Cristiano
The stab wound victim’s chance of survival is well below one percent, but today that’s more than enough for me.
No way this guy is dying on my operating table.
They’ve pulled in a second doctor, Doctor Will something, but I just brush him aside.
I’m still running on the high from meeting that girl.
Rose. My nurse. My neighbor.
And soon to be mine in a lot more ways than just those.
God, she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
My hands are moving like I just drank a gallon of coffee, but there are no jitters. I’m completely under control as I cut this, sew that, and stitch there.
For the next three hours I notice nothing. The time completely flies by. It’s the strangest experience of my life.
My mind only thinks about here while my hands go on autopilot and get this poor fella fixed up in three hours for a surgery that should have taken four times as long, and had practically no chance of success.
But he’s stabilized and will make a full recovery.
But not me.
I set down the scalpel on the small metal table and turn to leave the ER room, but then I see her.
She may have a medical mask on, but it doesn’t matter. I could spot her across the Serengeti right now, like a cheetah on the hunt.
Even in a nurse’s outfit she looks good enough to eat.
I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts in an operating room. Sure, I’m experienced blood and the human body don’t shock me one bit, but it’s just that I’ve never felt such a pull to someone like this before…and certainly not in this clinical environment. And post-surgery no less.
I make a head motion for her to follow me out of the operating room and she does.
I wash and cover my hands in sanitizer and hip check my way through the door. The second I step out I hear Doctor Will, “That was incredible! You were an animal in there. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“And I’ve never seen anything like you,” I say to her as I reach up with one hand and carefully remove her surgical mask as she finishes writhing her hands causing her own handful of sanitizer to evaporate.
I’m completely out of line here, but I don’t care.
Those lips, the lower slightly bigger than the top but both equally as luscious.
I want to kiss her right here and now, but I can’t. I’ll lose my job and it will also threaten hers.
“Have dinner with me,” I say.
“No,” she says.
“Tonight. Eight.”
“I said no.”
“I’ll be at your door then,” I say.
I take my hand from her mask and turn walking down the hall to finish with all the post surgery things that need doing.
“I said no,” echoes down the hallway.
I respect women and would never force myself onto anyone, let alone into anyone’s life, but this is different.
There’s no way I’m taking no for an answer.
As a doctor I’m trained to read people. There’s the quote unquote reasons and symptoms they give you, and then there’s the actual problem solving diagnosis you have to solve by reading between the lines.
And I can read her like the open book that she can surely see I am just as well.
Her look gives her away. The immediate change in her body temperature when we touched. The way her lips parted when my gaze drifted to her lips.
I just need to take her somewhere nice. Somewhere to try and match the level of beauty and brains she has. No place on earth exists to rival her perfection, but I’m going to do the best I can.
And it will be much better for both of us to find a spot where no prying eyes from the hospital will be.
Just her and me. Mono y mono.
Doctor and nurse.
Neighbor and neighbor.
This is all too perfect.
And the most perfect thing of all is her.