by Kira Barker
Closing my eyes, I turned my head away, hating that look of pity mixed with understanding I saw in hers.
“It’s easier when I don’t have time to think about it. And it’s never been a problem. Last year I was doing a rotation in pediatrics, and I was fine. Had a patient in the cancer ward die on me the year before that, still not worse than the usual. I don’t know what triggered it this year. I’m sorry. I know my behavior is inexcusable—”
“Shut up and get out of here,” she told me, chiding but gently. “Do you have somewhere to go? Family, friends?”
I nodded, peeking cautiously at her. The pity was gone, at least, but she still looked slightly pissed.
“I promise it won’t happen again. Next year, I’ll stay home.”
Hearing that made her deflate somehow, and when I frowned, Zoe sighed.
“Might as well tell you now. Your day can’t really get any worse.”
“Tell me what?”
She didn’t even shrug or try to beat around the bush.
“The hospital’s not renewing my contract, and I’m only here until the end of the month. And because they needed something to lure in my replacement, he gets to choose who he wants for the trauma surgery fellowship. Prick of course selected one of the residents he’s currently working with at his old hospital, and there’s simply no money for a second position. I know, I should have told you weeks ago because I know how much you were gunning for that job. Fact is, you’re not going to get it.”
I waited for the tears to come, and the disappointment, but I felt cold inside and out, the news likely not penetrating through that haze yet.
“There’s no chance at all for me to return here after I’ve finished my residency,” I summarized.
She sighed and inclined her head.
“You and me both. And it’s entirely my fault. I’m sorry.”
“How is it your fault?”
Zoe hesitated, but after a moment she exhaled loudly, steeling herself.
“I’m sure that gossip has made the rounds already that I’m going through a nasty divorce right now. The good news is, since last Friday I’m a free woman again and only have to pay that bastard of an ex-husband way more money than he ever was worth. The bad news is, his lawyer dug up every single bit of dirt, and as it so happens, that includes the reason for said divorce. My girlfriend, Rhea. The hospital of course has more anti-discrimination clauses than any sane person can actually remember, but that doesn’t mean that the board members aren’t a bunch of homophobic pricks. It so happens that someone handed around a paper including the details of the divorce settlement, and, lo and behold, only a day later there’s that bullshit excuse that I overstepped my limits because I reamed one of the Intensive Care nurses for being a dumb twit. My contract doesn’t get renewed, and they only need an hour to hire my replacement. Sure, I could sue, but that likely means not working for the entire time of the lawsuit because no one wants to burn their fingers or get dragged into this. They bent me over and fucked me good, and I’m afraid the same’s happening to you by proxy.”
I took that in with the same kind of stoic calm, then forced my mind to function for a few moments.
“I haven’t applied anywhere else. Guess I should do that now. I still have five more months of residency left, so I’m not yet standing with my back against the wall.”
“Should be enough time to find a new position,” she agreed. “You’re a capable, dependable surgeon with absolutely no dark spots to your record. And even if you have to wait another year for a fellowship, you can always moonlight at a couple of clinics. They always need good people.”
If she meant that in a comforting way, it didn’t really work.
“I’m still not done learning as much as I can. I need that trauma and critical care fellowship. Without that qualification, I might as well move back into my dad’s basement and start as a general practitioner.”
“Hey, don’t diss the grunts. You’re not a good enough clinician yet to diagnose anything that doesn’t need a scalpel to fix.” She let that sink in before her gaze turned shrewd. “Just how determined are you to stick with that idea?”
“Very.”
“Maybe I have a proposition for you, although I can’t say anything more detailed yet. When I moved to the city a couple of years ago, another hospital was in the grabs for offering me a job. I declined because I didn’t get along with their chief of staff, but he recently retired, and they might take me on now if a position opens up. I can’t promise you anything, but I might get you in somewhere. Might not be a fellowship, and you definitely have to figure in pay cuts.”
That was actually the best thing I’d heard all day.
“I don’t care about the money as long as it pays my loans on a regular basis. I’d hate having to wait another year, but if it means I’ll get the fellowship then, I’ll wait.”
“I’ll keep you in the loop if I hear anything new,” she promised, then got up. “And you’re going home now. Call in sick if you’re not feeling better tomorrow. You’ve been working yourself to the bone the last couple of weeks, and there’s no sense to overdoing it if you end up killing someone just because your ego won’t let you back down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And stop with that bullshit. You make me feel older than I am.”
“Yes, boss.”
She grumbled something under her breath, then she was gone, leaving me sitting there, dripping wet, feeling only marginally better than before.
It took me longer than it should have to get dressed, and anxiety was gripping me hard as I made my way out of the hospital. I’d been avoiding this call for over a week now, but there was no sense to it now. Deep down I knew that what had happened aside, today of all days he would be there for me, because he had always been there for me on that day, ever since we’d waited in that damn hospital waiting room and he hadn’t let go of my hand, even when his mother brought us ice cream and fries.
Only that when I called him, Jack didn’t pick up, and the call went straight to voice mail.
I was so perplexed that I hung up, then tried again, only to be met with the same result.
“Jack? It’s me. Call me, okay? I need you.”
I hung up, then called him again immediately after when dread settled in the pit of my stomach.
“Look, can we just forget about last week? I’m sorry. We need to talk. Please. Okay? Call me.”
The urge to keep apologizing, not because I meant it but because I needed him to be there for me right then was so strong that I almost left another message, but I forced myself to calm down and put my phone in my pocket instead while I waited for the train to arrive. There must be a good reason for why he hadn’t picked up—maybe he was on the phone right now, or taking a dump—and as soon as he saw that I’d called, he would get back to me. And that second message should do the trick.
The train arrived and I got in, and still my phone didn’t ring. I counted down the stops, then got off, and still, silence. I was already halfway down the street when it started to ring, making me smile despite the tears clogging the back of my throat.
“Jack?” I asked stupidly. It was his number calling, after all.
Silence greeted me, then a loud sigh.
“What do you want?”
That was not the answer I’d expected.
“Did you get my messages?”
There was no way he could have forgotten what day it was today.
“I did. I don’t care. You didn’t need or want my help last week, and you were very emphatic about that. Why should I take time off now just because you’re in the mood for it? Find someone else who you can treat like a dog you play with and pet one day, then discard like a wet rag the other. I’m done with this shit.”
With that, he hung up, leaving me staring at my phone, unable to even form a coherent thought while my heart seized up.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Most of all, I wanted someone to hug me, hold me close
and tell me that it would all blow over soon and be okay, and tomorrow would be a better day.
But that was Jack’s line, parroted after what his mother had told me while she held me after the doctors had told my dad that mom was gone, and he’d been too out of it to comfort me.
And now I’d lost Jack, too, and I was all alone in the world.
Well, almost.
I blinked away the tears, then started walking again, setting one foot in front of the other. It was only a little farther, less than two blocks, but every step leeched energy I didn’t have from me, and I wasn’t sure what would happen if I was met with rejection yet again. My hand shook as I raised it toward the door, then stopped and instead rang the bell, feeling like I had no right to just walk into the house anymore.
It took thirty-seven slow, painful heartbeats, then the door opened and Simon blinked rather owlishly at me. His shirt was rumpled and looked slept in, and he was wearing his glasses, a sure sign that he hadn’t been out of the house today or he would have switched to his contacts. He was clearly surprised to see me standing there, and considering how my day had gone down so far, I half expected him to kick me out, but instead he stepped aside to let me in as soon as he recognized me. I turned to him, my bottom lip quivering, and a moment later his arms were around me and he pulled me close.
Breathing in the scent of cotton laced with the musk that was purely Simon opened the flood gates I’d tried to keep shut for the past hours, grief and pain pouring over me.
“He doesn’t want to see me,” I sobbed into his shirt, not giving a shit about making sense right now, but then Simon had been around long enough to be at least aware of the rituals Jack and I went through each year. “First he didn’t pick up, and then he told me to fuck off, and I don’t know where else to go. And I almost threw up all over a patient and I’m not getting that fellowship, and what the fuck is wrong with me that everyone in my life has to fucking leave me?!”
I doubted that Simon caught more than a word or two of that, but just the fact that he was there, holding me, hugging me, not shoving me away or discarding me was enough. I started to cry, then cried all the harder when I realized that part of why I’d been so damn miserable over the past couple of days had been because I’d missed him, too, and desperately needed him, now more than ever.
I don’t know how long we remained standing there before he started walking us into the living room so he could pull me down on top of him on the couch, grabbing a blanket on the way to bundle me up. He kept his arms around me the entire time I cried and didn’t let go when I stopped, still clinging to him while he stroked my back soothingly. Dusk settled over us, casting everything into a perpetual gloom, but neither of us seemed ready to reach for the lights. Even with my heart hurting in my chest, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly warm and comforted by his mere presence, letting his strength slowly seep into me.
Grief ebbed away, letting me catch my breath and calm down in earnest, then snuggle closer when the need for something else than just comfort welled up inside of me.
“Have I ever told you how it happened?”
I more felt than saw him shake his head.
“No. Do you want me to know?”
“I don’t normally tell people. Jack knows. Of course he does, he was there. His mom knows. I’m not even sure my dad knows, or wants to know.”
Did I want Simon to know? Thinking about it, I realized that yes, I did. Not just because he was here now, but because over the last couple of weeks he had become such a vital part of my life that I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t —or shouldn’t—share with him.
“I’m not sure I can do this twice. How much do you know?”
“Only that your mom died in a car accident.”
Taking a deep breath, I tried to steel myself, but that was as useless as always when I thought about it. But pressed against Simon, listening to his steady heartbeat under my ear, it was just a little easier to revisit the darkest hours of my life. His fingers, soothing, stroking my hair gently, stilled for a moment, then resumed as I started talking.
“I don’t really remember much of it. Some days I think I even start to forget how she looked, although I have pictures. What I do remember was her holding me while she was crying. And I was crying, too, because I was only five and I didn’t know why my mommy was crying and wouldn’t stop. And then she told me that I had to be a good girl and do what Jack’s mom told me to, and then she was gone, and I never saw her again.”
Exhaling slowly, I caught a single tear that rolled down my cheek with my tongue.
“Years later, Malory told me some of the details. I think I was sixteen and rocking the whole emo teenage angst pretty hard. The rest I got from her medical file. Sometimes it does pay off to go into medicine.” I knew I was just stalling, so I forced myself to go on. “She had terminal-stage cancer. Brain tumor, malign. They couldn’t operate, and she knew that she was dying, but she chose to fight for every day that was still left to her. For me. She should have died when I was three, but she was still around two years later yet was getting worse. Chemo stopped working, and her headaches grew worse and worse. She started having blackouts, only for a few minutes, but then for hours. And on that morning she came to, lying on the bathroom floor, pills strewn around her, and I was sitting there, crying, begging her to wake up. She was horrified just because of the situation, but then she counted the pills and was missing some, and didn’t know if I’d accidentally taken them. I was too young to understand and could have mistaken them for candy. So she bundled me up, ran over to Jack’s mom, and with both of them along for the ride we went to the ER to have me checked out. The doctors assured her that I was fine and would have started showing symptoms by then, but she just couldn’t calm down.”
I had to pause for a moment, blinking hard to disband the feelings those old memories dragged up inside of me. When I was able to continue, my voice was flat, most of the emotion in it gone.
“She called my father, but he was away on a conference, not even available for a quick call. So she decided that she had to take matters into her own hands. She flushed all her pills down the toilet, left me with Malory, then got into her car and drove away. She even picked the perfect spot, a winding road where accidents happen almost every year. The tree she crashed into isn’t there anymore, the force of impact strong enough to uproot it. The coroner ruled her dead right at the crash. All the drugs in her system made a drug test inconclusive, which was enough for the insurance not to pay anything, but that didn’t matter. She killed herself because she couldn’t take care of me anymore, and she couldn’t stand the chance that her blackouts would endanger me even more. Rationally, I understand why she did it, but she will always be my mommy who cried and wouldn’t stop as she said goodbye. And then she left me. And I’m still here.”
I fell silent then. There wasn’t anything else to say. Simon didn’t say anything, either, just held me as we sat there in the gathering darkness. I felt so emotionally drained that I didn’t even have the energy left to be ashamed of my breakdown, either one of them. This so wasn’t like me, and right now I was ill equipped to handle any of it. But at least my tears had dried, and by the time it was too dark to see anything around us clearly anymore, I knew that the worst was over, and life would go on.
“Feeling a little better now?” Simon asked when I extricated myself from him and got up, muscles all over my body complaining as I stretched. I nodded although I still felt raw inside and out, but it was better, even if the sinking feeling in my stomach remained.
I turned away from him, not sure what to say or do now. Raiding the fridge sounded like a good point to start, but Simon reached for my hand, his fingers entwining with mine gently, and he tugged me back toward him. I looked down at him, my eyebrows raised in askance, and he returned my gaze with a pleading one of his own, a different kind of pain plain on his face.
“Don’t go. Please. It kills me to see you like this, when I’m helpless and can’
t do anything for you.”
“You’re already doing something. You’re here.”
He kept pulling on my hand so I let him reel me in, and I ended up half straddling him, half sitting on his lap. His face was partially hidden by the lack of light, but there was still enough illumination to see the hurt in his eyes. Reaching up, I ran a finger along his temple, then over his jaw, ending up hovering near his mouth. His lips moved, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something, but he planted the softest of kisses onto my fingers instead.
Something inside of me gave a start, but then was swallowed by the wave of grief all over again. The entire last week I’d spent moping and hiding like a child, and he had reasons aplenty to demand an explanation at the very least, but he didn’t. Instead he was just there for me, to listen to me, to lend what comfort he could, and it was more than anyone else in the entire world was offering.
Why that was still beyond my expectations, I couldn’t say, but it wasn’t the kind of offering I would ever refuse.
His hands touched my sides, then slid up my back, slow and warm, making me want to melt into his touch. Part of me tried to hold back—over the past couple of weeks, what we had between us had changed, had grown into so much more than just random kinky sex, but it had also created a different kind of distance between us. He was my Dom, and in so many ways that made him the person closest to me, but there were things I felt I shouldn’t see in him, feelings I shouldn’t have. If he’d just been here for me to lend a shoulder to cry on and comfort me, that would have been the same, but seeing him look at me like this, touch me like this, everything shifted. Maybe I should have stopped it, gotten up and left, but I was too wounded, too raw, and just a little too selfish for that. I wanted what he was silently offering me so fucking much that it hurt, and I’d used up all my willpower just to pull myself together. Even if it was just for now, just for a night, I couldn’t walk away from him, even if this, whatever it might be, would complicate everything so much more.