Chapter 15

"So you want to see Dr. Belle?" The receptionist looked at Owen like he was crazy. "Apologies, but she isn't the type to…she is busy."

"Any doctor works. I'm just requesting her since she stitched me up yesterday."

"You said your name is Owen Hart?" The receptionist moved her mouse and did a few clicks. "Hmm…I don't see you on our records."

"I was definitely here. I work for Michaels Corps. Maybe the records have something on that?'

Click, click, click. "I don't see anything." The receptionist gave him a flat, unconvinced smile. "Apologies, sir."

'Wow, okay. She thinks I'm schizophrenic.' Owen wanted to sigh. Yesterday, while he and Ophelia were cuddling, he accidentally stretched his arms and ripped his stitches. He decided to sleep off the pain. Bad idea. When he woke up, his arm was numb and his shirt was soaked in blood.

Owen looked behind him. It was busy like last time, a huge line-up standing behind him. Owen sighed and chose to walk off and not make a commotion.

'Even though it hurts like hell—'

"It's you." He took three small stops before stopping and coming face-to-face with a certain dark-haired beauty. Her bored dark gaze lazily scanned him. "Construction worker, right?"

"Dr. Belle!" Owen was so glad to see that beauty mark of hers. He remembered people better by their faces. "Yes, that's me."

"You know him?" The receptionist asked, standing up. 

"He was an off the record patient," Dr. Belle explained. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, um, okay." The receptionist wanted to say something but shut her mouth. 

Dr. Belle gestured at him to follow with a finger. "Come with me." Hands in her pockets, she walked and Owen followed closely behind. 

She didn't take him to one of the hospital rooms like he expected. Instead, they rode up the elevator and went to a wing of the hospital that he was unfamiliar with. The hospital was massive with escalators and elevators. It was the primary hospital for the Bay, so it was constructed to accommodate such a position.

"Cool elevator," Owen commented. Dr. Belle didn't so much as glance at him. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"My office," she replied.

'Are doctors supposed to have offices?' Owen looked out the glass behind him, overlooking the huge interior of the hospital. 'Then again, this place is pretty big.'

They arrived at a door marked 'Dr. Grace Bell, MD.' The doctor swung it open casually, revealing an office that resonated with her unconventional personality. The walls were adorned with dark-hued artwork, and a faint aroma lingered reminiscent of Dr. Belle herself.

In other words…

'Weed? And…is that cocaine?' 

"Have a seat," she said, gesturing towards a chair in front of her desk cluttered with papers and a peculiar assortment of items.

"Okay." He tried to sound enthusiastic despite how un-hospital-like this office was. 

"Shirt off, if you would."

"Sure!" He was wearing the Spain football jersey, red and more importantly comfy. He was able to slide it off easily. The doctor rolled next to him on her expensive black leather chair. She checked his stitches, humming. 

"I'll have to redo them," Dr. Belle stated.

Owen nodded. "Fine by me."

Dr. Belle first cleaned and disinfected the area around Owen's shoulder. Next, she grasped the stitches with a pair of forceps, her hands steady as she carefully maneuvered around the delicate skin.

With a swift motion, Dr. Belle cut the suture, freeing the stitches from their hold. Owen watched intently, impressed by her skillful technique.

"You're pretty good at this," Owen noted.

"You have a low pain tolerance," she replied. "You get stitches often?"

"When I was younger, yeah."

"You have a scar on your stomach. I assume you got into fights?"

He wore a soft smile. "It was a very long time ago. I'm a construction worker now."

"Hm." She began redoing the stitches. "Sounds boring."

"Construction work?" Owen thought about it. She wasn't wrong, it was terribly mundane and repetitive even if the project changed. He laughed. "I suppose, yeah. Luckily, there's more to work than life, so I'm fine."

She did not seem convinced. "Hm."

"Sometimes though, we get incidents like yesterday where a crane goes out of control and a person almost dies," he joked.

"Lucky," she said. 

Quietly, the doctor did her work. She pushed a strand of hair over her ear.

"Say, when do you think I can go back to work?"

"Depends on the intensity of your work," Dr. Belle replied.

"Hmm…" Owen stared at the ceiling, mulling it over. "I still have to call and ask if I'm getting paid…"

"Do you hate Michael Corps?"

That was a random question. Then again, they both did work for the same company. "Haha, I guess we can be considered sibling co-workers, huh? Want to gossip?"

Dr. Belle's gaze flicked up to him. "Just curious."

He smiled and reconsidered her question again. "Do I hate Michael Corps? Eh, not really. I hear Big Boss is scary but I've never met him."

"You call him Big Boss too?" Dr. Belle said, amused.

"My household takes it one step further and calls him Big Jeff." Dr. Bella looked confused so Owen elaborated, "The Spanish term for the head of a big company is spelt J-E-F-E. It's pronounced differently but the spelling is similar, so we started calling him Big Jeff."

"Ah."

A silly smile appeared on his face. "Yeah, my family does the nicknaming thing a lot. I don't do it as much but my parents' generation did it with almost everyone."

"I see."

Owen stared at Dr. Belle who suddenly focused on his stitches. He grinned and said, "You would be…Baga. No, hm, Grina?" She was pretty pale.

"Please refer to me as Dr. Belle."

"Yes, ma'am."

"...ma'am works too."