“My wallet’s on the kitchen counter,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I think I can afford a small pizza.”
“I want to pay,” he insists.
“You don’t have to pay.”
“Rachel,” he says. “If there isn’t ten dollars missing from my wallet when I get out of the shower, I’m going to fail you in anatomy.”
I stick my tongue out at him and slam the bathroom door closed. I throw on one of Matt’s T-shirts, figuring it’s big enough to conceal most of me and that way I don’t have to get dressed. Then I take ten dollars from my own wallet (I don’t believe his threats) and throw open the door for the pizza guy.
Except it’s not the pizza guy.
It’s Patrice.
Oh shit.
She’s clutching this Tupperware container, and her face goes completely white when she sees me standing there. She nearly drops the Tupperware, but manages to hold onto it at the last second. But she’s clearly speechless. She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open.
I try to think of an excuse—some reason why I might be here. I mean, it’s not totally ridiculous that a student might be at a professor’s apartment. Maybe we’re having an extra tutoring session.
Except I’m having a little more trouble thinking up an explanation for why I’d be wearing his shirt.
Well, maybe I came over here for a tutoring session. Then, while in the middle of the session, I spilled some red fruit punch on my clothes. And of course, Matt offered to wash and dry them for me, and in the meantime, he gave me his shirt to wear.
Yes, I can see how it looks, Patrice, but this is actually completely innocent.
Of course, we’re still just staring at each other when Matt limps into the living room. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s dressed in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. This is getting harder and harder to fit into my little makeshift excuse.
“You got the pizza, Rach?” Matt asks me. It takes him like another half-second to realize who’s standing at the door. His eyes go wide and he looks like he might fall on his face. He grabs onto the couch to support himself, and says, “Oh shit.”
“Matt,” Patrice manages. She glares at me and pushes her way into the house. “What’s going on here?”
Well, I think that’s pretty obvious at this point.
“You said you were sick,” Patrice hisses. She shakes the Tupperware in his face. “I brought you some soup.”
“Oh,” he says weakly. “Thanks.”
“I can’t believe you, Matt!” she murmurs loudly. “How could you do this? Especially with her!”
Especially with me? What does that mean?
“Rachel,” Matt says in a pained voice. “I think… maybe you better go.”
I get a sick feeling in my stomach. I go back to Matt’s bedroom, where I put my clothes back on. I can hear her scolding him in the living room, although I can only make out some of the words.
“… you of all people, Matt, I really can’t believe… so stupid and irresponsible… could lose your job… obviously she’s playing you… not like she’s so pretty you couldn’t possibly resist…”
I hate Patrice so much.
I come back out into the living room, where Matt is now sitting on the couch with a glazed look on his face. Patrice is just glaring at me. I don’t even say goodbye as I hurry out the front door. On the way to my car, I see the pizza delivery truck pulling up.
_____
I cry the whole way home.
The more I think about it, the more I’m certain that Patrice is in love with Matt. She came over with soup for him when she thought he was sick, for God’s sake. And that’s why she was so angry with me. Not because she thought Matt was compromising his morals or jeopardizing his job or anything. But because she wanted him.
Patrice is going to blow the whistle on us. The whole school is going to find out about me and Matt. He’s going to lose his job. And I’m going to get kicked out of school.
But wait, maybe not. If she’s really so in love with him, maybe she won’t do that to him. Maybe she’ll protect our secret. But if she does, it will be on the condition that he ends things immediately with me.
I just can’t bear the thought of that.
When I get home, I park in front of the dorm but I don’t go inside. I don’t want Heather to see me like this. Instead, I rest my head on the steering wheel and sob loudly. Goddamn Patrice. I can’t believe that just happened.
I’m wiping snot from my nose with the back of my sleeve when my phone buzzes. I reach for it and my heart leaps when I see Matt’s number.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hey,” he says quietly. He doesn’t sound happy.
I swallow, trying not to let on that I’ve been crying. “Is Patrice still there?”
“No, she’s gone,” he says.
“Okay,” I say carefully. “So, um… is she going to… tell on us?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “No,” he finally says. “She isn’t. She just believes very strongly that we should end things. And… she made some good points. Really good points.”
I can only guess what Patrice must have said based on the little I overheard from the bedroom. Apparently, I’m a treacherous vixen who’s playing him for a grade.
“How about you?” I squeak. “Do you think we should end things?”
Matt sighs. “Rachel, come on. Look, I’m crazy about you, but… we could both get in so much trouble. Is it really worth it?”
He’s crazy about me. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes,” I say. “It’s worth it.”
There’s a long pause on the other line. Finally, he sighs. “This has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
I bite my lip. “Does that mean I can come back over?”
“Well, I can’t eat this whole damn pizza by myself, can I?”
At that moment, I almost say it. I love you, Matt. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite push them out.
Chapter 52
Matt warns me that we have to be extra careful now that Patrice knows about us, and maybe I shouldn’t come over so often, but he quickly seems to throw caution back to the wind. After a few weeks, I’ve practically moved in with him. I’m at his house more and more, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
My routine is that straight after anatomy lab, I go back to my apartment to shower then go straight to Matt’s house. He actually told me that I don’t need to bother with the shower—he barely notices the smell of formaldehyde anymore.
“I’ve eaten my lunch in that lab,” he admits to me. “What really bothers me is the damn body mist you guys always spray on yourselves to cover up the smell.”
But as much as I hate to admit it to Heather, I don’t feel comfortable not showering after lab, especially if there’s going to be sexy time.
Okay, here’s my confession: I don’t love anatomy lab.
My grades are definitely better and I sort of know what I’m doing in lab these days. But the truth is, I just don’t enjoy it. I still sort of dread anatomy labs and feel relieved when each one has ended.
Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to make a great surgeon. Maybe I need to rethink that.
Matt, on the other hand, would have made an incredible surgeon. Not only does he have an encyclopedic knowledge of the human body, he truly loves anatomy and learning about the way the human body works. Even though he’s a great professor, I feel like it’s a loss to the world of surgery that he decided to give up on finishing medical school.
“You never regret not becoming a surgeon?” I ask him one day, while lying in bed.
He shrugs. “There are a lot of things a person can do with their life. It’s only natural to sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I has chosen another path. But I’m happy with what I do and that’s what matters.” He squints at me, “And how about you? Do you ever regret giving up your life to go to medical school?”
I make a face. “I’m not giving up my life.”
“Don’t be naïve,” he says. “Medicine has already become your life and you’ve only just started. Just wait till you’ve got a pager attached to your belt and you’re spending Christmas Eve in the emergency room.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say with a smile. Not.
“I can see you being a great doctor,” he says earnestly. “But you have to know why you’re here. Why you want to be a doctor. The real reason.”
The reason I went to med school is almost too embarrassing to admit. Then again, I trust Matt. I want to be honest with him.
“I didn’t want to be like my mother,” I say. “She just stayed at home with the kids, never had a career or a life of her own. Never earned a dollar on her own. It was so… pathetic.” I sigh. “So you figured me out, I’m just like all those other girls who don’t want to end up like their mothers. I guess I figured a surgeon is about as far away from a homemaker as you can get.”
Matt laughs, “Rach, trust me: you are in no way like any other girl. None that I’ve ever met before, anyway.”
I rest my head against Matt’s shoulder. It’s so nice to lie here with him. All those times with those other professors—it feels like some sort of nightmare. Whatever happens between us, I know I’ll never, ever do that again. Now that I know what it’s like to be with someone I really like, I can’t go back. It’s pretty amazing.
“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he comments.
“I’m just… happy,” I say.
And for the first time in my life, I realize it’s true. I didn’t even realize how miserable and alone I felt before Matt came into my life. I press my face into his shoulder, the one where he messed up his rotator cuff, and I murmur, “I love you.”
I look up at Matt’s face and see a change come over him. He looks down at me, and for the first time, he also looks truly happy.
“I love you too, Rachel,” he says.
And then something happens that ruins everything.
Chapter 53
It’s about two weeks before the final exam in anatomy. We’re working on the arms, although I’ve noticed that more and more students are cutting lab in order to study. I can never do that though. Matt would kill me.
Today I’m the only one in my lab group of five who showed up. I work my ass off separating the forearm muscles all by myself. Well, not all by myself—Matt comes by a bunch of times to assist me.
When the lab ends, I’m dead tired. My back is killing me from leaning over the cadaver—I even manage to inexplicably work up a sweat. I head straight for my locker, hoping to change clothes quickly, go home, and take a long, hot shower, followed by a visit to Matt’s house. But the note stuffed under the door of the locker makes me forget all about my plans.
“I know all about you and Dr. Conlon. Put the answers to the final exam under the door of Locker 282 or else everyone will find out the truth.”
The note, of course, is unsigned. I crumple it up and stuff it in my pocket quickly, suddenly paranoid that someone else is watching me. There are only a few people in the hallway and none of them seem to be paying attention to me.
Who would write a letter like this? God, it could be anyone. Our class is full of really competitive people, and in all honesty, a lot of people in the class don’t like me very much. I don’t think I could even come up with a short list of suspects.
I glance down the hallway. The way the lockers are numbered, Locker 282 is all the way down the hall on the right. I slam my own locker door closed and walk in the direction of the locker. It’s one of the top lockers, right in the middle of the row. There’s a combination lock holding the door closed. I peer through the vent in the door, trying to see what’s inside. Of course, all I can see is blackness.
Whoever wrote that letter means business. If someone reports me to the dean, Matt and I will both be in a lot of trouble. And how exactly am I supposed to explain my A on the second exam after failing the first?
Shit. What the hell am I going to do?
_____
The next morning, I show up in the office of Matt’s secretary, Anita. Anita is a grandmotherly woman who Matt says has been with him since he started.
“I don’t know what I’d do without her,” he says sometimes.
She pretty much dotes on him like he’s her son (or grandson). Anita is a favorite amongst the med students too, mainly because she always keeps a big bowl of candy on her desk and we’re all hungry. And she smiles a lot.
Anita never has a smile on her face for me though. Actually, I’d venture to say she hates me.
When I show up in her office, she practically sneers at me. I’m sure Matt didn’t confide in her about the two of us, but she ran into me a couple of times leaving his office and I think she suspects something. And clearly, she doesn’t approve.
“Hi, Anita,” I say, trying to appear as friendly and peppy as possible. I thought about bringing her chocolates or something, but decided it would seem like I’m trying too hard.
“Hello, Rachel,” Anita replies, barely looking up from her computer.
“Um, I’m wondering if you can tell me something,” I begin, tugging at my T-shirt nervously. “Do you know who is assigned Locker 282?”
“No,” Anita says, still not looking up.
“Is there any way to find out?” I ask.
“Locker assignments are confidential,” Anita snaps at me.
“They are?” I never heard that and wonder if it’s really true. “Um, do you know when Matt will be here?”
Anita is staring at me. I have no idea why until I realize what I just said. Shit.
“I mean,” I say, blushing bright red, “do you know when Dr. Conlon will be here?”
Anita narrows her eyes. “No, I don’t.”
“Okay, then,” I murmur.
I’ve lost all interest in finding out about Locker 282 and just want to get the hell out of here. But Anita isn’t going to let me get off that easily.
“Miss Bingham,” Anita says in a tight voice, “I’ve worked with Matthew Conlon for many years and he’s a very good professor and a good man. And someday he’ll find a woman who loves him. I think it’s downright despicable that you’re taking advantage of the fact that he’s very lonely right now.”
I feel a burst of anger rising inside of me.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.
Anita shakes her head. “I never thought I’d see the day when a twenty-two-year-old snot-nosed med student would tell me that I have no idea what I’m talking about. I knew I was right about you, and I’ve told Matthew as much.”
Oh great. Anita is talking trash about me to Matt. I feel my face turn red with anger, but I know it won’t do much good to fight with Anita. Anita hates me, Patrice hates me… everyone thinks I’m the worst person in the world for getting involved with Matt. And maybe they’re all right.
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” I say quietly. “I wish you could understand.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I see a flash of doubt fall over Anita’s face. Either way, it passes quickly. I’m a medical student and I’m dating my anatomy professor. Nobody is going to understand if this gets out.
_____
I can’t tell Matt about the letter.
I’d like to, but I sense it’s a mistake. Matt won’t negotiate. Despite his resolve not to let anyone fail and the fact that he’s sleeping with a student, he’s irritatingly ethical. He’s not going to hand someone an answer key just because they threatened him. He has way too much integrity for his own good. He’d rather lose his job than negotiate.
I’m not quite so hardcore.
Cheating doesn’t bother me. Obviously. Okay, I know it’s wrong, but it’s not on the order of murder or torture. I don’t like being blackmailed, but it’s hard to throw stones. I blackmailed plenty of professors, and if I could have taken advantage of another student, I’m sure I would have. The opportunity just never came up.
And med school is
full of extremely competitive students. The worst of the bunch are dubbed “gunners.” Gunners are students who do more than just study all the time to succeed—they’ll stop at nothing to outdo their classmates. I’ve heard stories about gunners who ripped important pages out of textbooks in the library, hoarded study materials passed on by upperclassmen, and badmouthed other students to the professors. But something like this goes beyond just competitiveness. This is cheating, pure and simple.
Don’t laugh, but I actually do some detective work to figure out who Locker 282 belongs to. I start inconspicuously wandering around in the corner where the locker is located, although I realize I’m at a disadvantage, considering the blackmailer knows who I am.
Naturally, my first thought was that it might be Lauren Chou, considering I’m pretty sure she suspected something was going on between me and Matt when she saw me leave his office with my buttons mismatched. I watched her around the lockers, and I was almost positive that I saw her slamming the door to Locker 282.
The next day, I fall into step with Lauren while we’re heading to our lockers prior to lab. Lauren glances up at me and doesn’t seem particularly thrilled by my company, but she doesn’t shove me out of the way at least. Lauren is kind of a geek—very studious, with thick glasses that are always sliding down her nose, usually with her nose stuffed in a book. But not that competitive from what I’ve seen—more of a nerd than a gunner. Lauren wants to be a neurologist, which is what all the nerds want to do.
“Hi, Lauren,” I say brightly. “Going to lab?”
Lauren shifts her backpack to her other shoulder and peers at me with curiosity. Or is it suspicion? Lauren and I have exchanged only a handful of words this year, and we haven’t spoken since the time she saw me coming out of Matt’s office.
“Yes,” Lauren says. “Of course.”
“Right,” I say after an awkward pause. “Me too.”
If this med school thing doesn’t work out, I don’t think detective work is in the cards for me.
“Great,” Lauren replies tonelessly.
Suicide Med Page 26
