Emery [bxb]

178

The traumatic shit doesn't care that Emery and I have a lot to deal with. Work hits us hard, breaks our hearts and leaves us exhausted day after day. We work side-by-side, back-to-back, putting people back together. We get tired, we hurt, and at the end of the day, we only have each other to lean on because the rest of the hospital moves on like clockwork.

Sometimes I look at Emery's profile, soothing the baby, playing violin, looking out a window or just washing his hands, and the desire for him hits me so hard it nearly knocks me over. I've never wanted someone so bad and not sexed them up immediately. But I know he needs time to heal, and I need to prove my intentions.

I'm working on making some furniture for the baby, breaking my back every spare hour of the day in the garage that I'm not working on that house. The work keeps my mind off things. A thought occurs to me as I'm whittling and hammering away one day. It's that life deals its blows in the same way, chipping and carving at you until it thinks you're a finished product. I tell Emery this and he says it must be true because I never would've said something so profound ten years ago.