Page 28 of Resist Me Not (Bloody Desires #4)

“ Dude ,” Ben laughs—one of my fellow residents who has since moved on to his oncology fellowship at another hospital. “You are so spaced out tonight. Hitting the books that hard?”

I’ve been trying to, but I usually get about an hour in, and around the time I’m needing a break, my eyes drift to my FIRST DO NO HARM poster, and I start spiraling all over again.

It’s been several days since I chose to not turn Trey in, and I keep going back and forth on whether I made the right call. I’ve never been this stuck between decisions before, and now it’s seeping into what is supposed to be a nice get together with colleagues.

The phone sex the other day helped. Just not enough.

I’m at that party Laura invited me to a couple weeks back.

We’re at her place, across town from my apartment, which isn’t too long of a rideshare away.

It’s nothing but residents, most I likely won’t see again for a long time after this, because no one else leaving for their fellowship is staying at St. Vincent’s.

Just me. The only residents I will see again are the newbies here mingling with us veterans.

Normally, I eat shit like this up. I love helping the next batch get settled. What we do is a tough job, and we need to have each other’s backs. But tonight, I am a million miles away instead of letting myself relax, and it’s apparently really freaking obvious.

There are only a dozen or so of us, all fairly close in age, give or take five years. We’re spread across the gamut of specialties too, so many different walks of life despite all being doctors. From different cities. Different cultures. Different backgrounds.

Honestly, sort of the perfect focus group.

“Maybe I’m a little fried,” I admit to Ben. “Besides certifications coming up—”

“No shop talk!” Laura loudly interjects, sweeping over to us where Ben and I are standing in front of her fireplace. She is on cocktail two—three?—while I’ve been nursing the same Jameson and Ginger for an hour.

It’s still a scorching hot summer outside, so the fireplace isn’t lit, but naturally, I was drawn to Laura’s version of a FIRST DO NO HARM poster above her mantle. Hers is in an intricate frame, all fancy and antique looking like she plucked it right off a plague doctor’s wall from the Middle Ages.

“Tonight is about cutting loose one last time, boys, not the grueling work we are about to embark on.” Laura’s volume has drawn the attention of the room, and since everyone else is looking my way, I figure…

Fuck it .

“How about a philosophical discussion?”

Someone makes a farting noise with their mouth pressed to the inside of their palm.

“I’m serious!” I shout over the ensuing laughter.

The din of small talk has died down, and as the laughter fades too, I say, “A thought experiment. Relevant to all of us but not too shop talky. A fun experiment!” If you don’t know the stakes, which none of them do.

I do. I gesture to Laura’s poster. “First, do no harm. It’s a mantra so ingrained in us, we don’t even really think about it beyond the words anymore.

It feels like a given, right? Help—don’t hurt.

Try to save as many people as we can and ease their pain.

But what if causing harm to someone could help even more people avoid pain? ”

“You mean the Trolley Problem,” Ben says.

“Or the Spock problem!” Nancy, one of the newer residents, shouts, and laughter filters through the room again.

“That isn’t a wrong comparison!” I argue, even though I laugh a little too. “It is the same problem. Do the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?”

“No, no,” Chester pipes up, a fellowship doctor who is pursuing vascular surgery, and is unapologetically a huge nerd.

“Spock didn’t advocate killing someone to save others.

He sacrificed himself. In the Trolley Problem, you don’t have that option.

It’s either do nothing, and let the train barrel over five people, or switch tracks and actively kill one person to save the others.

The active part, the choice is the problem. ”

“Is it a problem?” I ask, and morbid as the question may be, the drinks flowing between everyone tonight has most of the room looking encouragingly contemplative. “Is letting someone die or even making sure they die the better option sometimes if you know they make life worse for other people?”

“You’re talking about Monster ,” Laura says with a giggle.

“ Monster ?”

“This old manga. It was an anime too, but it’s about a doctor who chooses to save a kid instead of this high-up official he’s supposed to and ends up getting fired over it.

Totally ruins his life, but he thinks he made the moral call instead of advancing his career.

” Laura’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she pauses to sip from her drink.

Once she is sure she has everyone on pins and needles to hear the obviously coming twist, she continues, “Then later, the kid grows up to be a serial killer. The doctor’s selfless act actually made things worse for more people. ”

“Wait, but in that example,” Ben jumps in again, “he couldn’t have known the kid would grow up to be a killer. Walker’s talking about if you did know and acted on it, like… ‘accidentally’ giving the wrong IV drip to a member of the KKK.”

“Which would be totally illegally and ethically bankrupt!” Chester protests.

“But really satisfying,” someone else mutters, and the room fills with laughter again.

“It’s just a thought experiment,” I remind Chester—even if it isn’t and my immortal soul may be on the line. “But that is the question, isn’t it? If you had the chance to stop a monster, a serial killer even before they killed again, would it or would it not be more moral to save the many?”

“Depends on who they’re killing,” Laura says succinctly—and doesn’t that just sober me up quick. “In Monster , he’s, well, a monster. But if he had grown up to kill pedophiles or something… eh.” She shrugs.

“Agreed,” Ben snorts.

“Fair,” someone else says, and a filtering of like-minded responses follow.

Even Chester adds, “I suppose if Dexter was real, going around taking out the worst of society who the justice system misses, I’d probably turn a blind eye.”

A room full of doctors, and not a single voice speaks up to say the opposite.

Honestly, I’ve always thought the same thing, but it isn’t as easy to take that stance when the thought experiment is real.

“Just a philosophical discussion, right, Walker?” Laura elbows me. “Not planning on prematurely pulling any plugs, I hope?”

“I’ve never met anyone I’d even consider it over,” I answer honestly, “but with our fellowships just starting, one never knows.”

Laura, Ben, and several others laugh. The good thing about everyone else being at least two drinks in is no one seems to think it’s weird that I brought this up.

I actually think it sparks several separate conversations: one on Dexter , one on Star Trek , and one on classic manga, so you’re welcome, everybody.

I’m still not sure if I got the answer I wanted. It’s easy to root for the morally gray hero when you’re not the one staring at their handy work that just fell out of a closet.

I down the rest of my drink and excuse myself to make another. I have my inhaler. Maybe tonight’s a good night to get drunk after all.

I do—not sloppy drunk, but grateful I don’t have a car and can call for someone else to bring me home drunk. For those few blissful hours at the party, I manage to not think about Trey or the problem of Spock on a trolley with a serial killer or whatever and just enjoy myself.

It is a sobering slap to the face to open my apartment door and find my problem waiting for me.

Trey is fussing in my kitchen and looks at me over his shoulder with a grin.

He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow at the earliest.

I did give him a key, and he used it to surprise me with…

“Did you make espresso?” I say with hopefully only a slight slur. “I think I’ve used that machine, like, all of two times in five years.

“Really? Such a waste.” Trey’s deep voice makes my insides feel hot. “It is the perfect digestif, especially with a splash of Campari to accompany the chocolate covered cherries I got for you from one of my assignment locations.”

He comes out of the kitchen with this perfect little espresso tray—a long plate with two steaming cups and an assortment of… wait. Are those…?

“Forgive the novelty,” Trey says as he sets the platter on the coffee table, “but the shop’s goal with these particular confections is to give new meaning to the term popping one’s cherry.”

I belt out such a big guffaw, it almost shakes me sober.

They’re shaped like penises.

What sobers me more is Trey meeting me at the door with a welcome home kiss. I wish I didn’t taste like whiskey, but Trey doesn’t seem to mind as his tongue delves a little deeper and he pulls me against him with a firm, possessive tug.

Damn, that’s comforting. He’s taller but I’m bigger and could absolutely engulf him, yet he’s the one who manhandles me.

“I wanted to surprise you by coming back early,” Trey says and leads me to the sofa to sit together in front of our midnight snack. I don’t even ask how he knew exactly when I was going to walk in that he had this all ready.

“Those are ridiculous.” I chuckle at the penis-shaped candies.

“They made you laugh.”

“Yeah. I needed that.”

Trey looks at me, holding my gaze with those dark, black eyes, and all I want to do is drown in them. “I needed you,” he says and kisses me again.

I kind of paw at his blazer, because of course he’s wearing one, and I want to get inside it and feel the contours of his body through his shirt.

“I needed you too,” I speak against his lips, not wanting to disconnect yet.

“I have really, really been needing my Daddy to keep me from losing my mind.”

“Over work?” Trey pulls back, keeping me from chasing after him with a splayed hand pressed to my chest. “Studying? Or what your boyfriend does on his off hours?”

“Are you my boyfriend?” I’m sobering but it’s just making me tired, and Trey is a little hazy in front of me.

“I hope so. As long as I am also your Daddy ,” he practically growls, and I feel my cock twitch in response. I am definitely too drunk for that , but it doesn’t quell the want.

“Yes,” I answer, “you are.”

“I’m glad. Now, can you open up for Daddy so I can make everything better?” Trey picks up one of the penis-shaped chocolate-covered cherries. “The chocolate and caffeine will help ease some of that future hangover.”

“With more alcohol in it?”

“Just a splash for flavor. Here.” He pops the candy into my mouth, and while I’m chewing, he brings one of the espresso cups to my lips, encouraging me to take a sip before I’ve swallowed.

The combination is heavenly.

“That’s my good boy.”

Maybe I’m not too drunk for what my cock wants.

What I want.

“Next…” Trey places a chocolate on his own tongue, slowly chews it, and before swallowing, sips from his own espresso cup with slow precision.

“We are going to try that trick I showed you with chilled wine… with heat .” He drops to his knees between me and the coffee table and starts to open my jeans.

Yeah, I’m sober enough for this. I might be damned, but that can be tomorrow Walker’s problem.