Brutally Beautiful(94)

“Sneaking into the morgue, or watching the doctors and nurses care for patients was thrilling to me, powerful. It became my obsession, and best of all, completely forbidden by my mother. Later, I would understand her reasoning for wanting me to abstain from the clinical detachment of medicine, but by then, it was too late to learn more from her, since injecting herself with the world’s largest dose of morphine was of more importance to her. When my mother died, I was a girl interrupted. I no longer had to hide my addiction to saving people; I no longer had to hide my mother-disapproved freak-side bookish ways. I dove into my freakish nature, along with my brother and father to bury the truth about my life-taking, family stealing, morally corrupt, vain mother, and for the first time in my life, I got to be me.”

“Wait, whoa. Your mother’s deceased?” I asked.

“Yep. Her suicide letter was written on a neon pink post-it note…she blamed her death on my father’s lack of attention, and the hate she had for her life as a mother and wife, and nothing more.”

Silence overtook the room as she quietly stared into her coffee. Her brows pulled elegantly together and she leaned back and sighed heavily, “Anyway, I realized I had something special to give to the world and I f*cking did it. I took pre-med college classes when I was still in high school. They put me in the accelerated program in a medical charter school and I started medical school when I was just nineteen. After med-school, I ah…I wanted to start helping people…I was exceptional at what I did; it was all I knew. So I did my doctoral program and my residency where I thought I’d see the most trauma, where I was needed the most, you know.”

“In the city?” I guessed.

“No,” she said swallowing nervously, one hand cupped around her coffee and the other twisting the bottom of her shirt. “I was a Medical Corps Officer in the 82 division of the US army. I spent six years there. What should have been my residency years doing rounds in a sterilized hospital with holier than thou doctors making me guess what was wrong with patients, I spent in the bowels of Afghanistan, where real life hell was being played out. Where I learned to be a real trauma surgeon. Where it mattered.”

Holy f*cking hell.

Anger bubbled over, and I jumped to my feet, fisting my hair in my hands. “Fuck, Sam. Fuck, Sam. FUCK!” God, seriously? What the f*ck? Can there be more shit to make me want her more? Can there be more shit to make me fall in love with her faster?

“What about you, Kade?” She asked, ignoring my outburst. “What was your childhood like?”

“Normal,” I barked, kicking over the garbage bin and sailing it across the room. “I was a jackass, my best friend was a dick and all we ever did was to try to get laid, and then he turned into a mass murderer. I never did anything remotely worthy of mentioning in the presence of someone who fought in wars or saved lives. You…you’re like some sort of…of…I don’t know, saint or something.” I was yelling. Bitter words, twisted heart and devastation hooked its talons into my brain. Why was I becoming more and more enraged with how precious and moral she was? Oh, the f*cking answer was simple really, because when she leaves, she’s going to take it all away from me.

Her phone beeped and vibrated against the table like the ring at the end of a boxing match. She reached for it hesitantly and read the message.

Clearing her throat, she whispered softly, “Bree just messaged me that she’s going to leave the hospital in about an hour. She wants to know if she could come here to wash and change. Says she smells like rotten meat. Deputy George will drive her…”