I hate it when he stares at me.
Those blue eyes seem to burn holes through me when he does, like he sees my every imperfection. So calculating, so judgmental.
From day one, he's expected nothing less than perfection. I have to have all the answers, cure all the diseases, save all the patients. And I'll be damned if I don't try my hardest. Not just because it's my job, but because it's what he expects of me. When I succeed I can feel that confidence and arrogance we all put on when we find triumph, and I know even if he doesn't say it that he's proud and impressed.
So those times when I fail, the guilt is worse because I haven't just let down my patient and their family, but him too. I can feel his disappointment. And I hate that, because I want to be that good. Honestly though, I'm just not the doctor that he is, no matter how long or hard I try. He's not exactly perfect himself, but damn is he good.
I don't know why his good opinion matters so much but I have to have it. I don't care about what anyone else in this whole place thinks of me. Sure, I would prefer that they respect me and know I'm a good doctor. But I don't obsess about it like this. His opinion is my drug. When he thinks well of me I feel like I'm on a high and unstoppable, but when he doesn't – it's almost crushing. I'll do just about anything I can to keep those looks of disapproval off his face.
And I can't escape him. He's everywhere. I run into him all over the place. Even when I go out of my way to avoid him, he seems to pop up wherever I am. He never even needs to use his pager because when he needs me he just appears out of nowhere and interrupts whatever I happen to be doing to drag me off for some patient or new case.
Like right now. I was attempting to hide in one of my coma patients' rooms, but then he once again showed up. So I'm pretending I'm checking the IV drips while he stands in the doorway. Staring with those intense eyes, evaluating my every movement. Finally I can't take it anymore.
"Keep staring at this beautiful hunk of man for as many days as you want, Miranda, but I'm afraid another girl already asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Sorry, but you'll just have to go with that sweet but nerdy boy who sits behind you in science class and continue to stare at me all night while I'm on the dance floor, holding another girl in my muscular arms, while your date rambles on about the latest Comic Con and the way he dressed up like the more ridiculous half of the Dynamic Duo. But don't you give up, missy, no don't you do that, because ma-haybe if you primp and pretty yourself enough I may just notice you there in the corner and we can escape that musty school gym and enjoy a romantic night beneath the bleachers. Sound like a plan there, Theresa?"
As I glance sideways, Newbie's head is tilted and his eyes have that weird, glazed look. He murmurs, "And we'd ride off into the sunset," and then shakes himself back to reality. I make a noise of disgust. "Anyway, Dr. Cox, I was just coming to ask for your help with this diagnosis for Mr. Feldman. You see, he's – " I tune out, rolling my eyes as I cross the room and snatch the chart from his hands. He's already watching me in anticipation as I peruse the papers.
I start walking off. "Newbie, come." He tails me, still with his eyes locked on me like I'll provide the answers to life. Inside I sigh. Time to once again go be the super hero he expects me to be.