Medicine Man Page 3

  They begin fighting but I tune them out. I’m frozen, trapped by the sound of a name.

  Simon Blackwood.

  Dr. Simon Blackwood.

  He’s a doctor.

  Actually, no. He’s an excellent doctor.

  And he’s coming here.

  Damn it.

  The weather is miserable, and I love it.

  It’s raining like it won’t rain ever again. The winds are battering against the window, shaking the whole hospital.

  I hate that I love it so much. Because I can’t be outside and feel the sky fall on my body. I almost want it to take this stupid Victorian house apart, even though it’s a testament of a great love and all, so I can escape. We can all escape. I’m sure forty determined patients will be able to move a certain automatic gate up front.

  We’ve been cooped up inside the entire day and it blows. Not to mention everyone is wary and shaken up about the new arrival.

  Community group was really agitated today. This group is basically where they explain and re-explain the hospital rules and take in complaints from the residents. And today every complaint was against a man who managed to upset everyone, and he isn’t even here.

  Sophie, a girl with severe insomnia, burst into tears, saying she came here to get better and not deal with this shit. If she wanted to deal with change, she would have stayed with her mom and her ever-changing boyfriends. Roger, the guy with homicidal ideation and Renn’s crush of the week last week, was worried about the vibe he’d get from the new doctor. He’s big on vibes and auras.

  I’m usually quiet in such groups because my only complaint is that I don’t belong here. I’m sure it won’t go over too well with the therapist who handles the group. But then people started getting agitated when Renn expressed her own faux fears to rile things up: what if he does something to us in our sleep? I’d be so scared to fall asleep now.

  I decided to intervene. “You guys, stop. He’s not that bad. I met him,” I said. “In the hallway. And you know, he looked pretty non-threatening to me. So yeah.”

  Yes, I was lying but it was okay. It was for a good cause.

  My lies are always for a greater purpose.

  Renn threw me a suspicious look but whatever. At least I got everyone to calm down. For about two seconds, and then, the questions started.

  Where did you see him? The nurses said he hadn’t arrived yet.

  How’d he look?

  What do you mean non-threatening? What’d he look like exactly?

  How old is he?

  The last one came from Renn.

  I answered them the best I could: I met him when he was just arriving, five minutes before this meeting, and maybe that’s why no one knows he’s here yet. He looked pretty okay. Short and bald and yes, old.

  Although I didn’t get a lot of time to embellish my lies, which I’m very good at by the way, because the therapist handling the group got us to shut up, with the help of a few techs.

  All in all, this day sucks.

  Now, I’m clutching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban to my chest as I make my way toward the rec room at the end of the hall. Two nurses are standing in the corner, talking to each other, along with a couple of patients from my floor loitering about.

  I pass by Beth’s office. Usually, all staff offices are located in the area that’s not freely accessible to the patients. But Beth told me when I first got here that she considers Heartstone a family and she wants to be available to everyone without having to jump through the hoops of appointments and whatnot.

  Through her half-open door, I hear her talking to someone. But more importantly, I hear the same name I overheard a few hours earlier at breakfast.

  Simon.

  My feet come to a halt.

  My eyes go wide.

  “How’s he doing?” Beth asks to someone in her office. Someone who she called Simon a second ago. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in to see him this week. You know, with everything.”

  There comes a rustling and that someone clears his throat. “He’s exactly the same as he was last week.”

  Oh my God, is that Simon?

  Is he here? Is he actually in there?

  A long sigh. Then Beth says, “He likes to be difficult. I’ll give you that.”

  “Well, he always liked you,” he says.

  Simon says. No, Dr. Blackwood. Dr. Blackwood says. For some reason, I don’t want to be on a first-name basis with him. Even in my head.

  Anyway, so Dr. Blackwood says. Or rather rumbles.

  In a voice that’s deep and rough.

  “And who can blame him.” Beth chuckles.

  There’s a puff of air followed by a low grunt. I don’t think it should’ve made it out of the room for me to hear, but it did. That low, scratchy sound. Somehow, I know that it’s his laugh, rusty and unpracticed.

  I swallow as my heart pounds more than it was already pounding.

  There’s a prolonged silence. Seconds and minutes of silence. Or maybe it only feels like that to me. Because I’m frozen, unable to move. Then I remember that I’m standing in the middle of the hallway, trying to eavesdrop on a conversation. Twice in one day.

  But how can I resist? He’s the new doctor, my new enemy. I have to listen.

  I whirl on my feet and face the wall. I can’t be eavesdropping when there are people around. Or rather, I can’t make it obvious, so I try to make it look like I’m studying the collages on the wall.

  It’s the photographs of the patients, hospital staff, previous doctors, therapists with their names written on colorful strips.

  “I’ve said this before, but I’m glad you’re back. So glad, Simon. And I can’t tell you how excited I am that you’re here, at Heartstone. This is your place. You belong here.” Beth sounds nostalgic and so full of emotion.

  “You’ve said this before, yes,” Dr. Blackwood says wryly.

  She chuckles. “I think you should tell him. You know, about everything that happened.”

  “No,” he clips.

  “I keep saying it but… it’s okay. Whatever happened.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter, Simon,” Beth insists. “I practically brought you up. I can see it.”

  “It’s over.”

  “I think, if not him then you should talk to them. I think you should explain and maybe they will –”

  “No.”

  Beth goes silent. I don’t blame her. Even I jerked when I heard it – no, clutching the book to my chest and rubbing my arms. It’s the way he said it. So shortly and loudly. So final.

  “It’s over, Beth,” he says in a much calmer voice. “There’s nothing to explain. Let it go.”

  What the hell are they talking about?

  Whatever it is though, it has to be something extremely serious. I can say that much.

  I wonder –

  Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and I squeak, my thoughts disintegrating and my book falling to the floor with a thwack.

  I whirl around to find an amused Renn looking back at me. “What are you doing?” I screech at her.

  “What are you doing?” In contrast to me, her voice is relaxed and so is her posture.

  “You scared the c-crap out of me.” I press a hand to my chest, trying to control my out-of-control heartbeats.

  “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “No,” I lie. “And what happened to the no-touching rule?”

  There’s a rule here prohibiting touching between patients because some of them freak out when touched.

  “As if. No rules can bind me.”

  “Maybe they should because –”

  I stop talking when the door to Beth’s room opens up and she stands in front of us. “Hey, guys. What’s happening? Is everything okay?”

  “Hey, Beth,” Renn chirps. “It’s nothing. I just touched Willow and she freaked out.”

  “Renn.” Beth shakes he
r head. “You know there’s a no-touching rule.”

  “Willow doesn’t mind. She’s my BFF.” She turns to me. “Aren’t you?”

  Despite myself, I flush with pleasure at being called a BFF. I’ve never had any BFFs before. In fact, I never had any friends period.

  Though I won’t let Renn off the hook so easily. “Yes. But she scared the crap out of me, Beth.” I press a hand to my chest, dramatically, before smirking at Renn. “Rules are rules for a reason.”

  “Traitor,” Renn mutters, just as Beth launches into the importance of rules.

  Chuckling, I bend down to pick up my fallen book. It’s an old copy, with a questionable spine, and the fall has caused some of the yellow pages to come loose. They are scattered on the hardwood floor, black lettering flowing like a river. I grab hold of them and begin arranging them in the right order.

  Over me, Beth and Renn continue to argue about rules and how Renn should be more conscious of them. But all conversation is lost when he steps out of the room.

  Simon Blackwood.

  I’m still bent down on my knees, putting my book back together, page by page, but I feel him standing over me. My fingers slip, causing a few collected pages to spill on the floor again.

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself to chill out. He’s the enemy. I can’t show him fear.

  But him towering over me bothers me more than I’d like. Maybe it’s because the air has moved around me, to make space for him. I feel his body casting its own shadow, creating its own awareness.

  Discreetly and still arranging the papers, I look at the lower half of him. He’s wearing black dress pants and brown wingtip shoes. Moisture and droplets of water cling to the fabric, and to his pointy and put-together footwear.

  Outside.

  He has come from the Outside.

  Well, where else would he have come from? But God, he’s brought rain with him, crisp and so pretty. I wish I could feel it on my skin.

  And then, as if he can hear my thoughts, he makes it rain. He comes down on his knees by my side and I feel the cool, fresh droplets that shake down from his body, falling on mine. One plops on my scalp, another on my forehead and cheek, and a couple on my bare arms.

  I move away from him fractionally.

  I don’t want him close. And neither do I want to notice how his dress pants are stretching across the expanse of his thighs. I’ve never seen cloth do that to a body before, mold around the bulging muscles like it were clay.

  He should wear looser pants; I should tell him.

  “You missed a few,” he says, and I forget about his thighs.

  From this close, his voice sounds more potent, more grainy, more rough, more deep.

  Just more.

  He reaches out his arm, and his fingers fold around the yellowed pages, lying on the side. Gently, he plucks them off the floor, arranges them in order, exactly the way I was doing a moment before. The way he grips the thin strips with such care, such finesse, wakes up my goose bumps.

  I whip my eyes up to look at his face.

  I breathe out a relieved, suspended breath. I didn’t know I was even holding it. My gaze catches on to his square, rock-hard jaw, tracing the stubble that roughens up the slant of it. My eyes move up and I see his cheekbones, high and cliff-like.

  Royal, masculine, stunning. Just like his name. He reminds me of the timeless statues I’ve seen in my history textbook.

  His eyelids are lowered, as he’s still focused on his task, and a couple of stray rain droplets shine on his eyelashes. In fact, I don’t even think he’s looked at me once. Not once. It prickles me that he finds a book worthier of his attention than me. Which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever felt.

  Ever.

  Once he’s done, he offers the pages to me. Again, barely looking at me. “Here.”

  His eyes are gray in color.

  Gray.

  Like the clouds up in the sky. The man – my new enemy – who’s wearing the rain has eyes the color of rainy clouds. One of my favorite things.

  Damn it.

  He frowns, giving me a distracted glance. “Are you okay?”

  I blink, embarrassed, and take the pages from his hands before sliding them somewhere random in the book. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks.”

  “You might want to fix it.”

  “Huh?”

  “The book,” he explains, tipping his chin toward the object in my hand. “So it’s not broken anymore. A little glue on the binding should help.”

  I swallow, my throat dry. “Right. Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  I’m aware that I’m somewhat repeating my words, but my brain is mush. It’s like the time when my anti-depressants made me almost manic, and they had to give me something to bring me down. I was in a fog the entire time.

  Besides, he didn’t even stop to hear my answer. As soon as he doled out his piece of advice, he stood back up, his gaze slipping away from me. Not that it was there for more than a microsecond, but still.

  Except I caught a word in all of this, and now it’s stuck in my brain like his name: fix.

  “Well, Renn, as much as I’d like to argue, I think I’ll pass.” Beth smiles before turning to the man beside her. “All right, I’m going to do the honors. This is Renn, our resident troublemaker. Watch out for this one. And that’s Willow, our resident good girl. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a patient as well behaved as Willow.”

  I look away from him. I’m embarrassed now. The way Beth described me sounded lame. Although, I am a good girl. I’ve always followed the rules, listened to my mom and teachers, taken my meds on time.

  So, good girl. That’s me.

  I don’t know why hearing that bothers me though.

  Or the fact that he barely even throws us a smile. He nods, twitches his lips half-heartedly, hardly making eye contact. You can’t call it rude; all of it is polite.

  Except, I don’t like it.

  Beth continues, “And girls, this here is our new doctor, Dr. Blackwood.”

  Even though I knew who he was, my heart races as if I’m hearing it for the first time. The shock of who this man is, is still new and vivid. It’ll probably never wear off.

  Again, Dr. Blackwood throws out a slight nod and a small smile. It’s all right and well-timed and nice. And I bet he forgot our names as soon as he heard them. I bet he won’t even remember this encounter tomorrow.

  Dear God, it bothers me so much. So fucking much and it doesn’t make sense.

  The way he’s not looking at us… at me. The way he said, You might want to fix your book.

  “Oh, so you are Dr. Blackwood,” Renn muses. “Can you confirm your age for me? Like, really quickly?”

  “Renn!” Beth chides, glaring, and I do the same, forgetting my strange irritation at the man in front of us.

  “What? I didn’t ask your age.” Renn rolls her eyes at Beth, pointing to me. “We’ve got a little bet going.”

  Damn the bet. I’d completely forgotten about it until Renn popped her stupid, inappropriate question.

  “Are you kidding me?” I snap, pointedly looking away from Beth and Dr. Blackwood.

  “What? It’s the truth.” Renn shrugs like she’s so innocent. “Besides, you should be worried right now, dude. You lost.”

  “I did not lose.” I look at Beth and reassure her, “I wasn’t even playing.”

  “Are you kidding me now? Didn’t you say he was short and bald? You put your money on that.”

  Beth gasps. “Renn! Willow? Why would you –”

  Renn doesn’t let her speak. “No, actually. She said he likes to fart twice in an hour. Then, in the group she said she’d met him and he was short and bald.”

  My eyes bug out. “What? I…”

  “Both of you –” Beth begins but this time, it’s me who talks over her.

  “First of all, the bet was Renn’s idea.” I glare at her, my face flaming, flaming. “And second of all, eve
rybody was freaking out in the group. They were worried about his aura, okay? It was a mess. I had to do something. So I kinda made things up. I did get everyone to calm down, didn’t I?”

  “Is that what you do?”

  This is the first time he’s said something ever since this nonsensical argument sprouted up.

  It’s a wonder I even hear him over my own pounding heartbeats. Somehow, someway, I turn my eyes to him. That’s a wonder too, given my level of embarrassment.

  Is it weird that I’m sweating everywhere, even under my bangs? I blow on them and he glances at the fluttering strands before looking into my eyes. Not in passing, but really. Like he’s really seeing me.

  The earth tilts slightly but I plant my feet wide and refuse to be moved as he takes me in. My loose topknot, with strands of hair sprinkled around my face, clinging to the nape of my neck. Even though, his gaze flicks along my features and he doesn’t look anywhere else below that, I still try to remember what I’m wearing. I think I’ve got a white t-shirt on with the quote across my breasts, “Just a wizard girl, living in a muggle world.” Oh, and sweatpants with my bunny slippers.

  In my outrageous nightmares, I saw them putting me in a straitjacket as soon as I arrived at the facility. But apparently mental hospitals don’t do that anymore. They told me to bring my most comfortable clothes and, well, what’s more comfortable than my Harry Potter t-shirts and sweatpants?

  But oddly, I’m regretting my wardrobe choices now. Which obviously means that I’ve lost my mind. Well, more than usual. I lift my chin in defiance and something flashes across his impassive face. I can’t say what, however.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Make things up?”

  I want to fidget under his gray eyes but I control myself and hug my book tighter.

  What kind of a question is that?

  See? Psychiatrists ask stupid, irrelevant questions.

  I frown. “I don’t make things up. I elaborate.”

  He stays silent for so long that I think he’ll never speak again. But he does, very casually. “And that’s clearly very different from each other.”

  “Yes.” I smile. “As a matter of fact, they are very different from each other.”

  “You do that often – elaborate, I mean?”