I hate how this website doesn't allow for proper scene break symbols. I'm afraid this now looks very awkward.


Later

("I know your father died in Sydney")

Then

She's twenty-four. His blood-alcohol concentration is .27 and his breath reeks as she picks the pieces of safety glass out of his eyebrow.

"I could do this myself. I'm a chief of surgery."

Right. She nods. He doesn't touch her but his blurry blue eyes fuck her so hard she feels it in her uterus.

Now

"You know how they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?"

Goodwin's fingers dip into the knots on her bare back. "I've heard that, I guess."

She laughs.

Later

("You just don't have what it takes")

Then

Juliet likes men who are angry and pathetic and dangerous and unfixable.

Turns out he is Chief of Surgery somewhere. St. Sebastian's, where she does a year of her residency.

He tells her about his headcase of a son and his illegitimate daughter and of course his frigid, sad wife. He tells her she has no future in emergency medicine. He tells her she's spineless.

So she fucks him. Tuesdays and Fridays. Even lets him stay the night. Outside her apartment she imagines strangers judging her for her sins and keeps walking.

Honestly? It carves her open like the double-edged sword it's cracked up to be and her own blood pours over her hands.

Now

"You're only sorry because you got caught."

She leaves Goodwin's wife's house for the last time. She's pretty sure Harper's the worst psychiatrist who ever pretended to know anything.

Later

("You don't want to read my file.")

Then

"So. You impregnated a male field mouse."

She doesn't point out that this is the ladies room.

"Why are you here? Last I checked, you had no interest in fertility."

He stalks predatory across the room. "When I heard you were the keynote speaker, I made this a priority."

She doesn't point out that it's been years.

The edge of the sink digs into her back. His fingers pry into her skirt. "I'm married now," she gasps. High-pitched. Breathless.

"We both know Ed Burke," he murmurs against her throat. Slips a room key into her trembling hand. "I'm in 339."

Now

Christian's son isn't married. But he's in love, which might be worse.

She can almost feel his body heat through the glass wall, between her legs, and she likes it.

Later

("You can trust me, Jack.")