Chapter 9: July 30, 2000, 7PM, Carter's Apartment (Doug Ross's Point of
View):
** So, I kinda messed up on the chapters earlier (the were repeated by accident) but that is corrected. If you just jumped to this chapter you may want to go back to the current chapter 8 to make sure you have read it (I just put that one up a minute ago). **
For the past few days Carter has been calling in to work sick. He claims to have the stomach flu, but I don't believe him one bit. I hate being his fucking babysitter. He didn't ask me to help, but he needs it. Someone needs to help him, and since I know what's wrong, I figure he would let me help before he would let anyone else. That's a laugh. He won't let me help either, I know it. He's too stubborn, plus I don't think he sees the problem he has.
I am standing outside of his apartment building now, and I buzz up to his room. It takes him a long time to answer.
"Who is it?"
"It's Doug Ross. Can I come up? I need to talk to you."
"Um.yeah. You know, how about I come down to see you?"
He is down in a couple of minutes. I am shocked by his appearance. I have never seen him dressed so informally. It isn't even that he is informal, just messy. He is wearing an undershirt and wrinkled trousers. His face is unshaven and his hair was greasy. You'd never guess that this man is the heir to millions of dollars. He lights a cigarette and as he does this I get a glance at his wrist. There are two infected track marks, not to mention the mark from a couple weeks ago when I caught him. That one is almost healed.
I say, "You should really talk to your Super about those damn spiders. They are eating you alive."
"I don't want to talk about this. I think you should leave."
"You know," I say, "That seems to be your theme song. You always want people to leave, to stop bothering you, to ignore your problems. Well, this isn't a problem that I can ignore." He pretends that he isn't listening, but I know he is. "This decision of yours, to be a drug addict," he looks at me now, and I continue, "it affects all the patients you see. They depend on you to help them, but you are too high on shit to do anything for them."
"First of all!" He is screaming at me but I don't think he realizes it. "I am not a drug addict! I take medicine for my back! Prescribed medicine!"
"Is that morphine of yours prescribed?!"
He grits his teeth as he says, "I only take what I need."
"That's sad, that you need the drugs. I feel sorry for you." I start to walk away, but Carter grabs my shirt collar and pulls me back. I have never known Carter to be a violent person, ever. I am genuinely shocked by this and am unsure of what to do, so I do nothing.
He powerfully says to me, "You need to learn to mind your own business, Dr. Ross. If I need help, ever, I will find it. I don't need people assuming shit about me. I am not a drug addict!" He shoves me back.
I am fuming now. I came to offer my assistance in Carter's recovery, but that offer is no longer on the table. "If I see you get high, or know that you are high, or even suspect that you might have been shooting up, I will not hesitate to report you to Weaver and Greene. Don't test me." I walk away and can feel his eyes follow me.
** So, I kinda messed up on the chapters earlier (the were repeated by accident) but that is corrected. If you just jumped to this chapter you may want to go back to the current chapter 8 to make sure you have read it (I just put that one up a minute ago). **
For the past few days Carter has been calling in to work sick. He claims to have the stomach flu, but I don't believe him one bit. I hate being his fucking babysitter. He didn't ask me to help, but he needs it. Someone needs to help him, and since I know what's wrong, I figure he would let me help before he would let anyone else. That's a laugh. He won't let me help either, I know it. He's too stubborn, plus I don't think he sees the problem he has.
I am standing outside of his apartment building now, and I buzz up to his room. It takes him a long time to answer.
"Who is it?"
"It's Doug Ross. Can I come up? I need to talk to you."
"Um.yeah. You know, how about I come down to see you?"
He is down in a couple of minutes. I am shocked by his appearance. I have never seen him dressed so informally. It isn't even that he is informal, just messy. He is wearing an undershirt and wrinkled trousers. His face is unshaven and his hair was greasy. You'd never guess that this man is the heir to millions of dollars. He lights a cigarette and as he does this I get a glance at his wrist. There are two infected track marks, not to mention the mark from a couple weeks ago when I caught him. That one is almost healed.
I say, "You should really talk to your Super about those damn spiders. They are eating you alive."
"I don't want to talk about this. I think you should leave."
"You know," I say, "That seems to be your theme song. You always want people to leave, to stop bothering you, to ignore your problems. Well, this isn't a problem that I can ignore." He pretends that he isn't listening, but I know he is. "This decision of yours, to be a drug addict," he looks at me now, and I continue, "it affects all the patients you see. They depend on you to help them, but you are too high on shit to do anything for them."
"First of all!" He is screaming at me but I don't think he realizes it. "I am not a drug addict! I take medicine for my back! Prescribed medicine!"
"Is that morphine of yours prescribed?!"
He grits his teeth as he says, "I only take what I need."
"That's sad, that you need the drugs. I feel sorry for you." I start to walk away, but Carter grabs my shirt collar and pulls me back. I have never known Carter to be a violent person, ever. I am genuinely shocked by this and am unsure of what to do, so I do nothing.
He powerfully says to me, "You need to learn to mind your own business, Dr. Ross. If I need help, ever, I will find it. I don't need people assuming shit about me. I am not a drug addict!" He shoves me back.
I am fuming now. I came to offer my assistance in Carter's recovery, but that offer is no longer on the table. "If I see you get high, or know that you are high, or even suspect that you might have been shooting up, I will not hesitate to report you to Weaver and Greene. Don't test me." I walk away and can feel his eyes follow me.