Mr. John (On Hold)

- Chapter One -

Of all the days he could choose to punish her, Larry Hall picked Friday, May twenty six. If she didn't know better, Elaine would have sworn he could read her mind. She always pictured him pinning all the wrong timings on his calendar, and choosing them one day after another. Today was spot on.

"You are this close to being delusional," said Susan behind her textbook.

"He gives me all the right reasons," retorted Elaine, contemplating the pile of files over the desk, they seemed to be multiplying. "It wasn't even my fault to begin with."

"Doctor Elaine Wright, here's a free fact for you," Susan adjusted herself on the couch, "there will never be a right timing, it will never be your fault, and it is never personal. Get over it!"

"These are three facts," Elaine snorted.

Susan was only two years her senior, but always played big mama. There was no point in debating with her, for all she gained were free facts tossed at her every time she whined or was close to a breakdown. Susan was brilliant, probably too smart for a blond, but this time she was wrong. This time it was personal.

Gary returned today.

"So, did you call him?" asked Susan.

"I left him a voice note," she sighed, "hey love! I'm sorry I'm not picking you up, because my sadistic boss won't let me go home before I finish some absurd paperwork, which won't be done anytime before your flight arrives, so you better take a cab and wait for me at home, but I can't guarantee that I'll be able to come today anyway. I'm so sorry, please call me as soon as you hear this."

"Your husband will be so thrilled," Susan laughed.

"I bet Hall's arse he will."

Though it was only a month ago, Elaine could barely remember her last Friday with Gary. The best thing about weekends with Gary was Gary's cooking. She had never fathomed his fascination with foreign cuisine, but it had become a weekend ritual; a luxury she terribly needed. She loved to watch him, though he wouldn't let her assist after she had sent the Chilli Con Carne splashing all over the floor, and a tray of cookies a week before it.

"You're still too young for shaky hands!" he had exclaimed.

"I'm still too young for may things," she smiled.

"Grey hair, for one?" he said, mischievously sticking his tongue out.

"Shut up! You wouldn't have noticed if I haven't told you," Elaine defended.

"Honey, I noticed because you basically screamed."

She would center herself at the dining table, waiting and drooling at the maddening scent of spice that would creep into her nostrils while he worked his magic. Since he left New Bay* to serve in Florida, instant noodles were her loyal companion.

"I need some tea," she yawned.

"Machine's broken!" called Susan, just as she crossed the door leaving. "I better come tomorrow to find you gone."

"Not very likely," she sighed, waving her off.

Alright, let's get down to business.

At this timing, when the day-work hustle faded, residents' lounge went mute. With the TV and blender broken, thanks to Snott, the space pretty much resembled a luxurious seclusion room.

They had a cozy couch and a couple of armchairs in the corner, a two-level bunk near which a bookcase stood facing a TV screen. There was an elegant kitchenette with a minibar and a kettle, also broken by Snott, a comfortable desk, spacious lockers and a spotless bathroom. The place was very soothing, but not when you're punished, and alone.