I make a loop around the campus before taking a route through it. The buildings I once took classes in, along with the well-known walkways, beckon me in a way I never believed possible. The familiarity that was once stifling now feels welcoming. I shake it off, refusing the emotion any influence. Turning my music louder to drown out any thoughts, I continue the run for another half hour before my body begs me for a reprieve. Sweat pouring down my face and dampening my shirt, I finish the final stretch of the run at a slow jog, arriving back at the hospital nearly two hours after I left.
Heading straight for the showers, I let the warm water cascade over my body, relaxing my tight muscles. The events of the last few days, Gia, my conversations with David and then Trisha, replay in my mind. Leaning my head against the cool tiles, I yearn for the pain to dissipate, to disappear like the steam enveloping me. But it is a childish wish, a hope that can never reach fruition. Accepting reality, I turn off the water and get dressed in the empty locker room, pulling my wet hair back as I walk out.
“Did you have a good run?”
I start at the sound of David’s voice. Glancing up, I see him standing in the large break area past the men’s and women’s locker rooms. His white coat off, he’s rolled his shirtsleeves to below his elbows. His eyes are tired, his face drawn with worry.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, seeing my reaction. “I saw you leave earlier for your run. I was hoping to catch you when you got back.”
“Are you following me?” I ask, sounding harsher than I mean to.
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m only pretending to be a doctor. My real job is to watch your every move.” Giving me a quick wink, he lowers his voice. “But please, whatever you do, don’t tell the patients. That would ruin my reputation.”
Having been thoroughly put in my place, I can’t help but grin back. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Excellent. I owe you one.” Turning toward the coffee machine, he grimaces when he sees all that is left are hours-old coffee grounds at the bottom of the carafe. “If I make a new pot, will you join me?”
I shake my head no. “I need to head home.”
“Right.” He turns back toward me, forgetting about the coffee. Holding my gaze, he says gently, “I was hoping to talk to you. Hence, the stalking.”
Feeling the familiar unease, I step toward the door. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
As I move past him, he reaches out, his hand gentle on my arm, stopping me. “What you said the other day. Can we talk about it?” Gently pulling me toward him, he dips his head to stare at me. “Why do you want your father dead?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, pulling my arm from his. The warmth of his touch still lingers. Without thinking, I rub the spot, trying to erase the tingling. His eyes follow my movement, narrowed in question. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“No,” I almost yell, needing to get out. The oxygen levels in the room drop, and I can’t catch my breath. “You have everything,” I say, pointing around me. “Your life is good.”
He laughs, the sound hollow. “What does that have to do with anything?” He shakes his head in confusion. “You matter to me.”
“Don’t care,” I beg. “About me, my life.” I pause, struggling to explain without revealing too much. “Please, just let it go.” When I leave, I don’t look back. But I know, without a doubt, that he’s not following me.
MARIN