"I made you breakfast."
I open my eyes to the well-lit room and wonder if it is the morning or afternoon. Aaron stands in the doorway already dressed in a suit for work. I'd usually compliment the way the light gray pops against his dark complexion, but I remember I'm mad at him. "I'm not hungry."
"Then don't eat. But you're late for your medication, too. Come on."
I crawl off the bed realizing I slept in my scrubs without anything on my hair. I'm not smelling too fresh either, but that will have to be remedied later.
I go down the stairs and see he has a spread laid out on the coffee table. Eggs Benedict with avocado—my favorite. A glass of orange juice and water sit next to my pill bottles. "This doesn't make up for you cheating on me," I tell him, "but I appreciate it."
He nods, leaning his elbows onto his knees and pressing his fingertips together in that come-to-Jesus pose I hate. "We need to talk."
I twist my mouth, wondering if the food is really worth it. The grumble in my stomach answers my question. I sit next to him on the couch and distract myself by readying my pills.
"You asked me to leave, but I don't think that's a good idea," he starts. I sit up straighter, waiting for him to grovel. "You may have gotten the boss bitch job you always wanted, but we both know you won't be getting a matching salary for some time. Not to mention the six figures of medical debt and student loans you'll have to pay."
That is not what I expected. "Thanks for the reminder."
"What I'm tryin' to say is, the lease isn't up for six months. Breaking it early will be another expense we can't swing, which will do nothing but hurt our credit." Such an accountant thing to say. "So . . ."
"Are you seriously suggesting we keep living together?" I ask incredulously. "After everything you've done?"
He sighs but remains calm. "I never slept with anyone else, Nay, but I can't say that wasn't the goal," he admits. "I didn't know how else to get you to admit that we've been over for a while."
I don't want to admit that because I don't think that's true. "We have sex, like, five times a week. How is it over?"
"We have sex all the time, yeah, but when we do, it's like I'm optional in the situation. You barely want to look at me. It's like you wish I were someone else. Anyone else." I glance his way, but my eyes fall when I see his expression. "I know you don't find me attractive anymore. I gained a lot of weight over the years and . . . you were out of my league before then anyway."
My brow tensed in confusion. "None of that is true, Aaron."
"Either way, what I'm saying is . . . I need intimacy. I need to feel wanted, needed," he adds. ". . . I don't think I can get that from you anymore."
My heart hurts, a lump building in my chest. My sexual detachment had nothing to do with him or his appearance. It was upsetting to know he couldn't see that. "So, that's it?" I ask him. "Whatever works best for you is what's gonna happen?"
"I'm telling you what I need. You had years of being the selfish one, Nay."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Because I had to be. You think I asked for this?"
"Don't turn me into some kind of villain," he says with another sigh. "You may have been the one who had to go through it, but I went through it with you. I was there for you the whole time. Supporting you, caring for you. That wasn't easy either."
The tears I fight back burn my eyes and nose. This hurts, but I'm not completely sure why.
"Admit this is over," he says. "Let us both be free."
The tear falls down my cheek. "I don't want to be free. I want to be with you."
"No, you don't," he says with a hint of a laugh. "You just don't want to be alone."
I start to cry. I have never handled relationships well, never quite learned to balance my need to be needed with the actual requirements of a partnership. He had been a source of stability through eight of the most difficult years of my life. If I didn't have him, I'm not sure I would be here at all.
The thought of not having him hurts. The idea of living with him while not being with him hurts that much worse.
"This is really what you want?" I ask through my tears.
"I think it's what's best."
I roll my eyes at the emotions flooding through me. "If it's what's best, why does it hurt so fucking much?"
"Because sometimes, the hard thing and the right thing are the same thing."
He pulls me into a hug and I start to sob. I wrap my arms around his neck, resting them on his wide shoulders.
He may be right about a thing or two, but I can't help my need to cling to the few people who have ever managed to get close to me.
As much as I try to keep my issues in check, I don't think my fear of abandonment will ever truly go away. For me, it lingers in the background, quietly whispering doubt in my ear through every interaction and relationship. My only reprieve is a steady stream of distractions from its painful reminders.
"It's going to be okay, Nay," he says to me. "I'm not going anywhere. You're still my best friend, nothing's gonna change that." That makes me cry harder.
This is going to suck, but I think it's probably best to rip the band-aid off slowly if the wound beneath it is still bleeding out daddy issues.
"I still love you," I say into his shoulder.
"I know," he says, stroking a hand against my back. "I still love you, too."
. . .
I dread work almost as much as I dread going home when it's over. Regret swirls in my head with all the words I wish I had said. Aaron knows me better than anyone. He was right that things had been over between us for a while, but it isn't that simple for me. I don't know how to let people close to me—not a true kind of close, that is. What's worse is that I also don't know how to let people go without having an emotional breakdown.
Only a few have ever managed to put up with my back and forth bullshit enough to stick around, but even then, I still draw a line in the sand for protection. It's much safer for everyone involved if I keep some sort of distance.
The locker room is full of laughter when I walk in. Funny how everyone else had a great first day while I was drowning in bodily fluids and despair.
"You look upset," a voice says beside me. I look over and find William with a lopsided grin.
He seems so nice, but he reminds me of Aaron. I hate everything that reminds me of Aaron right now. "I'm fine."
"How was your first day?" he continues. "Is Dr. Nicks as good as they say she is?"
"Wouldn't know," I muse. "She went home sick and left me with Dr. Corbin in the ER."
Someone gasps. "You got to shadow an attending?" Amy sits next to me, her hair once again curled as if she has free time. "What did you get to do?"
"I had to perform an emergency thoracotomy for a gunshot victim only to watch him die in surgery a few minutes later."
I look up and find them all staring at me. "Wait," the annoying Chris dude pipes up. "You mean you got to cut someone and go into the OR? On your first day?"
I look between them as they all stare at me. ". . . Yeah?"
The group scoffs and murmurs to themselves.
"I'm so jealous!" Amy squeals.
Jealous of what? Ugly crying in front of the boss I've seen naked? "You shouldn't be." I shrug on my coat and leave the room.
I sigh as I walk up the hallway. The busy sounds of the second floor are nothing compared to the ER. Even though all I want to do is curl up on the floor and cry for three days straight, I have to appreciate the little things.
Dr. Nicks stands at the nurse's station looking like an angel sent from heaven. She spots me approaching and smiles. "Good morning, Dr. Reece," she greets me. "How are you? How was the rest of your first day?"
"Fine and fine," I respond.
"You learned a ton from Dr. Corbin, didn't you? Isn't he amazing?"
Why does she like him so much? How can anyone like him? "Oh, yeah, it was great. He was great," I lie with the help of my best friend, Sarcasm. "How are you? Are you feeling better?" I ask to change the subject.
"I am. Went to my GP. Turns out I have allergies and I'm pregnant." My eyes widen with surprise. She laughs. "My first at 36. Can you believe it?"
Pregnancy is supposed to be a good thing, right? "Oh, uh . . . Congratulations!"
"Thanks. It's a surprise for sure, but a good surprise," she says with a smile.
I try to smile back, but it doesn't feel right. I really don't want to do feelings anymore.
"Ready for rounds?" she asks.
"Yes. Yes, of course."
We walk together rather than me having to chase after her as I did with Corbin. I don't know what I did to deserve this peace. "We have the same cast and crew as two days ago. Grace is out of surgery and recovering well," she says. Which one was Grace? Oh, noodle-arm mini-me! I probably shouldn't call her that, but I'm horrible with names. "We'll have to give her parents the news."
"Give her parents what news?"
She looks over at me with a small frown. "Grace has Leukemia."
Fuck. I nod but feel a tightness in my chest. I don't even know this kid, but my emotions are all twisted up after the last three days. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of another patient's family.
"We went ahead and put her on the transplant list, but let's hope it doesn't come to that."
That worst-case scenario is one I wouldn't wish on anyone, but sadly, that didn't change reality. "Definitely."
"Good morning, Grace," Dr. Nicks addresses her as we walk in. Both of her parents are here today. Her father is tall—very tall—and looks bi-racial. Her mother looks Latina. I'd usually think that's a great mix, but not when the treatment to save her life is based on HLA rather than blood type.
"Surgery went well, and we have a better picture of what we're dealing with now." Nick's stoicism helps me maintain my own. "Have you been experiencing any other symptoms? Weight loss, night sweats, feeling under the weather more than usual?"
"No," Grace answers.
"She had allergies or a little cold for a long time," her mother pipes up. "Sore throat and a cough for months. All of spring into summer."
I watch Nicks nod in understanding. No one thinks to mention a cough when their arm is shattered, but everything—everything—is a symptom.
"Why? What is wrong with our daughter?"
"We ran some blood tests and it appears that Grace has Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia."
"Leukemia?" her father repeats, his brow furrowed. "That's cancer. My baby has cancer?"
"Y-you said acute. That means it's serious, right?" the mother asks.
Nicks clears her throat. "Yes and no. 'Acute' refers to the ability for the disease to progress quickly if untreated, but we will start Grace's treatment immediately. Sometimes, cancer responds quickly. It could eventually require a bone marrow transplant, but it could also be as simple as medication, a few rounds of chemotherapy, and . . ." she trails off, her hand jumping to her stomach. "Excuse me for a moment," she says and runs from the room.
The crying parents look at me. Grace seems disappointed but shows no other emotion.
"Rounds of chemotherapy? And then what?" the mother asks me.
"Oh, uh . . . I-I'm not sure, I'm not her doctor." Their wide eyes stay fixed on me. "The Pediatric Oncologist should be up here shortly to talk to you about treatment."
I start to leave but something makes me turn back. My eyes trace over the familiar scene. Grace sitting in the bed with a distant look on her face, her parents crying while they stare at me, not her. I've been there, in a way. Not with two parents, though. I wonder if that makes any difference.
"Kids are stronger than they look," I tell them. They look at me with confused expressions. "The treatment will seem scary—it is scary . . . but she can get through this." The tightness in my chest starts to loosen its grip. "What I'm trying to say is . . . Don't worry yet. Save it for when she decides she wants to be a professional BMX rider instead of going to college."
There is a small pause before the father lets out a chuckle. The mother joins him. Grace finally smiles. With that, I take my leave.
My eyes burn with tears again, but I push the emotion down like I do best and go into the nearest bathroom. Under the stall walls, I see Nick's red pumps facing the wrong direction.
"Are you okay?" I ask her.
"Yeah. Morning sickness." She flushes and stands to open the stall door. "I'm gonna go lie down until my husband can pick me up. I asked Ezra to get you reassigned to the ER again since you had such a great time. There's some good news for you!" She gives me a beaming smile, but it fades quickly. She turns to go back into the stall.
This is what I get for being sarcastic.
I flee out of the bathroom and down the hall to the nurse's station. "Ezra," I plead while leaning onto the counter. He turns around to look at me over his glasses. "I will do anything you want if you assign me to anyone but Dr. Corbin."
"Anything?" he teases.
"Anything," I plead. "Please, please . . . do not leave me with that man again."
"You have nothing I want, honey," he says in his sassy way. "But even if you did, I already paged him."
"No . . . Please, no." I pout at him, and though I mean to kid, I feel close to tears. "He's a fucking monster, Ezra. Please. Anyone but him."
He glances behind me. "Speak of the Devil and he shall appear," Ezra whispers with a raise of his eyebrows. I turn to find none other than the subject of my nightmares.
"Oh no, you don't like me?" Corbin asks, peering down at me with a condescending smirk on his lips. "I'm heartbroken."
I should change my middle name to Mortification if I am to be in the constant presence of this man. Naomi Mortification Reece. That has a nifty ring to it.
"Get moving, Buttercup. There are plenty of patients for you to kill today."
Fucking asshole. "Looking forward to it."