
"You in the maroon gown, what's your name?" he asked.
"Tracy Williams," I answered, sounding more composed than I actually was.
The name seemed to linger in the sterile atmosphere. It took Shelby some time to respond. Instead, he paused, lowering his gaze for a moment before bringing it back to mine with a long, mysterious stare. Only the two of us seemed to be able to hear the thin, vibrating silence.
He said, "Welcome to Larissa, Dr. Williams," in a low, deep voice that gave me one last chill. His work mask snapped back into place as he turned to face the group. He gave a brief explanation of what was expected of each of us, using clear, precise language. "That's it for today," he concluded. Welcome to Larissa Specialist Hospital, everyone. Proceed.
The atmosphere did not return to normal as we all walked out of the conference room. Before we even reached the elevators, the other residents exchanged sidelong glances, and the whispers started before we had even made it to the elevator. By noon, the tension in the conference room had taken over the hospital grapevine.
I did my best to ignore it. I lost myself in rounds, patient charts, and the comforting solitude of neurology textbooks. I convinced myself that the spark was only a trick of the winter light, a brief distraction from my unwavering focus. I was able to keep my head down and my heart quiet for a week.
I was about to forget how he looked right through me. But in a place like Larissa, you can't stay away from the Chief for very long. A week later, my luck ran out.
The next one week was a blur of quiet transitions and sterile hallways. The hospital was running on a skeleton crew because we had just returned from Thanksgiving, and the majority of the senior residents had not yet returned. It not only gave me breathing room but also reinforced my reputation. To the nurses and the few doctors on the ground, I was the "ice queen"—the rude resident who wouldn't even acknowledge me in the elevator.
They had no idea that my silence was more of a shield than a choice.
I was drowning behind the fearless "top of her class" doctor who carried herself as if she were the prize. It was more difficult than I would have admitted to moving to a city where I knew no one at all. I was a ghost in my own apartment, curled up under blankets, lost in a book, or browsing the internet when I wasn't at the hospital. I lived on a revolving cycle of takeout and lukewarm coffee because my kitchen was unfamiliar to me and I hadn't figured out how to use the stove yet.
The winter air finally took over. I had a terrible case of the flu, which left me feeling hopeless. Confined to a dark room for three exhausting days, the brave Dr. Williams was an absolute wreck. I had fever dreams, which always included a pair of passionate, intense eyes, no matter how hard I tried to shake them.
This was my opportunity to start over, to face the obstacles I had built around myself, and to be open to new experiences because calling off an engagement a month to my wedding took its toll on me. I promised myself that as soon as the fever went down, I would no longer hide. That new bistro down the street is something I would try. I would become familiar with the neighborhood. Instead of just surviving, I would be the version of myself that lived.
After three days of nursing myself back to health, I resumed work. The thought of going back to my routine and what I love gave me a little hope and put a smile on my face. With a new chart in my hand and a well-practiced "good morning" on my lips, I was making my way to the neurology wing when the elevator doors opened.
Eventually, my luck ran out. Because Chief Shelby was standing there, looking like every character in my fever dreams. He was in the elevator with two residents who he asked to shadow him for a couple of weeks.
My legs felt too heavy to move them, and he stood there holding the elevator door for me with a mischievous look on his face.