Suicide Med

by Freida McFadden

  “Hey, Ginny.” Mason nudges me. “What do you think this tattoo means?”

  What are you, an idiot?

  “It means he was probably a cop,” I say.

  Mason’s eyes widen and he looks really impressed. He talks about it all through the rest of the lab, how cool it is we’re dissecting the body of such an important person. He’s talking faster and louder than I’ve ever heard him speak before, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a side effect of the medication.

  Nah, probably not.

  _____

  It’s a Friday night and everyone is beginning to feel the crunch from our upcoming anatomy exam. I’m in the library as usual, as is Mason Howard. I brought him a cup of coffee laced with the usual hallucinogenic that seems to have no effect whatsoever. I’m beginning to wonder why I even bother.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asks, nodding toward my table as I hand him the cup of coffee.

  “Uh… sure,” I agree. I feel a flash of fear as I wonder if he discovered what I’ve been doing. Why else would he want to talk to me?

  He shakes his head at me, “Don’t you ever go home?”

  Wow, what a freaking hypocrite.

  “Do you?” I ask belligerently.

  Mason blinks a few times, taken aback by my response, and that’s when I realize it: holy crap, he’s flirting with me.

  Mason Howard is flirting with me.

  It seems so impossible. I mean, I’m not ugly or anything, but Mason is… well, Mason. He’s sort of in a different league. Well, at least the girls who throw themselves at him on a regular basis seem to be in a different league. Those girls are gorgeous. Why would he pay any attention to me when he could have them?

  “So tell me, Ginny,” he says, “why do you want to be a doctor?”

  For a second, I’m completely taken in by his hazel eyes. Even though I officially hate him, I find myself blurting out the whole sad story about my father and how much it changed me. And he actually looks like he cares. Maybe he’s faking it though.

  “I’m so sorry, Ginny,” he says, as he places his hand on mine.

  And that’s when I recognize that he wants to kiss me. And even though I hate myself for it, I want to kiss him back. I shouldn’t though. It would be a mistake. I really have to stay completely focused on—

  Oh hell, now he’s kissing me.

  And it’s a very nice kiss too. Very passionate and lustful. Much more so than with too-short Alex. I love the way his tongue gently moves against mine as his fingers lace into my short brown hair, pulling me closer to him. We kiss in the empty library for several minutes.

  When he pulls away, Mason whispers in my ear, “You want to get out of here?”

  God, I really do.

  We end up in the med student locker room. It’s not a super comfortable place to have sex—we’re basically stuck doing it on the floor. But we both want each other so bad, it doesn’t really matter. Mason’s fingers are shaking so much as he unbuttons my shirt that he accidentally dislodges a button—he nearly rips my blouse open. I guess it’s been a while for him. Me too.

  When it’s over, we both collapse against the cold locker room floor, still half-naked. This is going to sound dumb, but I sort of feel like I want a cigarette. I look over at Mason—he’s still breathing hard and I see a line of sweat along his hairline.

  He grins at me, “That was really great.”

  After a moment of hesitation, he kisses me on the cheek.

  It was really great. But he’s already got an inflated ego, so I just say, “It’s a nice study break.”

  He doesn’t seem disturbed that I haven’t showered him with praise.

  “Maybe we could take another study break in the future,” he suggests, looking at me in a way that makes me think he’d like to take another study break right now. I can’t imagine why he desires me so much, but it’s clear he does.

  I’ve never been with a guy like Mason before. Every man I ever dated has been humble, meek, and plain—the diametric opposite of Mason. He’s not my type at all. But I can’t deny that I am incredibly attracted to him.

  Even though I still hate him, of course.

  Chapter 61

  I stop dropping the Sinemet capsules in Mason’s coffee after that. Considering he’s sort of my… well, he’s not my boyfriend, but he’s definitely something to me. Anyway, I just can’t do it anymore. As much as it pains me to see his amazing score on the first big anatomy exam, I know that he earned the grade.

  Also, there’s a very tiny chance I’m starting to fall for him. Just a tiny bit.

  Don’t tell anyone. My sisters would never let me hear the end of it. I was never a girl who was taken in by a handsome face. But Mason’s not just handsome, he’s really handsome. Okay, that sounds bad. But I can’t help myself. I’m really into him. I even find it endearing that he’s not amazingly skilled at sex for a twenty-two year old, probably due to lack of experience. It just shows he hasn’t spent his life chasing everything in a skirt.

  He’s not a bad guy either. He never buys me flowers, but he always holds the door for me when we go to anatomy lab together, he’s never too busy to spend a few minutes chatting with me at the library, and he’s always up for a little fun in the locker room. We’re definitely never going to have a bona fide “relationship,” but there are worse people to be hooking up with.

  Of course, then Mason has to go and ruin things.

  After Mason has some meeting with Dr. Conlon, he will not shut up about the anatomy practical. He keeps telling me, “I’m the first person to ever get a perfect score on the practical. Can you believe that?”

  Yes, I believe it. Now stop talking about it!

  “Dr. Conlon practically offered me a TA job for next year,” he goes on.

  And that part really pissed me off. I had been really hoping to be an anatomy teaching assistant next year. That would look great on my transcript. If Dr. Conlon is making a short list of possibilities, I want to be in the running. So at the next opportunity, I decide to pay a visit to Dr. Conlon’s office.

  I show up at the end of the day, at around six o’clock. It was a half-hearted attempt, and I didn’t expect Dr. Conlon to actually still be there, but there he is, working hard at his computer, and he doesn’t look like he’s leaving any time soon. I feel a little bit sorry for my professor—I don’t think he’s married or has a family and his work is probably all he has. But he seems to love what he does, at least—a lot of people can’t say the same.

  Dr. Conlon flashes me a wide grin when he sees me at the door. “Hi, can I help you?”

  “Can I talk to you a minute?” I ask.

  “Of course! Come in, uh…” Dr. Conlon frowns and it takes me a second to realize he’s fumbling to think of my name. It’s a huge slap in the face—Dr. Conlon knows everyone’s name. He certainly wouldn’t be struggling to come up with Mason’s name.

  “Virginia,” I finally say, after giving him another second to try to come up with the name on his own.

  “Right, Virginia,” he says in an apologetic tone. “Virginia Zaleski. Sorry, Virginia… I got a poor night’s sleep last night. Now, how can I help you?”

  “I just…” I squeeze my hands together. “I wanted to let you know that I’m interested in being an anatomy TA next year.”

  “Oh…” Dr. Conlon looks taken aback. “Well, I applaud your enthusiasm, but I’m not really thinking about that quite yet. It’s still very early in the year.”

  Right. Except that he already practically offered it to Mason. Well, I shouldn’t be too surprised.

  I nod in resignation. “Thank you, anyway.”

  “I’m very sorry, uh…”

  My face burns. “Virginia.”

  I’m fuming mad when I leave Dr. Conlon’s office. I know I’m just as smart as Mason and my grades are comparable to his, but for some reason, he’s the one who gets all the recognition while Dr. Conlon can’t even remember my name. It’s so unfair. Mason gets every advantag
e in the world handed to him on a silver plate and I get nothing.

  The next day, I start putting Sinemet capsules in Mason’s coffee again. Except this time I put in two instead of one.

  Chapter 62

  I decided I wanted to be a doctor when I was seven years old.

  Dad was teaching me how to ride a bike. All my friends already knew, and I felt left behind. I was using my sister Kristina’s bike, which had previously been my other sister Adina’s bike, until she outgrew it. The bike was white and once had pink stripes on it, but now it was gray with most of the pink worn away. Everything I owned had previously been owned by two other people and had that same grayish tinge.

  Dad was doing that thing with me, where he’d start me going on the bike, then let go when I wasn’t paying attention. I kept making him promise he wouldn’t let go, but he’d do it anyway. In retrospect, I realize it was for my own good. But at the time, it was making me very nervous.

  Each time I discovered he was no longer holding on to the bike, I’d panic and lose control and ultimately fall. One of those times, I fell right on a broken bottle. My bare leg was all cut up and bleeding, and Dad rushed me to the nearest emergency room.

  I was fascinated when the doctor in the ER fished the pieces of broken glass from my leg, and sewed up a particularly deep gash, from which I still have the scar. I didn’t even cry. And what fascinated me even more was how much my father seemed to respect the doctor, almost to the point of being awed by him.

  As soon as the doctor had left the room, I said to my father: “I want to be a doctor when I grow up.”

  Dad was completely floored. He came to this country as an immigrant, mostly working blue-collar jobs, and he always wanted something better for his kids. Especially me. He wanted me to reap all the benefits that this country had to offer. He even gave me an American-sounding first name, because he thought it would give me more opportunities.

  I can still picture my dad rushing into the hallway of the ER and yelling to whoever would listen, “My daughter is going to be a doctor!” He told two doctors, three nurses, an orderly, and the guy selling hot dogs outside the hospital before we made it home.

  My father may not have made it to my med school graduation, but I know he’s watching me. And I want to make him proud.

  _____

  Okay, I admit it: I’m still sneaking off to the locker rooms with Mason.

  What can I say? I’m lonely and Mason is really attractive. Why should I deprive myself? It’s just casual sex. It’s not like we’re in a relationship or something.

  Or at least, that’s what I think.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Mason asks me, as we button and tuck in our respective clothing.

  “Studying,” I say with a smile. “Why?”

  “My parents wanted me to come over for dinner this weekend,” he says, “and I thought maybe… you’d like to come with me…”

  “To your parents’ house?”

  Whoa, that is intense. I don’t want to meet his parents. We haven’t even been on a date yet.

  “Well, my mom wanted me to bring my girlfriend and…” He looks away and blushes. “I mean, we’d just be going as friends though. Just so you could help me get through the night. I mean…”

  Ah, he’s cute when he’s embarrassed. I’m sure he doesn’t really think of me as his girlfriend, but this is another sign that this is a little bit more than casual sex for him. Maybe this all means more to him than it does to me. I can’t help but feel flattered. And guilty.

  “Come on, aren’t you curious?” Mason says.

  Okay, he’s right. I am curious. What are the parents of a guy like Mason Howard like? So against my better judgment, I agree to go.

  I’d die if Mason knew this, but I spend hours agonizing over what to wear for the dinner. I literally try on every outfit in my closet, which sadly doesn’t take very long. At school, I always wear jeans. I want Mason to look at me tonight and think, Wow.

  Unfortunately, I don’t think there are any clothes in existence that will make him think that.

  I finally settle on a fitted rose-colored blouse and lavender skirt that shows off a little bit of leg, but isn’t too slutty. I dust off my one container of eyeshadow and apply a subtle layer of make-up. I look in the mirror after I’m done and decide that I look at least respectable. Mason isn’t going to wolf-howl at me or anything, but I’m hoping I at least don’t look like someone he’ll be embarrassed to be seen with.

  Mason, on the other hand, looks amazing when he picks me up at my apartment. I mostly see him in T-shirts and jeans, so the khaki slacks and dress shirt are a stark change. He’s got on a dark green tie that makes his hazel eyes look greener. He’s so handsome in his outfit that my knees get a little weak. But the best part is how his eyes light up when he sees me.

  “Wow,” he says. “You look… really nice, Ginny.”

  I feel my cheeks turn red. I don’t want to admit how pleased I am. “Well, let’s go.”

  The ride to the Howards’ house takes about half an hour and it’s filled with easy conversation. We’ve talked so many times and had plenty of sex, but this is the first time I’ve really felt any kind of spark between us. It’s almost like we’re on a real date. About halfway through the drive, Mason removes his hand from the gear shift while at a red light and takes my hand for a minute. It’s such a sweet gesture that I feel a tingle through my entire body.

  But as soon as I see Mason’s house, my excitement vanishes.

  I knew Mason was wealthy, but I wasn’t prepared for the enormous mansion that stands before me. It’s three stories high and stretches out for the length of a city block. There’s a gate to gain entrance and I half-expect to see a moat with a dragon guarding the front door. I can’t help but think of the tiny apartment where I grew up, the three of us girls squeezed into one bedroom. As I step onto the walkway, I trip over my own heels.

  Mason gently places a hand on my back, “Are you okay, Ginny?”

  “Fine,” I manage, thinking that once the shock of seeing the house wears off, it will get better.

  Except it just gets worse.

  We’re greeted at the door by Mason’s mother, although I had been half-expecting a butler. Mrs. Howard is beautiful. I mean, she is really, really beautiful. She has the same chestnut-colored hair as Mason, wide hazel eyes, and a slender but shapely figure. She looks much too young to be the mother of a twenty-two-year-old medical student.

  “And you must be Virginia,” Mrs. Howard coos as we step inside.

  Even though she’s beautiful, I can see in her eyes that Mason’s mother is no dummy. And that she’s extremely protective of her son.

  “Ginny,” I correct her, wishing I could run away. I might have bolted for the door, except at that moment, Mason puts his arm around my shoulders. The gesture shocks me, but also eases my anxiety. I look up at Mason, and he smiles and winks at me.

  Mrs. Howard insists on giving me a tour of the house while Mason goes to put our coats away. As I follow the older woman upstairs, I feel ill. I wish Mason were with us—I feel lost in this enormous house. I’m worried that if I get separated from Mrs. Howard, they’ll find me days later, trapped in a closet somewhere.

  Mrs. Howard leads me down a long corridor, lushly carpeted and dimly lit. I point out a room filled with bookcases and antique furniture, which she says is “the library.” They have a library. I’m hooking up with a guy who lived in a house that has a library. Then we pass two guestrooms, and finally, Mason’s old bedroom.

  I like Mason’s bedroom best out of every room on the tour. It’s by far the least pretentious room in the house. It looks like any teenager’s room, with a single bed, a computer, stereo equipment, and music posters on the walls. My eyes rest on one shelf of his bookcase, which is packed with trophies. Naturally. But it isn’t the trophies that catch my attention—it’s the framed photo in the middle of the shelf, featuring Mason with his arm around a stunning blond girl.

&nbs
p; “That’s Holly, Mason’s girlfriend from college, during their trip to Switzerland,” Mrs. Howard says.

  “Oh,” I say.

  I wonder why Mason has a photo of his ex-girlfriend featured so prominently on his shelf, but then remember he hasn’t been in this room in months. Quite possibly his mother put the photo there. I could tell from her voice that she thinks very highly of this Holly girl.

  “Holly went to Paris to study art for a year,” Mrs. Howard says. Because obviously, I want to know all about Mason’s ex-girlfriend. “What did you do after college, Virginia?”

  The question catches me off guard. Like I’ve said, I look young for twenty-six. Most people think I’m straight out of college or usually even younger. How did Mrs. Howard figure it out?

  “I worked as a nanny and took classes,” I say a little defensively.

  “And where are you from, dear?” she asks me.

  “Brooklyn,” I reply, lifting my chin to look her straight in the eyes.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I mean, originally where are you from? Where were your parents born?”

  “Russia,” I admit. I am guessing that Mrs. Howard and her parents and their parents were all born in this country.

  “Interesting,” Mrs. Howard murmurs. She raises her eyebrow, “How long have you and Mason been seeing each other?”

  Seeing each other. She grimaces as she says it, as if she’s just said a dirty word.

  “Not that long,” I mutter.

  “Mason and Holly were together for two years,” Mrs. Howard says.

  Is that so?

  “Oh?” I say politely.

  Please tell me more about Holly, will you?

  “You should probably know,” Mrs. Howard continues, looking straight into my eyes, “that before Holly left for Paris, Mason gave her a ring.”

  I feel my jaw drop open. I try to hide my reaction, because I hate to give Mrs. Howard the satisfaction, but I think she can tell I’m upset. And the thing is, I don’t even know why. I’m not Mason’s girlfriend. I don’t want to be his girlfriend. What do I care that he gave some other girl a ring?