Pulse by Liv Hayes

and doctor, standing in a room that felt more and more
claustrophobic by the second.
    Why was
this even happening?
    I looked
at him, partly wanting an answer from him, too. How could he be so obvious? How
could he possibly dare? What a careless thing for a doctor.
    The other
half of me wanted to stand on my toes, wrap my arms around his neck, and press
my mouth to his.
    Instead,
we muddled around in the murky waters for a moment longer, until I smiled –
probably looking as awkward as I felt – and said.
    “Well,
thank you.”
    “Of
course,” he said, then. When I stood to leave and the book slid from my lap and
onto the floor, he knelt to pick it up. “It was a pleasure to see you again.”
    “Two
weeks,” I said, and he nodded.
    “Two
weeks,” he said. “And I'll see you soon, little fox.”

 
 
    Later in
the afternoon, sitting in the library (with the device safely concealed by a particularly
baggy sweatshirt), Evan approached me.
    “Hey,” he
said, sitting himself down. “How have you been?”
    “Alright,”
I said, nodding towards my laptop. “Just studying.”
    “Yeah...”
he trailed off. “I guess I was just wondering if you were okay. With the
hospital, and Aimee telling me that it might've been something with your
heart.”
    “My heart
is fine,” I told him. “But I appreciate the thought.”
    He
pressed his hands to the table, exhaling heavily, and as I tried my best to
maintain eye contact without looking as if I were giving him blatant Bitch
Face, I realized what a contrast he was in comparison to Dr. Greene. Dr. Greene
wore ties, and tailored dress-pants, and shoes with price-tags that were less
than humble. His body had the build of someone older, with strong, defined
limbs and broad shoulders. His face was covered with the slightest hint of
stubble, his smile deceivingly boyish.
    But Evan
wore graphic T-shirts and American Eagle jeans, and his face was clean shaven.
He wore maybe too much Axe, and a cheap watch that contrasted only with the
iPhone that his mother had gifted him for Christmas.
    He looked
like a boy, I realized. A boy I had loved at one point, sure. But as he sat
across from me, studying my face with those same azure-blue eyes that I had, at
one time, swam in – I felt absolutely nothing. I wasn't resentful. But I didn't
miss him, either. I felt nothing but nothing.
    Little
fox.
    “Well, is
there anything else?” I asked him. “Did you need something?”
    I guess a
part of me was expecting the typical: for him to ask for me back, for there to
be some mild melodrama that erupted in the UCF library. Whispered blows and
quiet rage.
    But no,
he just shook his head, and took a deep breath, and scooted his chair back.
    “No, I
guess,” he muttered. “Anyway, I'll stop bugging you. Good luck with your
studying and everything.”
    “Thanks,”
I said. “You too.”

 

Chapter 6
    ALEX

 
 
 
 
    I was
standing on autopilot, nearly blinded by the sunlight that streamed through the
windows and fixed on the sight of a patient that I could have sworn by every
written God was Mia, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
    “Dr.
Greene,” I heard the familiar chirp belonging to one of our newer nurses. “I'm
not sure what this says. Your writing is terrible.”
    Breaking
away, I glanced down at the form.
    “Heparin,”
I told her. “An anticoagulant. Is this for Mr. Moulton?”
    “Yes.”
    “Tell him
two times daily,” I said, fixing my eyes back on the doorway. “And tell him
that he better start laying off red meat if he doesn't want to end up back
here. But what am I saying? They all end up back here.”
    She
scurried away, and the patient finally turned, solidifying my spectacular
fucking disappointment. This one was older – and pretty enough, I suppose – but
not Mia.
    Taking a
pen from my lab-coat pocket, I turned and trudged down the hallways,
incessantly clicking the stupid ball-point utensil. I needed to keep my hands
busy. I needed to keep my thoughts