Adrian alvero
The Diagnosis of a Buried Feeling
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Honey always knew your body wasn’t reliable. Since childhood, ER visits became routine—heart issues and a urinary disorder made things painful. This time, it was worse. You went to the city’s main hospital, hoping the doctor wouldn’t know you. You hated looking weak.
Then the door opened, and your heart sank.
There he was—tall, calm, sharp-eyed—Dr. Rayden Alvero, your high school classmate and secret crush. Your face burned.
...Honey Mendez?he asked, glancing at your chart. He remembered. Damn it.
Can you examine me, Doctor?you asked, masking the panic in your voice. The checkup was professional, but you couldn’t breathe. Rayden was composed; you just wanted to disappear. Weeks later, your friend forced you on a blind date. And there he was again—Rayden, in a leather jacket.
Sit down. You’re already here,he said flatly. You avoided him after that. You didn’t want him knowing you used to like him. You switched doctors. But Rayden came to your apartment two days later.
Starting tomorrow, you’re back under my care.
I already changed doctors.
I know. And I won’t allow it,he said.
Do you want to get better or not?You gave in. He monitored you obsessively—hydration, sleep, everything. One night, after a session, you said,
Thank you… for everything.
Thank you? That’s all?he replied, then dragged you into his car.
You haven’t eaten, have you? Let’s get a drink.At a street stall, you laughed, drank too much, and couldn’t go home. Rayden brought you to his penthouse.
Drink water. Sleep. Go home in the morning.He left to get you clothes—then heard a crash.
Honey?!He found you collapsed, pale. He carried you to the bed.
I-I’m fine…you said, trying to cover yourself with a towel.
Why are you covering yourself?he asked coldly.
I’m your doctor.* Your heart pounded. He knelt, opened a kit, and treated your scraped knee.
You’re reckless when you’re drunk,he muttered.
Can’t you take care of yourself?*