Several hours later he came storming into my office and stared at me as I lay sprawled on the couch.
"Amphetamine withdrawal is a bitch, isn't it?" he snarled.
Indeed it was. Every sound seemed amplified about three times louder than they had to be and the light looked like something the police would use in illegal interrogations. My head felt like it was rotting from the inside out. Even my eyelids hurt.
"I just told my patient she's dying and there's nothing we can do for her," he went on without waiting for me to say anything. "She accused me of having a smile on my face when I told her the bad news. Since when did anyone accuse me of being happy?"
I try to sit up before I searched my pounding head for an answer. "If people accuse you of anything, it's being miserable all the time," I offered.
"Exactly!" Greg declared. "No one accuses me of being happy unless maybe I am. Now why is that? Am I happy that my patient is going to kick? I've been hazy for weeks...but happy? Then I remembered you in the apartment and how you wouldn't share your pills with me."
"Because you need to see a shrink–"
"No, you wouldn't give them to me because you didn't want me double dosing. All those damn coffees weren't brought to me just because you were being nice." He stared down at me pointedly with a small but triumphant smirk. "You dosed me."
He wasn't yelling, but his voice rang in my ears like jet engine noise and made the throbbing pain behind my eyes feel like it was ready to push my eyeballs out to make room for more pain. "I was helping you because you won't get the help you need."
"I wasn't helped, I was hazy."
"You were happy."
"Hazy!"
"Happy!" I finally managed to sit up. "You were calmer and smiling. Admit it, you felt better."
"Sure, if being bright and cheery while telling a 20-year-old girl she's going to die is what I should be doing instead of being a bitter, crippled jackass."
He turned and stomped out of my office and slammed the door. My head nearly shattered at the sound.
"Hey, Speed Racer." Greg was lightly patting my cheek. "Time to go home."
I blinked as his face swam into focus. My desk lamp cast a muted glow on the room. The soft light didn't make my eyes melt; I was feeling a little better, but that really wasn't saying much.
"I can't drive like this," I croaked.
"I'll drive. Where are your keys?"
"In my jacket on the back of the chair."
He grabbed my jacket, fished out my keys, then helped me up as best he could. His earlier smarminess was replaced with the weariness of a long day and a touch of concern. I staggered a few steps ahead before he grabbed my arm and said, "Don't rush it or you're going to trip and fall flat on your face." My jacket was shoved back into my grip as he still held onto my arm and walked me to the car. His winter car was a few rows over. He noticed me looking at it. "If anyone is desperate enough to steal that piece of shit, they can have it," he remarked while I climbed into the passenger seat and spent the next 45 seconds trying to get the seatbelt to work.
He eased into the driver's side and started up the car, letting it warm up. "My patient isn't dying after all," he said casually.
"Really?" I looked over at him. "That's good."
"Yeah, her parents thought so, too. Turns out she tried to kill herself by swallowing drain cleaner. A surgery or two to repair the damage in her gut and she'll be physically okay. But mentally...she's depressed and needs help. You got any of those happy pills left?"
I didn't answer, just turned and looked out the window. The drive home was quiet. No words were exchanged as he helped me out of the car, then helped me hobble to the bedroom, helped me take off my clothes, and helped me into bed. All this helping. Yes, it was a bit strange given what he had managed to figure out earlier that day, but it wasn't I like I didn't appreciate having a hand in helping me get ready for bed. No, I didn't call him on it. I didn't want to have to get dressed, drive all the way back to the hospital and sleep in my office. Or get pulled over and spend the night in jail for Driving While Withdrawling.
The bed seemed warm and alive. It was. I woke up draped across his as much of his lap as possible while avoiding his bad leg, a pillow cushioning against any inadvertent weight shifts. A medical journal was in his hands and his reading glasses glinted in the lamp light. Funny, he wasn't in bed with me when I fell asleep. Even funnier, I didn't wake up when he moved me over to his lap.
"How's it going, Speed Racer?" Greg asked.
"I thought I was Sleeping Beauty," I said, rubbing my tired eyes.
"Tonight you're both." He reached over to the night table and brought back a glass of water. "Here. You were in your office for half the night and I'm sure nothing hit your stomach since you hit the couch."
"Thanks." I took a several long gulps. The water was room temperature and hit my stomach like a tidal wave.
"You want something to eat?" Greg asked as he took the glass back.
The thought of food made me cringe and I shook my head.
"You're eating something at breakfast, Jimmy, even if I have to force it down your throat."
"That sounds appetizing."
"I mean it."
"I know you do. Just don't expect me to cook tomorrow morning."
"Cereal will be fine for a day." Much to my surprise, he reached over and affectionately brushed the hair from my sweaty brow. "No offense, but I'm not taking anymore coffees from you."
"I didn't think so."
"Are you through dosing me?"
"It was helping you, Greg."
"No, it wasn't. Are you through dosing me, Jimmy?"
"If you're done dosing me," I muttered, defeated and disappointed.
"I am. Have you ever drugged me before the happy pills?"
I swallowed hard and admitted, "I slipped a sleeping pill in your drink once."
"I see." He didn't seem too angry or surprised. "Are we through lying to each other?"
That gave me a start, and made me think of all the lies I had to tell just so I could go behind his back and get him a little of the help he needed. A lot of good that did, both the lying and the helping. "I'd like to think so."
"Me too," he said, then turned back to his journal and turned the page.