Cold wind snakes its long fingers around my throat.
My tears turn to ice against my cheeks and nausea spins in my gut.
I’m tired.
Caleb’s not even here anymore and he’s still fucking up my life. Dejected, I scramble numb fingers through my purse and locate my phone, then scroll to my Mom.
Hitting the dial makes my heart sink and even the sound of her warm voice isn’t enough to raise it as she answers.
“Hi, Mom. I’ve got some bad news about Christmas.”
The only thing that hurts worse than not being able to visit my parents at Christmas is that when I called her a couple of days ago, she didn’t seem that upset to hear I couldn’t make it.
Her disappointment was akin to the tone she’d use on our childhood dog after it threw up on the rug Dad inherited from his parents.
She told me there would always be next year and hung up before I could delve into the rest of the pain troubling me.
I’ve never been super close with my family, but being surrounded by people who cared about me felt like the cure I needed for this pain consuming me.
And now that plan is gone.
The next few days pass in a blur as I settle into autopilot. I go to work and bury myself in patient charts, appointments, and the parts of patient care that everyone wants to avoid like prescriptions and surgery bookings.
Then I go home to an empty, cold apartment that remains exactly as Caleb left it, crawl into bed, and sleep.
I repeat it all in a daze while hoping the next call will be from the bank telling me it was all a clerical error and my account is fine, my money is back, and my rent is paid.
This lasts until my landlord calls, furious at my late payment, and I dip into what’s left of my holiday fund to pay for it.
My friends call, but most of those conversations are me listening about their love lives, job insecurities, and the impending festive season that approaches like rolling fog. I make the appropriate noises and they all think I’m fine.
Wandering the world numb works until Jen slams a gigantic folder down in front of me, making me jump out of my skin and jerking me painfully back to reality.
“Move,” she barks, standing over me like a warmed shadow. “Noelle, move.”
“What? I’m working.”
“Not here, you’re not. Come on, move.”
“What?” Confusion fogs my chest as I stumble out of my seat at the desk and Jen slots into place. “What do you mean?”
She squints up at me and sighs. “Are you kidding me? Didn’t you hear the announcement?”
As I come back to reality, people are rushing about the floor and running in all directions.
It’s like coming up for air after spending too long under the water. “I— what’s happening?”
“Are you alright? They need you down in trauma one, Noelle. There was a terrible accident on the highway, and it’s all hands on deck. You’re supposed to be down there already, Snow. You’re the coordinator. Is something wrong with you?”
She’s asking to be mean, but that doesn’t stop the urge to say yes. “No, I’m fine.”
“Then get moving!”
I rush away and take the elevator down to trauma one on the main floor.
The doors slide open and chaos hits me like a brick.
People are yelling and screaming, children are sobbing, doctors and nurses sprint back and forth between trolleys and patients while the cops mill around trying to talk to people, while also not getting in the way.
