Doctor's Orders

8. Abnormal Behavior

"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely bewildered. "How does that even make sense?"

He stood up straight, towering over me. He was quite intimidating, to be honest. "I said you're really good at what you do. Don't you want to be the best?"

He wasn't making any sense. "Of course, I want to do my job well, because I love it. But I'm not interested in competition."

He stepped back out of my personal space. "I'm a perfectionist," he stated. "Driven. Focused. I freely admit that. I strive for excellence."

"Okay...," I said, not really getting where he was going with all this. My pager buzzed. "I've got to get back to work," I told him.

"I hope you'll forgive me for putting so much pressure on you,," he said. 

"Oh, um, of course," I said, starting to walk toward my patient rooms.

I heard him quietly say, "Nice to see you, Ellie."

I stopped dead. I glanced back at him warily. This was beyond bizarre. Was I dreaming?

"You too, Dr. Styles."

I remained confounded by Dr. Styles' behavior, not only had he apologized, but had come to do it in the middle of the night when he wasn't even on duty. We weren't on the same shift again for the next few days, so I had time to digest that strange incident. I could only hope that his voice would still hold a softer tone when we worked together again.

One afternoon on a day off, I was surprised by a call from Megan, my friend from home. She, Aaliyah and I texted and sent Snapchats all the time, but we rarely called each other due to our different schedules. It was great to actually hear her voice.

"Guess who came into the salon today?" She asked dramatically.

I was lying on my apartment floor, basking in a ray of sunshine next to Catniss. "Who?" I asked, thinking I would humor her. She always had stories of meeting interesting people, or at least people that she deemed interesting and no one else really knew, like the relief pitcher for the Milwaukee Brewers, or the owner of that "cool comedy club downtown." I guess it was kind of sweet that she found people so interesting.

She blurted out, "Dale!"

Feeling a little unnerved, I asked, "My ex, Dale?"

"Yes!" She hissed. "And he asked me about you!"

"Great," I sighed. "My very own stalker." I told her about Dale's repeated emails and how I deleted them all. "I just hope he doesn't find out where I live," I lamented.

"Um, Ell," Megan said hesitantly.

"You didn't!" I snapped.

"Well, I just told him that you worked in a hospital in downtown Chicago," she said in a mousy voice.

"Meg!" I whined. "What if he comes here and finds me? I'm so done dealing with him."

"Ell, do you really think he has the potential to be an actual stalker? I mean, maybe he just wants to see how you're doing."

"You remember how pathetic he was after we broke up. He kept saying he'd lost his will to live and that he might as well end it all. He was a wreck."

"I'm sorry," she said, and I could almost hear the pout on her face. "I'm sure it's nothing. I doubt he's even ambitious enough to try to find you."

Even though I laughed, I finally said, "That was mean, Meg. And there aren't that many hospitals right in downtown Chicago, so it might be easier than you think."

I really didn't have any desire to go through all the dramatics with Dale again, so I just prayed he'd give up on me once and for all. I shuffled around my apartment, feeling kind of restless after that conversation. Finally, I decided to put on a hat and sunglasses and take a walk out on the beach. I coated my arms and shoulders with sunscreen, because unlike Dr. Styles, my skin either turned red or acquired hundreds of new freckles if I didn't use it religiously.

I locked up my apartment, dreamily remembering how he had looked on the night of the Fourth of July. Why did he have to be so handsome? And attached? And apparently, nicer than I'd given him credit for, although he was somewhat hard to understand. Scratch that – he was confusing the heck out of me with the good guy / bad guy routine.

As soon as I crossed the street and reached the sand, I flipped off my flip-flops and let the tiny heated grains massage my feet. I stood there, basking once again in the glorious sunshine, letting all my anxiety melt away. I shifted my focus from the occasional sounds of cars traveling along Lakeshore Drive to the sounds of the waves. The calls of the seagulls swooped in closer to me; they were probably checking out the food supply. I had nothing, so they would soon leave me alone.

I opened my eyes and walked briskly down to the shore. It was sheer delight to let the refreshing water of the lake wash over my feet, a startling contrast to the warmth I felt everywhere else on my body. Growing up within an hour of Lake Michigan, I knew I could never leave the Great Lakes. I had always hoped my career would never take me far away. In that moment, I realized that my dream was really coming true. I had all the things I'd ever wanted: a great career, a fantastic apartment, a reasonable drive to my home and family, and the Great Lakes outside my front door.

I'd grown up being taught that having a man in my life wouldn't make me complete, nor would it necessarily bring me happiness. My mom would always say, "Happiness comes from your heart." I absorbed her attitude one hundred percent. I was grateful for everything my life had handed me, even the trials and struggles, because they shaped me into who I am. 

I didn't need a man. But I wanted one eventually, and after all, that seemed the logical next step now that I'd conquered college, job-finding and apartment-hunting. One specific man kept surfacing in my mind, regardless of his availability status. He had an unpredictable personality and he was obsessed with perfection, apparently. He seemed like too much work. So what if he was out-of-this-world gorgeous? And so what if he bought me a drink and flashed that captivating smile at me? And it seemed he was kind of gentle when he wanted to be. Why couldn't I stop thinking about him? I was sure there were thousands of available men in Chicago alone, I just had to look a little further than the hospital.

I reached a small pier with a few little sailboats moored there. None of the big expensive yachts here; the water was too shallow. I walked out to the end of the pier and sat down, legs dangling over the waves. It couldn't be more than ten feet to the bottom. Part of me was tempted to jump in, clothes and all, but then I remembered that I was wearing a sun dress and some of my garments might be see-through when wet. Besides, it would be awfully embarrassing to walk through the lobby of my new home, dripping with water. Maybe later, I'd come back with a swimsuit and do it the proper way.

As I walked back towards my building, I observed moms with their small children splashing in the waves, or dangling their babies' feet in the water. Such an idyllic picture, although the disparity was striking - the classic beach day on the edge of a sprawling metropolis. I was falling more and more in love with this city by the day for all of its character and diversity.

I was almost in front of my place when I started up the sandy beach slowly, giving my damp feet time to dry and shed most of the sand. I bent to brush some of it off with my hand, When I stood again, I did a double-take, not quite believing that he was there, standing right in front of me.

* * * * *

Hmm, who do you think she spied on the beach?

Don't forget to let me know what you think by leaving a comment or two :D