Page 9 of Broken Dream

He turns back toward his desk and begins shuffling papers around, signaling the end of the lecture. As students start filing out of the room, I feel a strong urge to stay back, to talk to Jason, to understand more. I observe as Eli and Tabitha leave and disappear into the hallway.

The room is almost empty when Jason finally looks up from his task, surprise visible in his eyes. “Still here?” he asks with a small smile.

“Yes,” I answer, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I just…”

God, Angie, get a grip.

I clear my throat. “Your words really struck a chord with me.”

It’s not a lie. Jason has a respect for the learning of anatomy that I find…interesting. I never wanted to dissect a cadaver, but now I’m rethinking that stance.

Not like I have a choice if I want to get through med school anyway.

Jason’s smile widens a fraction before he moves away from his desk and leans against it casually, crossing his arms.

“Medicine isn’t easy,” he says, “and I won’t lie to you or sugarcoat it. It’s going to test you in ways you can’t even imagine.” He gives me a sarcastic laugh. “Even those of you who choose never to wield a scalpel. Even psychiatrists.”

Chapter Four

Jason

Angie turns and walks out of the room.

Yeah, my bad.

I shouldn’t have made that snide remark about psychiatry. This woman obviously has a calling, and who am I to try to change her attitude?

Just because psychiatry didn’t work for me doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for millions of others.

She mentioned an aunt of hers.

For a moment I think of calling her back in, getting the name of her aunt, looking into her work.

Then I realize something.

I don’t give a rat’s ass who her aunt is or what she may have accomplished in her life as a psychiatrist.

I’m simply looking for excuses to pull Angie back into the room with me.

God, she’s fucking beautiful. A classic beauty, with nearly perfect features—large and long-lashed eyes, high cheekbones, full pink lips. Her figure…

Long luscious legs, broad shoulders, succulent tits.

Her nipples were showing through her T-shirt.

Every guy in the room noticed.

I didn’t like them looking at her.

But I’m a teacher. I’m her teacher. Trying anything with her would be unethical. Besides, she can’t even be twenty-five years old. And she’s probably younger, if she went straight from college to med school. That would make her only twenty-two or twenty-three—at least a twelve-year age gap between us.

Plus… She stands for everything I hate about medicine. Psychiatry.

Psychiatry fucked me over. Cost me a lot more than anyone knows.

I clench my fist around the pen in my hand, a futile attempt to control the storm inside me. It snaps in half, blue ink splattering across my hand and the desk.

Shit.