**

As I am washing my hands and staring at my reflection in the mirror, Nikki opens the door and snakes in.
I watch her, raising my eyebrows.
“Hey…”, I say, surprised.
“Hey…”, she replies, licking her lips.
There are two Nikkis in front of me, actually. It must be the great amount of alcohol circulating into my veins.
I rest my back against the basin and half-smile at her.
“What are you doing here?”, I ask, realizing immediately the dumbness of my question.
She doesn’t reply.
She just grabs my ties and kisses me, unexpectedly.
I pull back when I can feel her tongue brushing mine.
“Hey, hey, wow, wow, wait a second!”, I stutter, trying to step back.
But there is no place to go. My ass is resting against the cold porcelain of the basin.
Nikki’s fingers linger on the collar of my shirt.
“I’ve already waited for too long…”, she whispers, kissing me again.
And this time, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I don’t pull back.
It’s because I’m sad.
It’s because I am angry.
It’s because I’m bored.
It’s because my life, right now, needs a bit of a thrill.
I push Nikki inside one of the conveniences and slam the door.
Saying nothing, I snake my hand under her skirt, pull her thong aside, and I start fucking her hard.
Nikki clings to my shoulders and bites my neck.
I close my eyes as an immediate guilt starts invading me.
And that’s when I stop.
My cheating lasted just sixty, maybe seventy seconds, fair enough to make me feel like shit, anyway.
I step back, breathing heavily, and sit on the closed toilet, smoothing down my shirt and my tie.
My head spins like hell and I feel like I’m about to vomit.
“I am sorry…”, I murmur feeling my mouth completely dry.
“I am sorry”.
And I rub my hurting, itching eyes feeling a sudden pain in my chest.
“Hey, it’s okay…”, Nikki is saying, when I take my head into my hands.
She kneels down in front of me, touching my forehead.
“Hey…what’s the matter?”.
I feebly shake my head.
“Nothing, I am fine…”, I croak.
“Shane?”.
Her voice echoes in my ears.
I try unsuccessfully to catch my breath.
“Shane? You’re pale!”.
I close my eyes, trying to keep my balance and grabbing my shirt at heart-height.
Nikki’s voice is frantic, when she speaks again.
“Hey! Do you think you’re having a heart attack?”.
I am totally unable to reply.
And as I slowly slip on the floor of the restroom, I hear several agitated voices.
“Call an ambulance!”.
“Come on! Move her away from there!”.
“Hang in there, Shane”.
That’s Bette’s voice.
“Call my wife”, I can only murmur.
Bette’s warm hands on my face.
“You’re doing just fine, Shane”.
“Where’s she?”.
A male voice.
“Right here, right here”.
Nikki.
“The doctor’s here, Shane”, Bette says.
A middle-aged man in a tailored suit kneels down beside me.
“Mrs. McCutcheon? I’m Doctor Gordon”.
I try to open my eyes with not much success.
“How are her vital signs?”.
I do my best to get up, but Bette’s hands push me down again.
“Shane, take it easy”.
“Did someone call my wife?”, I asks, closing my eyes.
The paramedics arrive.
They pick me up and lay me down on a stretcher.
My eyes snap open as I grab Bette’s forearm.
“I need to write Carmen a note… In case she doesn’t get here in time”.
“Let’s get her to Seattle Grace”, one of the paramedics states.
“Jeff, let’s go”, the other one replies.
“Bette…”, I call out, blindly.
She hands me a pen and I start scribbling while the stretcher runs across the club.
I start scribbling everything that comes to my mind.
And I wish I didn’t.