Rachel
At least my four hours of sleep were four solid hours because Doc is busy, and it's only nine A.M., which means I'm an hour in and there's a lot left to do.
The distraction is good, though, and I've already learned a lot of the practical stuff. The order to getting everyone's blood pressure and weight, and how to work Doc's computer system.
I finish up the chart and just hit save when Doc's voice is behind me.
"Eamon just stumbled in looking like he was drug behind a truck. Says you stitched him up the first time and I thought maybe you'd like to do it again."
My mouth dries out and my heart bangs in my ears. "How does he even know I'm here?"
"I mentioned it once I finally convinced him to come all the way in and lie down." Doc pats my shoulder. "I got everything else covered if you can patch him up and send him on his way."
I take the few steps to the room where Eamon is and stop outside the closed door trying to find enough air to speak. Why this?
Maybe it'll be good. Maybe this will catapult us back into something like friendship.
"Eamon LeJeune," I say as I open the door, looking at the tablet that holds his chart. "I'm shocked to see you--"
I freeze when I take him in. Deep, dark rings under his eyes and small scratches fill every bit of visible skin.
"That bad, huh?" He gives me a lame attempt at a smile and my heart breaks a little at how he does this to himself.
I swallow a lump that's formed at too many things for me to count. "What was the stunt this time?"
He clears his throat to speak, and I turn away from him, rummaging in unfamiliar cupboards to find what I need. I start setting gauze and disinfectant and wraps on the small tray.
"No stunt. Jumped out of a train to get home."
I freeze for a moment as the stupidity of his actions. Does he give a shit about anything? Even himself? I start sliding open drawers, even though I know I have everything I need. "I see..." I bite down to keep the rest of what I actually want to say to him locked inside me.
Finally I'm at the point where I'll have to face him again because I've run out of drawers. "Let's get some of these washed out, and then we'll work on re-doing the stitches, okay?"
"It wasn't a big thing, Rach. I was just hitching a ride home 'cause--" But he stops short.
"Because you left in her car," I finish for him. Lord, I swear I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but I know it seeps in. My stomach caves as I think about all the small moments between us that I thought were so unique and special, that he might actually have with every girl he's with.
Eamon closes his eyes as I run the cool saline over more tiny scratches than I can count. Even when I have to pick out small rocks or rinse out dirt, he doesn't flinch, he just lies still. This is old hat to Eamon, and he may think that that's impressive, but I find it old now.
Maybe it's better that we don't talk. I rinse his arms off next and try not to think about the way his familiar hands traveled over my body. But I can't stop the shiver that runs through me, and I have to release a slow breath to keep my head and heart from spinning out of control. The wound where his last stitches were is healing nicely, so I just put a couple of butterfly bandages over it instead of re-doing them.
"Okay. Sit up. You've got a nasty cut on your forehead. I'm gonna have to stitch it up."
Eamon slowly sits up, finally opening his eyes. "Cool that you're working here."
Work. This is a safe topic. Or should be. "Yeah. It won't last long, and with how long it's going to take me to get through school, it'll be short-lived."
"Why don't you take more classes?" he asks.
"You know why. We got bills to pay, and I'm already short on sleep. I worked Carl's last night and was here a couple hours before you showed up."
Eamon wrinkles his forehead in concentration as I thread the suture needle. "Yeah. I knew that. I'm sorry."
I shrug before positioning myself in front of him. This is going to be a lot different than last time. There will be no special reward when I finish.
"We're still watching Arnaud's place, and I don't get where that money comes from. It's the only thing Mama's tight-lipped about, so I finally gave up."
Eamon lets out a breath as I start sewing him up. Again.
"The scrubs are kinda sexy." He pinches a bit of my shirt.
My heart cracks a little further, and I push his arm away. "Eamon...just... Don't."
Our eyes meet for a second, and he looks more confused and broken than I've ever seen him. "Sorry."
Nerves and frustration and hurt all claw through me as I finish the stitches in silence. "You're all done. But Eamon, you can't put all these scratches in that suit you wear welding. Help Jerry with the books or something for a few days, okay? Or take some time off."
Eamon stands, the height and feel and warmth of wrapping me up in something I can't find the energy to fight. "I like you taking care of me, Rach. And I promise I'll try to be good."
His words shake through me, putting me in a place I don't know how to deal with. His finger brushes the underside of my chin spreading goose bumps over my body. I can't look at him right now. I feel too much. When I turn away he doesn't stop me, putting us in the exact position I knew we were in. Me feeling more than him. It's a place I should be more used to, or found a way to be comfortable in by now, but I haven't. It's like how Eamon gets hurt over and over doing these ridiculous stunts. He goes in knowing he's going to get bruised and battered, and still does it. I'm doing the same thing with my heart in this case. We're both equally stubborn and stupid, just in different ways I think.
"I'll believe it when I see it," I tease as I start separating trash and items I didn't use. Anything to keep busy while I'm alone with him.
"So..." He scratches his head a few times with his hand on the door. "Can I ask you something?"
I slide gauze to the back of the drawer to make space for the supplies I didn't use. I can't run out of busy work when we're this close. "Like you'd suddenly be the pillar of restraint and listen to me if I said no, you can't?"
"I..." He pushes out a breath. "Are you going to go out with that guy?"
It takes me a moment to even guess at which guy he's talking about, but then I remember the last time I saw Eamon and the tidy guy who I gave the fake number to. I weigh possible options for answering before deciding to hit him right back in the same relaxed way. "Did you have sex with that girl?"
He grimaces and then winces as he pulls his stitches. "You're right. Sorry. You and I, we're friends."
"Friends." The word feels dirty in my mouth. Friends can't break your heart in the way that Eamon can break mine.
The second he walks out the door, I nearly collapse. Lucky me, my day's only half over.
I'm so tired from feeling so much, and from night after night of not getting any sleep that my first day with Doc Jansen is a blur. After Eamon left, he crept into my thoughts between every patient that came in.
Doc gives me a pat on the back and a "good job" as I stumble to my car on aching feet.
I want to shake Eamon and ask him why for a million different things. Why did he think it was okay to jump off a moving train? Why did he have to kiss me? Why can't we have fun like we did over the weekend? I wasn't asking him for babies and a house. And mostly, why can't I stop hurting over something I knew was coming?
I sit in my car and can't breathe because it feels like my heart is cracking apart and caving my chest in with it. It was idiotic to think that we could survive a weekend together. I probably knew that to begin with, but I was stupid and selfish enough to want him anyway. I'm not sure how to soak that up as the part of Eamon I can have, and let the rest go. I have to let the rest go. I cannot feel this way day after day. The drive home is blurrier than my workday.
I'm so exhausted, I don't even waste the extra energy it would take to wipe my cheeks as the tears fall. There's no way I could keep up. Tears of exhaustion and heart ache. The saltiness of them sliding between my lips and rolling down my neck. I'm a mess. A certifiable mess who knew what she was getting into and who needs more sleep.
The moment I stop my car in the driveway I want to leap out, change into running shoes and go 'til I drop. But instead I sit in the driver's seat, finally taking the time to wipe some of the tears off my pathetically swollen face. How many times will I regret a weekend I don't want to regret?
This is stupid. I'm not the mopey girl. Even after splitting with Brett after a year I held it together better than this.
But Brett wasn't Eamon.
I wipe my palms over my face and neck again before pushing my way out of my car. My chest is so tight that it takes a few breaths before I think my body might eventually be normal again.
"That you baby girl?" Mama calls from the kitchen.
"Yep, just me." I kick off my shoes and flop onto the couch wondering if there's any way I'll have the strength to make dinner tonight when I breathe in. Mama made enchiladas.
My mouth waters immediately.
"Don't you move, Rach. Put on a show and I'm coming to you," Mama calls.
Done.
Mama rolls out with a tray on her lap, and two heaping plates of enchiladas. I mumble a thanks as I shove the first bite in my mouth.
Heaven.
I've scarfed my whole plate down in about five minutes, and then slump low on the couch as we watch Survivor--one of Ma's favorites. Only I can tell she's watching me instead of the show.
"What, Mama?" I ask.
She purses her lips together before she speaks. "I figured you'd be full of news about your day with Doc."
I should be. I gave a few shots, input data, learned so much about the practical side of the job I want to do. "Just tired."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing else," I lie.
The people on Survivor are still trying to get their fire started, and I'm slowly going numb from tiredness and good food.
"Is it Eamon? Your weekend?"
I sit up and almost ask how does she know, when I realize she's just guessing. "Nope."
Only the look she gives me says she knows something, or at least suspects. Probably half has to do with the fact she's my mama, and half to do with the way I reacted...or overreacted...
"One day that boy is going to have an epiphany, and know you two should be together. But I want you to know, as much as I've always teased you about ending up with him, your destiny might not end up there, and I don't want you to put all your hopes on someone who might never grow up."
It's all things I know, but still, hearing Mama say them spins it into reality. Maybe I'll be the one to call Nate or Brian or whatever Mr. Neat's name was since he doesn't actually have my number.