[ WP ] you 're a surgeon haunted by the spirits of the people you could n't save . how do you spend your Saturday night ?

`` Hey, you really should n't be getting drunk. It ca n't be good for your hands.'' 
 
 I did n't want to hear her. Or maybe I just did n't want to see her. 
 
 Probably both. Actually, I just did n't want to remind myself -- to remind myself to regret. 
 
 `` Look, you're already out of whiskey! Do n't reach for the vodka, that's a cheap brand.'' 
 
 I did n't care. Ethanol is ethanol. Same kind I've been drinking for three years. I lifted myself off the recliner and to the bottle across the room. 
 
 One step at a time, one step -- 
 
 `` I told you not to drink, you ca n't even walk straight.'' 
 
 I held back in my vomit as I struggled to stand. My hand groped around for support before it grabbed onto the kitchen counter. 
 
 `` Please be careful.'' 
 
 With a heave I tried to raise myself before my hand slipped; my hand knocking over a stray shot glass. 
 
 Alcohol-thinned blood and glass lacerations. Not a good combo. 
 
 `` Oh no -- no no no. There's bandages in the bathroom, where they've always been.'' 
 
 No, I could n't get up. I was too drunk, tired, and depressed. 
 
 My blurred vision set onto my bloodied hand. My left hand. Not often you find left-handed surgeons. I was such a promising doctor too. 
 
 How many patients? Hundred at least. Everyone still seems to think I'm *the* doctor though. A legendary surgeon. Bullshit. 
 The blood ran down my hand, coalescing around my ring finger. Around my engagement ring. 
 
 `` Please, please, please get up.'' 
 
 No, I just could n't do it. I rested my head against the cabinet handles. Actually, my hands remind of when I murdered my first patient. So much blood, and so much fear. It was such a long time ago. I still remember. But I do n't remember the time. I do n't remember the day. I do n't even remember the hospital or the assistants. I only remember, that when her heart stopped, so did mine. 
 
 I looked up. No point in avoiding a ghost. 
 
 `` Do n't try to remember from three years ago! Forget about my dad! I was too far gone! Please, please, fix your hand first. 
 
 We can sort out everything else later. Please... It was n't your fault, do n't try to remember. It was 27 stab wounds!'' 
 
 Ah, that's the age when my heart stopped. 
 
 `` You were n't even at the hospital at the time! I would n't have made it in an ambulance either! Please, just move on!'' 
 
 Oh yeah. The tools I had at the time were a dinner knife and a fork. 
 
 `` P-please.'' She started crying. The ghost started crying. If she could hold onto something, she probably would've held onto me. Like she usually did. 
 
 `` I love you. I love you so much. So please, move on.'' 
 
 Huh.'So please' is what she said to me that day. Her last words. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks. 
 
 `` So please, live for me.'' 
 
 Yeah. I remember everything. She was the only patient to die under my scalpel. Her diagnosis was 27 stab wounds to the chest, abdomen, and throat. The time was 13:00. Three years ago, I saw her bigot father run through the church and mutilate her. He was n't even invited.'If she was n't his baby girl then no one can have her.' I tried to save her, but all I had were the wedding utensils and a couple of gaping wounds. 
 
 My phone rang. It was one of the nurses. `` Doctor, there's an emergency patient. There's no doctors on-site --'' 
 
 `` Sorry nurse. I'm drunk.''
