by Natalie Ward
My body bristles with desire, but as much as I want to join her in there, I don’t. I know I wouldn’t be welcome because she doesn’t have time for what I want to do. She has to get to work and I do get it, even if I don’t like it. I knew it was going to be like this and I told her we could make it work.
Promised her we would.
Still, there are times that I miss her, even when she’s here, standing right in front of me.
I pull on some track pants and walk out to the kitchen to make her coffee. The smell of it freshly brewing wakes me a little and I pour a cup for myself and one to go for Emma. Just as I’m taking my first sip, she walks into the kitchen, bag slung over her shoulder and one arm laden with books. I take them from her, ignoring the protest as I set them down on the bench along with her bag. Then I pull her into my arms, wrapping them around her shoulders as she lays her head against my chest.
“I’m sorry I woke you so early,” she whispers, hands sliding up my back.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head. “I know you have to go to work.”
“You must be so tired,” she says, her body flush with mine.
“I’m okay,” I lie, pulling her even closer. “You’re still good for tonight?” I ask. I feel her tense in my arms, even as I run my hands up and down her spine. “It’s just dinner, Em, that’s all.”
She pulls back a little and looks up at me. “No, it’s dinner with your parents,” she says.
I shrug, like it’s no big deal. “And?” Emma bites her bottom lip as she stares up at me. I can almost see her brain working, trying to think of some excuse to get out of this. I lean in and kiss her, trying to both distract and reassure her that it really isn’t something to be scared of. “It’s going to be fine,” I murmur, kissing her just below her ear.
Emma sighs as she sinks back into me. “I’ve never met someone’s parents before,” she says. “I don’t even know how to.”
I chuckle before pulling back. “There is no how to,” I say, smiling. “It’s just dinner and getting to know you conversation.”
“Yeah but that’s just it,” she says. “I don’t even know how to do that.”
I smile, lean in and kiss her. “It’s going to be fine, Em, I promise. I already know they’re going to love you, you have nothing to worry about.”
She kisses me once more before pulling away, the mumbled “I’m not so sure about that,” still loud enough that I catch it. “I really have to go,” she says, reaching for the coffee I’ve made for her. “Thank you for this.”
“Of course,” I say, stepping towards her. “Seven tonight, okay? We’ll meet you there?”
Emma nods. “Yes, seven.”
I kiss her once more and then she’s gone. I take my coffee back to bed, the sheets already cold. Oscar follows me in there, curling up on the side Emma used to occupy. He’s grown attached to her, even in the short time she’s been coming to my apartment. I’m not sure if he’s missed having a female in his life or he genuinely loves her, but he seems to spend all his time rubbing against her and sleeping on her side of the bed when she isn’t here.
I slide between the sheets, Oscar lifting his head and giving me a look of what I assume is disappointment because it’s me and not Emma. I reach over and scratch his head. “I know buddy, I wish she was still here too.”
The cat looks at me with something akin to scorn before tucking his head under his paws and going to sleep. I shake my head at the stupidity of me talking to a cat and expecting anything back in return, before picking up a book and attempting to read.
~ Emma
“Emma, you free?”
I glance up; see Jason leaning on the doorframe. “Yeah,” I say, throwing back the rest of my half-cold coffee. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got an attempted suicide coming in,” he says, talking quickly as we walk from the staff room back to the ER. “ETA in two minutes.”
I glance at my watch, exhaling a sigh of relief when I see I’ve still got two hours left on my shift. As much as I’m dreading tonight and meeting Nick’s parents, I know I can’t afford to be late.
“Do we know how?” I ask, grabbing some gloves and an apron.
“Suspected overdose,” he answers as we wait by the entrance.
The sirens are loud as the ambulance pulls in. I watch the paramedics as they jump out, the two of them pulling the trolley out while somehow maintaining the IV line and facemask on the patient. It’s all done in an expertly coordinated way, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Truth be told, they probably have.
The glass doors open automatically as they come rushing towards us, pushing the trolley through as one of the paramedics fires off a list of what they know and what they’ve done. I’m only half listening because I’m too distracted by what’s now lying on the trolley in front of me.
A young woman; maybe my age.
Her pale limbs lie lifeless on the thin mattress as though her attempt is no longer an attempt, but a success. There are old scars on the inside of her forearms, rows of raised and mottled white bumps that suggest this isn’t her first go at doing this. There are fresh ones on the inside of her thighs, suggesting something more and her breathing looks so shallow that I’m not even sure she’s still with us.
The paramedic hands me an IV bag as he says something that I don’t hear. Jason immediately takes over, shouting off a list of instructions to us as we wheel the girl through to the emergency room. I watch as the trolley jolts to a stop, narrowly missing a nurse who runs in front of us. The girl’s arm slips off beside me, hanging to the side in a way that almost looks as though she’s reaching for help.
I go to take her hand, but stop.
I can’t take my eyes off the scars on her arm, following them all the way up until I reach her face. I stare in surprise, at the long brown hair, the high cheekbones that look oddly familiar. A cold chill moves through me, dancing down my spine.
“Emma?”
I blink and the recognition is gone.
“Emma?”
I look up; find Jason staring at me with a questioning look on his face.
“Sorry,” I say shaking my head. “Yes?”
“Check her pupils,” he says, as he hangs the bag I’ve been holding before pushing a syringe of fluid into her IV.
I nod, pulling the penlight from my pocket and shining it into her eyes. They’re tiny pin-pricks, fixed and non-responsive.
And dark blue.
A shudder runs through me and I have to swallow hard, force myself to push whatever is going on inside my head to the back of my mind so I can do my job.
I tell myself to switch to autopilot, listening to Jason’s instructions and following them to the letter, all the while trying to ignore the fact that a woman who can’t be much older than me, fights for her life in front of us.
Or maybe she’s fighting us. Fighting for the right to leave her life.
We finally get her stable and I practically slump against the wall, exhaling a sigh that’s a mix of both relief and confusion. A registrar from upstairs appears in front of me, telling me they’ll take it from here and holding her clipboard out as though to ask if that’s okay. It takes me a second to realise she needs me to sign off on what we’ve done. Sign the patient over to someone else to look after.
That’s it now.
We’ve done our job because we stopped her from dying. Even though a part of me knows it’s not what the patient wanted, and it probably won’t be the last time she tries. But it won’t matter to us anymore, because someone else will look after her now. Someone else will take over and try to fix the things we couldn’t.
Just as I’m signing off on the paperwork, I see Jason walk towards me.
“Everything okay back there?” he asks.
I hand the file to the registrar, smiling at her as I try to work out how I’m supposed to answer Jason’s question.
“Yeah,” I eventually say, glancing at him.
“You sure? You didn’t seem completely…on board?”
I take a deep breath as I look at my watch. “No, I’m good,” I tell him. “Is it cool if I call it a night though?”
Jason stares at me, a questioning look on his face as though he wants to ask me more. I’m silently begging that he doesn’t because even if they’re questions about what happened back there or why I’m so keen to leave now, I don’t know what the answers are going to be. Neither are normal reactions for me. He knows it and I know it.
“Yep,” he eventually says. “Have a good one.”
I nod, walking off even as I register that this is the first time I’ve finished work and Jason hasn’t said ‘You’ve done good today’.
By the time I reach my locker though, the thing that was floating in the back of my brain when I looked into that girl’s eyes is back and it’s screaming at me and forcing me to listen.
I know it’s a long shot and I know it’s completely unprofessional too, but there’s a part of me that cannot ignore it, that’s desperate to know more. Desperate to find out how it all happened so I can do something about it, even if it’s something I have no right to do. No right to know.
I don’t even know if she would’ve been brought here. Maybe it was somewhere else and a part of me hopes that it was so I don’t have to find a way to explain why I’m about to do what I am.
I pull my phone from my pocket and check for messages. There’s a photo from Nick, sent sometime this morning of Oscar curled up against the pillow I was using in his bed. There’s no message, just the cat emoji with the heart eyes. My eyes close as the guilt curls through me.
I leave my phone in my locker and shut the door before heading back out to the nurse’s stand. I find a free computer and the link to patient records. I type in her name and date of birth, which of course I know because they’re twins, before I have a chance to question whether I should be doing this.
A hit comes back and even though I’ve deliberately set out to find these answers, it still surprises me. There’s no way I could possibly have treated her though. Nick told me it happened a year ago and a year ago I wasn’t working in the ER.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking because I’m scared to click on her file and scared not to. I try to rationalise that I’m doing this so I can better understand what Nick went through, so that I can help him deal with it and maybe get some him closure, some peace. Because even though he’s told me some things, I know there’s more to the story. Things he can’t seem to bring himself to talk about.
But the bigger part of me knows that no matter how much I try to convince myself I’m doing this for the right reasons, what I’m really doing is breaking his trust. I’m taking something that’s very private and very personal and I’m invading it. Worst of all, I’m not only doing it behind his back and without his permission, I’m doing it because I can’t stand the secrecy of it any longer.
And I know that’s the worst part about it all. I’m doing this because I’m impatient and I want to know.
My finger hits the enter key, opening the file. My eyes immediately flick to the last treating physician. I see Jason’s name before I quickly scan the record, as though trying to find an explanation without reading too much into it all. But even as I skim the words, skim back over the rest of her files, I feel the breath leave my lungs, the sinking feeling in my gut at all the things I didn’t know before but now do.
The three admissions to the ER.
The brutal things that were done the first time.
The self-inflicted things that were done the second time.
And the final visit on the third time.
“Oh god,” I whisper, my hand covering my mouth as I realise exactly what she went through, what Nick must still be going through now. Even though I’ve been trained in how to deal with trauma, trained in how to face it on a day-to-day basis, I still have to shut down the file and run to the bathroom.
I slam the door of the cubicle shut just in time as I collapse over the toilet, the contents of my stomach violently forcing their way out. My whole body shakes with what I’ve done, with what I’ve read, but most of all with how much I wish I could undo it all.
~ Nick
The text comes through just as I’m getting to the restaurant. I pull the phone from my pocket, half expecting the worst, but immediately relieved when I see the message.
Emma: on my way, 10 mins.
It’s not that I thought she’d bail on me. I was half expecting her to be late though; even if she has been better with the texting ever since that night I lost my shit wondering where she was.
She’s still often late though, staying back at work long after she’s meant to finish. I know it’s because her job is unpredictable; that she can’t just walk out when her shift is over. She has responsibilities; big ones and they aren’t the kind you can just trade off to someone else, walk out the door and forget about.
I type out a quick reply before sliding my phone into my pocket and walking into the restaurant. Mum and Dad are already inside waiting and they both smile when they see me walk in.
“Hi,” I say to them both, giving them each a hug.
“Where’s Emma?” Mum asks, looking behind me.
“On her way,” I tell her, as we all sit down. “She’s running a little late with work.”
Mum nods sympathetically, as though she understands. They both know what Emma does for a living, I’ve told them a lot about her. I’m close to both of my parents, more so after everything that happened. Despite the fact there is still a part of me that’s convinced they blame me for what happened, they’ve never let me go because of it.
None of us talk about that night. Amy, yes, but not what happened. It’s not for lack of trying on my parents’ part, but just like with everyone else, I shut them down anytime they ask, refusing to rehash the events of that night and all the things that came after. All the ways I fucked up.
A waiter comes over to take our order, but we just get drinks. By the time they arrive, Emma still hasn’t shown up and I’m starting to rethink that bailing on me thing. I pull my phone from my pocket, but just as I’m about to call her, she suddenly appears beside the table.
“Hey,” I say, smiling as I stand and pull her close.
Emma nods at me, her eyes nervously flicking to my parents. I slide an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek as I whisper, “Relax,” in her ear. She does the opposite, her body stiffening beside me.
After I introduce her, we all sit and my parents make small talk with Emma, asking her questions they already know the answers to. I watch her reaction to their attention, the way she only half looks at them and the way she avoids my gaze completely.
I reach for her hand under the table, but she flinches as I slide my fingers into hers and I suddenly want to be anywhere but here so I can ask her what’s wrong. But we don’t get a chance, because the waiter reappears to take our orders.
The rest of the night passes awkwardly. I can tell my parents are trying their best to engage Emma in conversation and while she’s not exactly being rude to them, she’s not being the person I know either.
I’m not sure what’s going on, but this definitely feels like more than just nerves about meeting my parents for the first time.
Eventually, dinner finishes and we all make a move. I hug Mum and Dad goodbye and watch as they both hug Emma, who hugs them both back in a way that’s half affectionate and half relief.
After they disappear in a cab, I turn to her. “You’re coming over, right?” I ask, knowing she has tomorrow off.
She finally turns to look at me. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course,” I say, confused. I thought we’d been together long enough now that me wanting her to stay was a given. That it wasn’t even something I’d have to ask. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Emma says nothing, just shakes her head as she turns and starts walking. I fall in step beside her, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer.
She doesn’t look at me, staring straight ahead as though she’s focused on some imaginary point in front of us.
Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable and I have to say something. “You okay, Em?”
She nods, says nothing.
“You sure, because it seems like something’s bothering you?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“You’re not still nervous about the whole meeting my parents thing are you?” I ask even knowing it’s more than that.
She shakes her head again. “No, they’re lovely. It was really nice meeting them. I had a good time.”
A half laugh escapes me. “Really?” I ask, surprised. “Because it didn’t seem like it.”
Emma says nothing as we cross the street and nothing as we round the corner to my apartment. I can hear the noise spilling from my bar, the crowds of people that have come out on a warm spring night.
Normally I’d suggest we go in and join them, not to work, but just to grab a drink, chat with people, but it doesn’t feel like that kind of night. Instead, I slide my key into the door next to the bar, the two of us walking up the stairs to my apartment in silence.
By the time we walk inside though, this awkward silence is practically deafening and I can’t bear it anymore.
“Em, what’s going on?” I ask, turning to face her.
“Nothing,” she says, throwing her bag on the couch.
I watch as she picks up Oscar, seemingly absorbed in my cat and completely ignoring me, and whatever’s going on with her. With us.
“Bullshit,” I say, staring at her. “Did something happen at work?”
She shoots me a quick glance, her eyes wide. “No.”
I stop for a second, debating whether I should push it because I can tell it’s a lie. “You sure about that?” I ask, knowing I have to, regardless of how uncomfortable things are going to get. “Because this,” I add, gesturing between us. “Whatever this is. It feels like more than just freaking out over meeting my parents.”
“It’s nothing,” she says, putting Oscar down as she walks into the kitchen.
