"Princess & the Plug": Read Chapter One

Chapter One

Aliyah

The air was thick with tension as I stared down at the unconscious body on the operating table. Mr. Turner, a sixty-five-year-old retired teacher, and a fixture in my childhood, lay still, his chest rhythmically rising and falling. This was the man who had guided me through equations, cheered on my successes, and had always believed I would achieve greatness.

Being that he was the closest thing to a father figure for me, technically, I shouldn’t have even been operating on him. But I did because I didn’t trust his life in anyone’s hands but my own and now, his life hung in the balance, teetering between my surgical hands and the afterlife.

Walking into the operating room, I felt a rush of adrenaline, a potent cocktail of anxiety and determination that stoked the fire in my veins. My eyes swept across the cold, sterile room. To most, it was a haunting symbol of life and death, but to me, it was my battlefield. This was where I, Aliyah Washington, came alive.

“Scalpel,” I demanded, my eyes locked onto Mr. Turner. My hand was extended, steady and expectant. The room was silent, filled with an anticipatory hush as the staff waited on my orders.

“Steady, Aliyah,” Jade Matthews, my right hand and best friend, murmured as she slapped the cool instrument into my outstretched palm.

The comforting weight of it grounded me, the familiar ridges imprinting into my flesh. Jade was also a surgeon, but worked primarily with expected mothers. She normally didn’t assist in general surgeries, but I needed someone in the room with me who I could trust. Someone who knew how important this surgery was for me.

Tension hung in the air like a thick fog as I made the first incision. Time seemed to slow, the beep of the heart monitor marking its passage.

“We’re losing him!” a nurse cried out as the beeping hastened.

“Get me the defibrillator, now!” Jade commanded, and I could hear the trolley being wheeled over even as I continued my work, my hands moving with the precision only years of practice could bring.

“Clear,” Jade shouted, and the room held its breath as Mr. Turner’s body jerked upon contact.

“Vitals?” I barked, not looking up from my patient, my hands steady despite the chaos around me.

“Stabilizing,” came the relief-laden response.

“Good,” I muttered, my eyes still glued to the task at hand. “Now, let’s get this done.”

In that room, drenched in the harsh glow of artificial light, Jade and I were more than doctors. We were warriors, standing at the precipice of life and death. It was the single thing I forced myself to remember in order to fully understand my responsibility.

“Aliyah, we’re losing blood,” Jade’s voice rang out again, laced with urgency.

“I see it,” I acknowledged, maneuvering around the problematic artery.

“More suction,” I ordered, and a nurse hurried to comply, the hiss of the machine drowning out the constant beep of the monitor for a moment.

“Come on, Mr. Turner,” I murmured, partly to myself and partly to the unconscious man lying before me. “I’m not letting you off that easy.”

For hours, we battled against fate, every minute a victory, every second a step closer to winning the war. Time had no place in our world. It was just us, our tools, and the fragile life that lay within our hands.

And then, it was over.

The tension evaporated as the final suture was placed, Mr. Turner was stable and breathing. Jade and I straightened simultaneously, a mirrored sigh of relief escaping our lips. I released the scalpel, letting it clatter onto the metal tray, its job done.

Jade turned to me, her brown eyes shining brightly against the whites of her scrubs. “You did it, Aliyah,” she said, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. “You were fuckin’ incredible.”

“You’re right, we were,” I agreed, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

The intensity of the operation still buzzed in my veins, a sense of fulfillment washing over me.

As we left the battlefield behind, Jade turned to me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, Aliyah, about tonight,” she began, her words hanging in the air between us.

“Go on,” I responded, playfully rolling my eyes.

“We’re still on for drinks tonight, right?” she asked, her voice full of anticipation.

“Of course. After all this, I need more than a few drinks,” I replied, my smile widening. “My nerves are bad as hell. If Turner would’ve died on me, I would’ve tried hard as hell to bring him back just so I could kill his ass.”

Our laughter echoed through the empty hallway. As we prepared to celebrate yet another job well done.

* * *

“So, I gotta ask, how long you gotta hold a nigga down before you can put down that ‘loyal’ flag? Like, where’s that fine line between ridin’ and just making a fool out of yourself?”

The boldness of Jade’s question and the razor edge in her voice cut through the air just as I was bringing the third shot of tequila to my lips, making me choke.

A soft, thoughtful voice added to our conversation. Imani. She was Jade’s younger half-sister, a shy introvert who Jade was trying to coax out of her shell. They hadn’t been raised together, which perhaps explained the stark contrast between them. Jade was loud and boisterous, full of fire and spirit. Imani, on the other hand, was more like a delicate flower, her gentle nature reflecting her delicate features and softly spoken words.

“I think you’re foolin’ when you’re the one left lookin’ stupid. But, if your man’s just having a hard time and you decide to stick with him, what’s wrong with that? I think that’s loyalty,” Imani chimed in, her gentle voice breaking into my thoughts.

Jade frowned, skepticism etched across her face. “Yeah, maybe. But what if his ass doesn’t even look like he’s even tryin’ to get his shit together? How long am I supposed to wait around before finding a new man?”

The tequila now settling in my system, I found my ground. “Girl, Marcus just lost his job. It ain’t even been thirty days yet!”

Jade rolled her eyes, her defiance clear. “Maybe not, but he seems so damn cozy sittin’ up in my house not working. It’s like he thinks just ‘cause he worked while I was at med school, he can chill now that I’m the one bringing home the bacon.”

Her grip tightened on one of the shot glasses, and she tipped it back, a grimace forming at the burn.

“He can’t think you’re gonna be his sugar mama, J,” I cautioned, my tone harder. “He knows you ain’t that type of woman. You’re a boss chick who will only be happy with a nigga who is a boss, too.”

Jade responded with a roll of her eyes and a smug smirk. “Well, someone needs to remind him who I am, ‘cause it seems like his ass got a lil’ amnesia.” She scoffed. “And it’s not just that. It’s like, he can’t seem to understand that there’s a difference between controlling and caring,” she grumbled, frustration tugging at her words. “He acts like he owns me, and I’m getting sick and tired of it. Especially now that he ain’t got no damn money. His pockets ain’t big enough to be ordering me around!”

My gaze flitted to the half-empty glass of tequila, its contents reflecting the overhead lights to create a small spectacle. “Well, now, that is a problem,” I began, my voice steady and sure. “A relationship should be built on mutual respect and understanding, not control. You need to make him see that.”

A snort followed by an eye-roll was her immediate reply. “Easier said than done, Aliyah. He’s so damn stubborn.”

I chuckled, offering a reassuring pat on her arm. “Then you need to match his energy and be even more stubborn. Show his ass who he’s dealing with.”

Her laughter filled the air, a bright contrast to her previous complaints. “You’re right,” she said, determination tingeing her voice. “I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”

“Good,” I nodded, shot glass raised. “To showing up, showing out, and never fuckin’ settling for less!”

“To showing up, showing out, and never settling for fuckin’ less!” Jade and Imani echoed, their glasses clinking against mine.

Our tequila shots went down with a burn, the outside world fading into the background.

My eyes wandered, skimming the crowd until they fell upon a man with his back towards us at the bar. He exuded an aura of authority, even from the back, his broad shoulders animated as he chatted with two other men.

My curiosity got the better of me, my gaze seeking out his face. When he turned slightly, my breath hitched. He was ruggedly handsome, an alluring mystery in the form of a stubble-covered, chiseled jawline, and intense eyes.

“Damn. Who’s that?” I whispered, almost to myself.

Imani’s gaze followed mine, landing on the mystery man at the bar. She frowned, her eyes squinting.

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice lowered. “But he looks like trouble.”

Ever the cautious one.

“Imani, stop being so damn cautious.” Jade rolled her eyes. “You need to stop worrying about who is trouble and get you one. When you’re young, the ones who look like trouble are the best kinds.”

Imani pursed her lips, not at all seeming convinced.

We fell into a silence, all of us observing the man at the bar with curious eyes. I watched him laugh at a joke, his genuine smile sending an unexpected flutter through my chest.

And then, suddenly, his eyes met mine, almost as if he could feel me staring. It was a fleeting connection, yet it left my heart pounding. As a surgeon, my thrills were found in the operating room, not in a shared gaze with a stranger. Still, there was something about him that intrigued me.

But I was quick to smother the spark of attraction not long after, once I was able to bring myself back down to reality. I wasn’t the type to get won over by a handsome face and lose myself in fantasy. I had more pressing matters, like my career, to focus on. I didn’t need a man swaying me away from the life I was determined to live. Especially one who appeared to be all wrapped in danger and secrets, like the one at the bar.

“I think we’ve had enough tequila for tonight,” I declared, pushing my glass away with a forced laugh.

“Speak for yourself,” Jade countered, grinning. “I’m just getting started.”

Before I could reply, the club’s music switched, making Jade jump to her feet.

“Damn, that’s my jam!” she hollered as Juvenile’s ‘Back that ass up’ blasted through the speakers.

Following her lead, I found myself trailing her to the dance floor, our previous conversations forgotten. Imani stayed at the table, clutching her proverbial pearls. The girl was such a goody-goody. It would take a small miracle for Jade to pull her out of the shell that was built through her childhood of living the sheltered life.

The timeless beat of the classic ghetto anthem surged through the club’s sound system, moving even the classiest among us. I watched, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, as even Imani, always so prim and proper, eventually stood and walked onto the dance-floor at Jade’s urging, reluctantly giving in to the rhythm.

My own body moved to the beat, my long braids swinging with the rhythm, my hips shaking as though possessed. A casual observer might be shocked that the respectable Dr. Washington could break it down with the best of them. But that night, being professional was the last thing on my mind.

I glanced over my shoulder and found my gaze connecting with that of the man in the corner of the club. Two other men flanked him, both equally as attractive and engrossed in their own conversation, but, much to my delight, his eyes were on me. As much as he seemed like the type of man I should stay away from, I couldn’t deny it—he was sexy as hell.

My movements took on a fiercer edge, spurred on by his attention. Moments of freedom to be myself and do what I wanted were rare in my life; I had decided to seize this one, consequences be damned.

The DJ spun track after track, each song blending seamlessly into the next, each beat a driving force that kept me dancing. Now and then, I’d steal another glance towards the man sitting in the corner booth, his gaze never wavering. His attention was a boost to my ego, a sweet reminder of the fierce and sexy woman I was beyond the operating room.

But when the DJ’s mix shifted gears, slowing the tempo, we left the dance floor to the slow-dancing couples, making our way back to our table.

“So… you gonna talk to him or what?” Jade asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Who?” I feigned ignorance, furrowing my brows.

Jade made a vague gesture over my shoulder. “Your fan. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Yeah, he was staring. And I got a better look cat him. He’s cute, too,” Imani chimed in.

Jade rolled her eyes. “Cute is for babies, Imani. That man’s fine as fuck,” she corrected as Imani rolled her eyes at her rawness. “So, anyways, you gonna make a move or what?”

I laughed, waving her off. “Nope. I was just playing with him. He looks too street for my taste.”

Jade snorted. “Girl, what you know about the streets?”

I shrugged, “Nothin’. And I like it that way.”

I was quick to deflect, but the question lingered like an unwelcome echo. If they knew my past, it would shatter their perception of me. I’d known the streets too well once, before I’d lost my parents to its ruthless grasp.

In the past, I was hood royalty. Born Princess Aliyah DuPont, the daughter and only child of Black Cortez DuPont, the leader of the Steel Kingz. But these days, I no longer went by that name. I was Dr. Aliyah Washington. The chief of General Surgery, and I vowed to stay far away from the streets. I wanted to save lives, not ruin them.

I left that life behind, creating a new identity for myself, making new friends, and pursuing a career far removed from the grimy reality of my childhood. I had seen firsthand how the allure of street life could trap people, promising an easy way out, only to lead them to their ruin.

I had no intention of going back. Not for any one. And especially not for a man who seemed to live in that very world I’d escaped from.

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