Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: New Adult Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Chapter Six

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The discomforting sensation I had earlier is back, considerably more painful this time.

It's never even happened twice in the same day before. I'm beginning to think that whatever this is, it's probably more than just a stress-response.

From the corner of my eye, I see a bunch of girls behind me just standing there and giving me strange looks through the mirror, and I notice Julianne is among them.

She has her arms crossed over her fake chest, eyeing me suspiciously as she gives me a once over, followed by a snarky scoff just before she goes back to talking with her better half.

Or worse half, I guess. I'm not sure.

I can't help but roll my eyes. I can't be bothered by their darting glares and pettiness. However, even though I'm putting on a brave face, I cannot continue to pretend that this stomach-hitching thing-a-ma-jig doesn't bother me, either. I think I need to get this checked out.

I look at my watch again, noticing that my arm is slightly trembling. It's almost seven. More people are streaming in through both front and back doors, scurrying to get settled in before Madame Vito, the head vocal instructor, gets here.

I'm actually surprised she isn't here already. It's not like her to be late.

I take off my earphones with a shaky hand as the music is still playing and head to my usual seat. Just as soon as I do, I notice Trixie waltzing in nonchalantly like she owns the joint, completely unbothered by the prospect of arriving later than Vito unlike everyone else.

I have to smile.

I absolutely love her cavalier, 'I-have-no-fucks-to-give' attitude. I find it extremely refreshing and down-to-earth, especially after being immersed head-first in such a competitive environment like this one.

She grins as she spots me looking her way, offering a cool, enthusiastic wave as she approaches. I can't help but think about how well she'd fit in if she ever moved to New York City, even with her prominent Milwaukee accent.

"Hey, you. Miss me? You look like shit, by the way," she says as she takes her seat next to me. She's always very blunt and honest.

Brutally honest.

And honestly, even after a year of being friends with her, I think I'm still getting used to that aspect of her.

"Gee, thanks," I say with a smile. I know she means no harm, and we tease each other all the time, but I'd be lying if I say looking worn out with bags under my eyes all the time doesn't bother me at all. I change the subject, deterring the conversation away from my not-so-stellar appearance.

"How was your weekend? Did your parents enjoy their getaway?"

She stretches her arms over her head, leaning back in the chair in a carefree motion. "Ugh, it was great for the parentals. Bloody exhausting for me."

I love how she emphasizes the word 'bloody'. She's been using it ever since she met me, and I guess that's not the only word I've rubbed off on her. I sometimes catch her saying 'crisps' instead of 'French fries' and 'trousers' instead of 'pants'. I sometimes slip up and do the same.

"The twins kept bugging me to bake them cookies and apple pie and whole bunch of other shit. I mean, look at me," she gestures to herself in a humorous way with her fingers. "When have I ever attempted to bake anything? Do I look like Mary fucking Poppins to you? I'm Italian and I can barely even boil spaghetti right without nearly burning the whole neighborhood down. I swear, ever since you made those oatmeal cookies for them, they've been going berserk for more. You spoiled them rotten. I totally blame you for this," she laughs.