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Chapter Two

They didn't even look up.

Out of all her cousins, Trudy was the one she was closest to. They grew up together in the same house. Trudy was the one who introduced Susan to Jimmy. Trudy had gone to law school with Jimmy, and they remained good friends. She was the one Susan ran off and cried to when Jimmy started acting weird and distant. Susan and Jimmy had been together for six years, and he hadn’t proposed; was he sick of her?

She dropped her bag on the hardwood floor. Bang. The noise must have shaken them out of their passionate stupor. Seeing Susan, they sprang away from each other as though the other was on fire.

Trudy held up her palm. “It’s not what you think,” she was saying as she yanked her purple blouse over breasts that were bigger than Susan’s.

Susan steepled her hands over her nose and mouth to hold off hysterical shrieking or hyperventilation—she couldn’t decide which. She had this massive pressure building in her chest like it was a dam about to burst open and drown everything in its path. She wanted to get all in their faces and scream them down for being the faithless, betraying whores that they were.

“Susan, just calm down and let me explain.” Jimmy was on his feet, holding out both of his palms.

“You can’t explain this away, motherfucker. The two of you can burn in hell together for all I care.” Her rage went from zero to sixty in a snap. She was yelling, and even in her own voice, she could hear the build-up of hysteria. Through the red haze of her fury, all she could see were two assholes who deserved a world of hurt delivered exclusively by Dr. Susan Chen.

Trudy was sobbing. “I’m sorry, Sue. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

Susan’s fists, clenched at her sides, were shaking with her exertion of keeping them there. She was thirty seconds from tackling her cousin and punching her face in. “Fuck you, Trudy. You’re the worst.”

She had to get out of there. She was angry enough to kill both of them and didn’t even need weapons to do it. Her head was about to explode like a powder keg, and her pulse was a jackhammer in her throat. She had to flee before she could do something permanent and irreversible.

Unable to look at them without causing undue violence, she turned away and ran down the hallway back to the stairs. She dashed down the steps, not caring that she could slip and break her neck. She just wanted to escape.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairwell, her lungs were burning, and her clothes drenched in sweat. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She had to keep going. She ran past the security counter and heard someone call her name, but she just ignored it and shoved open the glass doors.

When the cold air hit her face, a sense of futility came over her and she realized how used up she felt. Exhaustion finally caught up with her. Susan sat down on the curb and dropped her head in her hands.

All of her life, she strived to give all of her best to please other people or make them comfortable. Goose always said she was prickly and exacting, but a damn fine doctor. She knew that didn’t exactly endear her to her colleagues.

What was she supposed to do now? She didn’t have much in the way of friends, and after the death of Aunt Mimi, Trudy and her siblings were all the family she had left. Susan’s own sisters died in a plane crash on their way back home from Malaysia. Trudy was her everything. Susan was not as close to Trudy’s two brothers because they were years older and her younger sister Marlene was difficult to get along with. Okay, Marlene was a bitch.

With a sigh, she grabbed the pole next to her. It held a sign “No Parking at Any Time,” and she used it to pull herself up to her feet. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, looked around the empty block, and turned her feet toward her favorite pub.

After the initial shock, she realized that she couldn’t even cry anymore. Jimmy was a huge flirt, so she’d always suspected him of messing around with other women. Trudy used to tell her that Jimmy wasn’t like that and Susan should stop worrying. Fuckin’ Trudy. She never expected Trudy to stab her in the back like this. She and Trudy were supposed to be the best of friends.

She counted on Trudy for everything. If it weren't for her cousin, she wouldn't even have a social life. She never made friends outside of medical school and all they did was study together. It wasn't like "Grey's Anatomy." No one got drunk and had indiscriminate sex. Trudy's friends adopted her.

Typically, Susan had keen situational awareness that she could count on. This time, it failed her. She didn’t see the man coming toward her until he was right next to her. Before she could react, the bearded man in the dirty trench coat shoved her off the curb, causing her to lose her balance and fall into the path of an oncoming car. Before she could process what was happening, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way.

Safe on the sidewalk, Susan doubled over in relief and cried. Jesus, she could have died. How fitting would that have been? After finding out that her faithless boyfriend was having an affair with her cousin, she ran out of her own apartment only to get run over by a car. She gathered up the remains of her composure and straightened up to thank her rescuer, but there was no one around. Not the bearded man in the dirty trench coat, not the guy who saved her life—how weird would it be if they turned out to be the same dude?

Shaking, Susan wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed a few gulps of air. Her forehead throbbed, and she was a little dizzy, so she must have hit her head. She put her hand up to her temple, and her fingers came away with blood. Shit.

Should she go to the hospital? That would be the logical thing to do. But what if Goose made her scrub up after treating her injury and ordered her to work?

Of course, he wouldn’t. Clearly, she wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

She entered the bar that she frequented as a medical student and bumped into a couple of regulars who told her she looked like shit, and her head was bleeding. One of them offered to take her to the hospital. She waved them all off and laughed to herself. She was a doctor. She knew what she was doing.

“Holy shit, Sue,” the bartender Trixie said as Susan walked up to the bar. Her dark eyes widened as she surveyed her friend. “Did Jimmy throw you down the stairs or something?”

Susan grimaced as a drop of blood ran down her eyebrow and onto her eyelashes. She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe it off. “Or something. Lagavulin, please, on the rocks. Make it a double.”

Gaping at Susan, Trixie’s brow furrowed. “Are you crazy? I can’t serve you. You probably have a concussion. I can get Luis to drive you to the hospital, man.”

“I’m a goddamn doctor, Trix,” Susan snarled, causing her friend to back up. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you’re bleeding all over my goddamn bar, Dr. Chen. That’s a health code violation.” Trixie thrust a white hand towel at her, along with a dirty look. “Hold it to your wound and put pressure on it for a bit. Then I’ll give you a new one with ice.”

Susan took the towel and obeyed her friend’s instructions. “Sorry, Trix. I’m in a bad way today. A kid died on me. Which, you know, happens. But then I got home and found Trudy and Jimmy making out on my couch.”

The bartender looked at her with sad eyes, then scoffed after a moment. “I know you think the world of her and everything, but I’ve always thought Trudy was a triflin’ ho. She’s got one of those faces you just can’t trust, man.” She placed a highball glass on the bar in front of Susan and dropped one big ice-cube in the middle. “I feel the same way about Anne Hathaway. I just don’t like her face. I think it’s the eyebrows.”

While Trixie talked, Susan scanned her immediate vicinity. Someone was watching her-- she could feel it, like a spider dropped down the back of her shirt. She saw no one. Everyone was either looking at their phone or gabbing with their friends. She turned back toward the bar to find a generous pouring of scotch in her glass.

“Aww, Trix, you’re the best bar wench I’ve ever met.” Susan raised her highball to her friend.

The bartender, the epitome of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl of any film from the nineties, smirked. “Bitch, that ain’t free. You owe me twenty bucks.”

Susan smiled and felt around her jeans for her wallet, but didn’t find it. She checked the pockets of her hoodie, too, but no cigar. She left her purse at home in a snit. Son of a bitch. When it rained, it really goddamned poured.

“I’ve got you covered, sweetheart,” said a husky female voice next to her just as that “better lock dem doors” song by that one country dude came on the jukebox.

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