“Not like he’s on drugs or anything,” I add quickly. “I don’t think so. I mean, definitely not. But…”
“Yes?”
I chew on my lower lip, not sure how much I can say. I don’t want to get Abe in trouble, but if this session is truly confidential, I should be able to tell her everything. “I found blood all over his scrubs. Like, soaking them.”
Patrice nods yet again. I wish she’d say something. I’m beginning to regret having come to her. This lady is the opposite of what I’d call “understanding.” But I’m already telling her, so I may as well go through with it. And anyway, there’s nothing to tell. Not yet.
“It was weird, that’s all,” I say. “And it was… scary.”
“So he was injured?”
“No, that’s the thing.” I think back to that night when I burst into the bathroom while he was showering. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t injured. I saw him in just a towel, and he wasn’t bleeding from anywhere. So where did all that blood come from?”
“What did he tell you?”
“He works part-time at a clinic.” I crinkle my nose. “He said he was doing someprocedure, and it got messy.”
“That sounds like a reasonable explanation.”
“Except why was the blood on hishandstoo?”
“On his hands?”
“In his fingernails. Isawit.”
Patrice is quiet for a moment, as if turning over this revelation in her head. “So you believe he’s lying to you.”
“Yes.”
“And what is it that you think he’s done?”
Even though it was an obvious question to ask, it throws me off-balance. Because there is only one conclusion that can be drawn after seeing that much blood on my boyfriend’s clothing.
“I don’t know,” I finally reply. “Abe is a good guy. I don’t believe he’d… you know…”
“Perhaps it was less blood than you thought?” Patrice suggests.
“Maybe…”
Maybe she's right. Yes, it looked like a lot of blood. But I once had a simple nosebleed that completely soaked my shirt. Just because it was all over his clothes, that doesn’t mean it was some person’s lifeblood. Maybe it really was just a procedure he was assisting in, just like he told me.
But I can't shake the feeling that he was lying to me.
I’ve stopped studyingat the library because I don’t want to run into Abe.
Instead, I have found a little empty classroom that is fairly quiet, and I can spread out my books and attempt to get some work done. It’s harder to study without Abe, but I can’t be around him right now.
I’ve managed to get through an hour of anatomy, although I’m not sure if any of it is sticking. I’ve got a little time left before the final exam, and I’ve got two passing grades under my belt. I can make it through this exam. I don't need Abe.
Although that’s not the reason I want to see him so badly right now.
I take a break from anatomy and head to the bathroom. After I relieve my bladder, I look at my reflection in the mirror while I’m washing my hands. I look exhausted. My hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and not the stylish kind. My face looks very pale, and I’ve got a blemish popping up on my chin. I splashsome water on my face, and that brings a tiny bit of color into my cheeks, but it doesn’t really help much.
Like I always do when I’m in here, I look down at the crack in the sink. There’s no memorial for Darcie Peterson—the girl who died here last year—and this is as close as it gets. It used to freak me out, but as the term has gone on, it has reminded me to be strong. Yes, med school is hard. But there are worse things.
I could be dead.
The door to the bathroom swings open, and one of my classmates, a stringy guy named Victor, enters the small space. Except this is a ladies’ room—not a coed bathroom. When he sees me standing there, he doesn’t leave.
