; the little -details- xXx

 

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Charlie took off her cap and shades and cast a wary eye over her shoulder. No one was around. She smiled and entered the empty locker room, throwing her bag, cap and shades onto the nearest bench. The room was quiet except for the sound of a tap being turned off and the dripping of water and Charlie looked up eagerly. But no figure whatsoever came out, and a few minutes later, the tap screeched on and she could hear water raining down in one of the shower stalls.

 

Making a face, she quietly approached the stalls, stopping in front of the only closed one. Droplets of water fell onto her sneakers and she could feel steam rising from the opposite side. She punched the air, a silent victorious scream escaping from her lips. Tidying her hair, she settled herself against the moist wall to wait.

 

After what felt like forever, the water was shut off, and she could hear the whipping of a towel and it rubbing on a skin. The lock bolted open.

 

Jaime Benedict, Charlie thought gleefully, looked absolutely delicious when wet, naked safe for a towel around his waist and surprised—even with his obsidian hair sticking up everywhere.

 

“Hello!” she greeted him breathlessly.

 

He didn’t reply, although he had this really peculiar, weird but really cute look in those startlingly captivating blue eyes. It took him another few seconds to open his mouth. “How… How did you get in here?”

 

She giggled. “I took the cab, and then I walked all the way here, silly.”

 

“No-no-no,” he said, shaking his head, “How did you get into this locker room—or the hospital, in fact? The security guards know your and this place is crawling with security cameras—”

 

“Not in the locker room,” she added cheerfully and he sighed. “Ahh, guards are people. I can fool them with a few excellent disguises.” She looked at him with half-lidded eyes dreamily. “Nothing can keep me away from you.”

 

He seemed uncomfortable and he ran a hand through his hair. He looked absolutely adorable that way.

 

“Charlie,” he said slowly, “I think you’ve been reading one too many romance novels…”

 

“I don’t read.”

 

“Well, then, way too many romance movies. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet. Or High School Musical. Or whatever movies you people watch.”

 

She waved her hand dismissively and continued, “You took so awfully long in the showers,” she said, before adding mischievously, “Were you thinkin’ of me?”

 

He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “No, I was thinking of how to pay my rent for next month.”

 

She laughed. “You are so funny!” she exclaimed, whacking his arm gently. “C’mon, Jaime, I can see right through you…”

 

She took a deep breath and then slammed him against the wall; he just gaped at her and didn’t do anything. Giggling softly, she pressed herself against his and covered his lips with hers and she sighed in delight; his lips, so soft and warm, are just a perfect match against hers.

 

“Charmmpfffhhh!”

 

“Sssshh,” she whispered, her tongue flitting in and out of his mouth. “Am I hurting you?”

 

“Mmppffhh,” he groaned again just as her hands crept towards his chest. She stopped and pulled away.

 

“What’s wrong, Jaime? Oh! You haven’t done this before?” she asked quickly. “Don’t worry, it’d be—”

 

Jaime however did not seem like he was listening; he grabbed her chin and pulled her close, his eyes fixed onto her lips. Her heart missed a beat and she smiled—so he really liked her.

 

“Charlie,” he said, leaning close, “Your lips… They are greenish.”

Everything else, after that day, was a blur to Charlie Ryan. She remembered being tucked into a hospital bed and doctors flitting in and out of her room and Jaime studying her eyes and stomach and asking her a lot of questions—really personal ones, like drugs, alcohol, where she’d been, her habits and what she’d been doing.

 

One of the doctors she remembered as Jerry’s crush’s boyfriend poked her stomach with needles and Jaime introduced him as the resident hepatologist. Then they’d took some of her hair and her blood and a few days later, Jaime came in, all clad in doctor stuff and told her that she’s got a chronic liver failure.

 

“The biopsy confirmed it,” he said as he consulted her charts, “We saw what looked like eggs in your muscle. Your white blood count is up, and we suspected parasite. Your stool sample confirmed it’s Schistosomiasis.”

 

“Woah, woah,” she said, “Back down a little. I’ve got what?”

 

Jaime took a seat next to her bed and looked into her eyes. “Your greenish lips and fruity breath, your fatigue, weakness—this explains your barrage of sicknesses last time—and your liver showing up swollen in the MRI—this all points to your diagnosis. Schistosomiasis means that you’ve got some bad flatworms in your liver. You said that you went to Colorado for a week earlier on during the summer vacation, and you may have picked up the worms there. Schistosomiasis may cause liver failure in some rare cases… unfortunately,” he smiled sadly, “You’re one of those.”

 

“So,” Charlie said slowly, her brain still processing what Jaime had said, “Am I gonna die?”

 

He chuckled. “Unlikely,” he said, putting down her chart and looking directly into her eyes, “Cirrhosis—your liver failure—can’t be treated, but we can keep track of it and makes sure you won’t develop complication. Moreover, we caught you in the early, initial stages, so it’ll be easier to manage. We’ll get you some Praziquantel—a… medicine to kill all the flatworms in your liver—and you’d have to watch what you eat for a while, and we’ll have to monitor you from time to time, but other than that, you’ll be fine.”

 

Charlie closed her eyes and smiled. “Thankyou, Dr Benedict.”

 

“Hey, it’s my job,” he answered good-humoredly, and she grinned because she could hear the care in his voice.

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“Did you just finish an entire tub of Haagen Dazs?” Jerry called out from the kitchen just as Jaime licked his spoon clean. “Wait a sec; you sloughed off two tubs—as in the ones we bought for our birthday?”

 

“I’ll buy more,” he replied, his eyes fixed at his TV screen.

 

Jerry came into the sitting room and plopped down onto the sofa and put his feet onto the coffee table. “What are you so upset about?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Lemme guess,” he continued, “You saved a girl’s life and you’re still not happy, because… uh, you’ve wanted her dead instead?”

 

Jaime gave him a dirty look. “Of course not!” he said, before returning to the TV. “It’s just that…” he sighed, “Something still puzzles me.”

 

Jerry slapped his head. “Oh yeah. Duh. I totally spaced. Of course you still have to know why she stalked you!” he exclaimed sarcastically, “The reason that she’s just an obsessed deranged stalker who likes you just doesn’t make sense to you, does it?”

 

“Can’t be that simple.”

 

“Sure it can!” Jerry said, rolling his eyes. “Why, unlike most normal people in the world, you like things to be complicated is beyond me, but you know what’s not simple? Shaking her off once she’s well enough to stalk you again. That’d be fun to watch, though.”

 

Jaime fell silent and for a while, the only sound in his apartment was on his TV—a TiVoed documentary on the human brain. “Do you, do you reckon that they teach neurotransmitters and stuff like that to 15 year olds in the local junior high?” he said, breaking the silence.

 

“Are you joking?” Jerry guffawed, “They’re fifteen. It’s more likely than not that they don’t pay attention to anything in class but how hot that guy by the window is, or what kind of a fashion disaster that girl by the second row is—” he said in a high pitched giggly voice “—and you know, other kind of bullshit.”

 

“Then,” Jaime said unsmilingly as he propped his feet up onto the table and leaned more comfortably into his sofa, “I can solve the simpler part of my problem.”

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“It’s Owen’s case all over again,” Jaime explained, “Or at least I told her so. She’s got parasites, parasites interfere with nervous system, and she experiences psychological effects—”

 

“Like getting obsessed with her handsome doctor?” Jerry interrupted, laughing, “She doesn’t even realise that her problem’s in her liver and totally has nothing to do with her brain?”

 

“I feel horrid. I lied to her.”

 

“And you know what’s so damn funny about the whole thing? Cirrhosis actually causes loss of sex drive but she’s the exact opposite case.”

 

“It’s not why she’s been stalking me. In fact, I still have no idea why.”

 

There was a knock on his office door and they both looked up (and Jerry’s hand jumped to his hair) to see Beatrice. “Hi, uh,” she said slowly, “Do you know you guys can make no sense whatsoever when talking to each other sometimes?”

 

“It’s a twin thing,” Jerry said quickly. “Wassup?”

 

“Well, Paul’s taking me out to meet his parents on Friday,” she said, “Unfortunately enough, I’ve clinic hours at that time, so… I’ll do double of yours if you can do mine this Friday morning?”

 

“Sure,” Jaime said, at the same time Jerry said, “No way.”

 

“What? I think we oughta honor our responsibility and duty—especially since we’re doctors!” Jerry shrugged under his brother’s exasperated stare. “We have to put our patients above our personal interests, no?”

 

“Says the doctor who skips way too many clinic hours to drink—”, Jaime smirked.

 

“Watch his soccer games—”, Beatrice chimed in.

 

“Play his PS3—”

 

“Catch up on his sleep—”

 

Jerry lifted up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay already! I got the point. But then again, that’s me we’re talking about—the irresponsible carefree young lad who’s the total opposite of you two.”

 

Beatrice rolled her eyes and turned towards Jaime. “Thanks a lot, Jay. I’ll tell the clinic about this, so no worries.”

 

“No problem. Have fun with Paul.”

 

“It’d be a wonder if she can,” Jerry muttered under his breath.

 

“Screw yourself, Benedict.”

 

With that, she flashed one last smile at Jaime (and gave Jerry her dirtiest look yet) and proceeded to exit the room; before she could open the door, however, a nurse had walked in and passed Jaime a big bouquet of flowers and a card.

 

“It seems you’ve got yourself an admirer,” the nurse said, smirking, before exiting the room with Beatrice, who had held the door open for her.

 

Jaime read the card and frowned while Jerry snatched the flowers and stared at it gleefully. “What does the card say?” he asked eagerly, throwing the flowers onto Jaime’s desk.

 

“ ‘Thankyou for saving my life, Dr Benedict,” Jaime started, reading the card slowly, “It’s really good to know that you really do care, even though my feelings for you are just a medical problem—” (Jerry snorted at this) “—You really are a good doctor. And I admire that.”

 

“She’s in denial,” Jerry said wistfully, shaking his head, “She still likes you, but thanks to the, uh, ‘medical problem’ you told her about, she’s confused and is denial.”

 

“Wait, there’s a P.S,” Jaime said, “ ‘I’ll be back next week on Friday—and the week after that, and the month after that, and the month after that… You’ll be doing my checkups, right? Can’t wait. Charlie.” He stared at the card for a few seconds before rubbing his face.

 

“Now you believe that the feeling ‘like’ and ‘love’ isn’t a medical condition at all?” Jerry teased, taking the card and re-reading it.

 

Jaime plopped his head onto his hands and closed his eyes. “On the bright side,” his brother continued, “It’s probably just a bad case of an infatuation. It’ll die away soon.”

 

“Like your infatuation towards Beatrice?”

 

“Ah, that’s not infatuation,” Jerry said dismissively, “That’s true love. It’s just that she’s yet to see that from her side.”

 

Jaime groaned. “Right,” he mumbled in surrender, “Everything will be just fine, then.”