Chapter 3
I was holding my IV pole, feeling like a fool, like someone carrying the torch but showing up at the wrong stadium, trying to find my spot in the sea of people.
Danny's voice pierced through the chaos: "Bed 32, over here."
Danny was standing at the entrance of a private room, hands shoved in his lab coat pockets, blocking the doorway like a guardian.
"Private room?" I said.
I glanced at the door, then at my sad, empty wallet. "No, Dr. Brennan. I'm too broke for this kind of luxury. I can't afford this.
"The lobby's fine for me."
Danny ignored me.
He strode over, snatched the IV pole from my hand, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the room like I was some lifeless sack.
Danny barked, "Lie down."
"Wait, how much is this going to cost? I don't have insurance. I'm still on probation at work," I was so panicked that I almost jumped out of my skin.
The pain of being ripped off was way worse than the pain in my stomach.
"I'll cover it," Danny said.
He hung up the IV, then turned and pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me back onto the bed.
"You'll cover it?" I stared at him, eyes wide. "What's that supposed to mean? Is the hospital running some promo? Like, 'Ex-boyfriend discount' or something?"
Danny's hand froze as he was adjusting the drip rate.
He turned to look at me, with a complicated look in his eyes.
"Cherry, five years gone, and your mouth is still as sassy as ever, asking for trouble," he said.
His gaze lingered on my lips.
Thanks to all that spicy pepper, my lips were swollen, hanging off my face like two red sausages. They looked ridiculous and maybe a bit pathetic.
He let out a sigh, poured me some water, popped in a straw, and brought it right up to my lips.
"Drink," he told me.
I took the straw in my mouth without protest.
The water soothed the burning in my throat, if only a little.
I snuck a glance at him.
He was sitting in the chair by the bed, not checking his phone or looking at any charts, quietly watching the IV drip, drop by drop.
His profile was so flawless. It looked like it had been sculpted by a 3D printer.
Back then, I was smitten by that face. I shamelessly chased after him for half a year, stubbornly clinging to him.
I brought him breakfast, saved him seats, and even forced myself to memorize those impossible medical terms for his sake, like I once thought "biceps" meant "the two lumps on a rooster's head."
And then, why did we break up, anyway?
Oh, right. It was because I was insecure, thinking I was not good enough for him.
He was the golden boy, the rising star in medicine. Me? I was the loser who flunked my exam three times before finally passing.
His world was all about scalpels, research papers, and racing against the clock to save lives.
Mine was all about juice, binge-watching dramas, and my biggest dilemma was whether to grab pizza or a hamburger for dinner.
We were living in totally different worlds.
That was what his mom told me back then, when she sat me down for a heart-to-heart.
Sure, it sounded like a cliché, but they were usually true.
"If it hurts, sleep for a bit," Danny said.
Suddenly, he gently placed his hand over my eyes.
His palm was dry and smelled faintly of soap.
With my vision blocked, every sound and touch felt sharper.
I felt him tuck the blanket around me, his movements so familiar that it almost stung. Back then, he used to do this for me whenever I had cramps.
"Danny..." I murmured.
"Shut up," he said.
"Okay," I replied.
I made a face in the darkness, my eyelids starting to droop.
As I was drifting off, I thought I heard him mutter under his breath, "You're such a dummy."
But this time, his voice had lost all its earlier coldness. There was only that helpless, soft affection, like warmth breaking through after a long winter.
When I woke up the next morning, it wasn't hunger that dragged me out of sleep. It was that greedy soul inside me, screaming for food.
The IV was gone, and my stomach pain had mostly faded, but I was left with that gnawing emptiness, like my insides were scraping together.
People needed food. Skipping a meal would be a big deal for me.
I glanced at the bedside table and found nothing there.
Then I checked my phone. It was eight o'clock, sharp.
By then, the diners outside the hospital had to be up and running, serving pancakes, hot dogs, and burritos.
I swallowed, and my brain started rolling scenes from a food show, mouthwatering close-ups and sizzling sounds, torturing me with cravings.
"No way, I need to rescue myself," I told myself.
I pulled off the covers and slipped out of bed like a spy breaking out of prison, quiet, sneaky, and on a mission.
I slid into my shoes, straightened my hospital gown, and scanned the hallway to make sure it was safe.
I stuck my head out, looking left and right. The nurse's station was empty, and the cleaning lady was busy mopping.
It was perfect.
I hugged the wall, creeping toward the elevator like a cartoon villain on a secret mission.
Fifteen feet, twelve feet, nine feet... I could practically taste victory.
"Hey, Bed 32, where do you think you're sneaking off to?" Danny's voice crashed down like thunder, stopping me dead in my tracks.
I turned around, stiff as a statue.
Danny was standing not far away, holding his clipboard, with three or four interns lined up behind him. All of them were watching me.