“Maybe you should cut back on the coffee?”
He stops pacing and stands there again in the center of the room, taking shaky breaths. “Seriously, Abe. Just one or two pills to knock me out. I’m begging you.”
I grit my teeth. “I told you, I’m not a drug dealer!”
“Bullshit!” He practically spits the words at me. “Everyone knows what you’re doing. Just give me a couple of pills, you piece of shit!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I rise to my feet, stunned by his accusations. “I’m not a drug dealer. You need to apologize to meright now.”
Mason isn’t a small guy by any means. He’s somewhat built, although I suspect he’s gotten softer in the last few months. But it doesn’t matter. I’m still a lot bigger than he is. You can’t underestimate the damage that a large mass can do.
Mason is quiet for a minute, and I wait. I’m almost hoping he’ll stick to his guns. I almost want him to say it one more time because I feel like I’m ready to explode. My right hand balls into a fist, ready to break his nose the second he says the word “no.” I can almost taste it.
But then Mason raises his eyes and says, “Sorry.”
He turns on his heel and scurries out the door, plunging our bedroom back into silence.
I flop back down in my bed and squeeze my eyes shut. It was hard enough to get to sleep, but now it’s impossible. I can’t stop thinking about that man I killed. All the blood.
And what the police might do when they find out.
I can’t sleep. I’ve got to get out of here.
The sun is down,and I’m the only person in the anatomy lab. I rip the plastic covering off of the dead body. Frank. That is what Mason started calling him, and the rest of us followed his lead. Frank is partially but not entirely dissected. His abdomen and pelvis as well as his face have been mostly ripped apart, but his arms and legs are intact, for the most part. Except for the left arm, which Rachel dissected the other day.
I pull a scalpel from the dissection kit. I look down at the tattoo on Frank’s arm:To serve and protect.Frank had probably been a cop. His job had been to protect the public.
I dig the scalpel into the center of the tattoo, slicing clear through the skin.
I haven’t been to the anatomy lab in a while because I’ve been avoiding Heather. At first, I try my best to stick to the instructions on the lab manual, but in the end, I’m taking out my anger and frustration on the dead body in front of me. I can’t punch Dr. Kovak in the nose, but at least I can slice this dead body to shit. Three hours later, I’ve done a truly terrible dissection of Frank’s remaining arms, both his legs. It looks like a mess. He looks more like a serial killer got at him than a skilled medical student.
But what does it matter? What does it matter if I learn the muscles and nerves of the arms and legs? I’ll be lucky if I make it through the year.
I continue working until I’m too tired to go on. I put back the dissection kit and cover up Frank’s body. I pull off my gloves then go straight to the bathroom and sit in a stall, staring at the wall for the better part of an hour.
30
Our final examin anatomy is tomorrow.
Like half of our class, I am in the library, trying to study. I wish I could study with Heather, but she’s still mad at me, and she’s studying somewhere else. At home, I guess.
I still can’t believe I screwed that up so badly. If only she hadn’t walked in on me in the shower.
Anyway, I’ve got my anatomy textbook, my anatomy atlas, and pages of crumpled notes. I’ve got five different colors of highlighters. Even if my life has turned to shit, at least I can pass my anatomy final.
I brought a metal water bottle with me that was a present from my mother when I started medical school. I guess she thought I’d be drinking a lot of water, although it’s mainly been coffee. I’m already too jittery, though, and I’d like to try to get some sleep tonight, so I’m off caffeine for now.
I grab my water bottle and leave the library to fill it up at the drinking fountain outside. As the water level rises in the container, I remember learning in chemistry class about how water is the only molecule where the solid form has a lowerdensity than the liquid form. That’s why ice floats on water. I always found that fascinating.
Maybe I should’ve been a chemist. Then all this crap wouldn’t be happening to me.
“Hey, Abe.”
I swivel my head at the voice from behind me. It’s one of my classmates—Victor. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs, like he’s been in the lab studying or maybe planning to go. (I hope it’s the latter since I hate to think he hasn’t changed since being elbow deep in a cadaver.) He is shifting between his feet and tugging at his scrub shirt.
“Hey,” I say.
I don’t know Victor very well, but I saw him at Kovak’s clinic that day with a “cough that won’t go away,” and the memory makes me cringe.
