Hello, world! JD here, finally updating My Diagnosis. I know it's short, but I promise I'll make up for it with the next chapter. So without further ado...
Mere yards away, Christopher Turk leaned nonchalantly against the curved counter of the Nurses' Station. He cocked his head and gazed adoringly down at Carla. "How's it going, baby?"
Carla tore her eyes away from the glowing monitor before her. After hours of mental preparation, she still wasn't ready for this moment. Breathing deeply, Carla got to her feet and absent-mindedly held out a quivering hand.
With a concerned look in his dark chocolate eyes, Turk obliged and grabbed hold of his girlfriend's hand. "What's going on, baby?" he inquired.
Carla swallowed the lump in her throat and squeezed Turk's fingers. "JD's sick. He's over in ICU on morphine and fluids. Severe abdominal pain and hematemesis." The deadpanned words tumbled out of her mouth ungracefully.
Turk's eyebrows furrowed together, and he reached up to rest his other hand on the side of Carla's face. "Baby, are you okay?" He stroked her cheek with his thumb and clenched his jaw, refusing to lose his cool.
Carla sighed softly. "I'm fine, sweetie. You go see Bambi. He's in 314." She hesitantly let go of his fingers and returned to her chair, which squeaked in quiet protest.
Turk didn't need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and hurried away, throwing a goodbye over his shoulder like an afterthought.
Resting her head in her hands, Carla blinked back hot tears. After almost a year of commitment, she had expected more of a comforting effort from her boyfriend than a half-minute conversation. But she had been wrong. Her half-hearted fears of competition for Turk's love had just morphed into a frightening reality.
Carla's conscience wagged a finger and scolded her for selfishness, but she ignored the reprimand and silenced the nagging voice. She got to her feet once again and walked purposefully towards the elevator;
As much as she hated to admit it to herself, Carla was in desperate need of a shoulder to cry on. And she knew for a fact that the particular shoulder she had in mind was on the second floor.
In the aforementioned Intensive Care room 314, JD remained clutching a sniffling Elliot Reid in his willowy arms. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed deeply, trying to commit the tropical scent of her shampoo to his memory. He smiled and gripped the flimsy fabric of her scrub top. As long as Elliot was lying beside him, he didn't mind taking on the role of comforter rather than that of the comfortee. Not one bit.
Elliot pressed her ear against his chest and listened to the steady thumping. With each beat of JD's heart, the puddles of tears in her eyes wobbled threateningly. But she somehow summoned the strength to postpone the inevitable saltwater cascade. There was something unimaginably perfect about being held in the arms of John Dorian, even when Elliot's entire world was falling apart.
But with a click of the doorknob, their shared serenity was abruptly interrupted.
Any and all reviewers of Chapter 6 will earn the following fabulous prizes:
1) A complementary reply and cyberhug,
2) Possible cyberbrownies, depending on the fabulosity of the review, and
3) Their penname cleverly (?) incorporated into Chapter 7.
So go ahead. All I ask is 7 seconds of effort. Pwetty pwease.
~JD