Lucas clears his throat. “You always this direct?”
“Absolutely.” That should end it. Except, it doesn’t.
He laughs softly, leaning closer. “You know, people might get the wrong idea.”
I pause. Slowly. Deliberately. “What idea would that be?” I ask knowing that he thinks he can somehow manipulate me into giving him a yes. I don’t work that way, though, and I see through the game he’s trying to play.
“That you think you’re better than everyone else.”
I meet his gaze, calm and steady. “I don’t think that. I just don’t want to go out to dinner with you.”
Something hardens behind his eyes. “Right,” he says. “Of course.”
He walks away, and I feel it, the shift. The temperature drop. The subtle change in the air that says this isn’t over. I learned a long time ago trust my gut. And I have a feeling I’m going hate that I’m right and something definitely changed after this rejection.
It isn’t long before it shows. The first thing he does is question a med order I’ve followed correctly a hundred times before.
“Why didn’t you push that yet?” he asks sharply in front of a patient.
“Because you ordered with instructions for it after labs,” I state, voice even. “Labs haven’t been drawn yet.” Our hospital has a lab team that come with a cart to draw and label all labs. I have checked twice already for this particular patient and they are in the lineup but apparently a phlebotomist called out today so they are operating with only one tech for all of the ninety bed emergency department.
He checks the chart, frowns, then waves it off. “Just do it. Draw the blood yourself and administer the medication.”
I don’t argue. I document everything instead.
The second thing he does is assign me to triage during the little bit of this shift, knowing full well I’ve already been bouncing between rooms and I have notes to prepare for shift change.
The third thing is worse. He sighs, loudly, when I ask for clarification on a patient’s discharge instructions. Like I’m inconveniencing him. Like I’m incompetent. My jaw tightens. I’ve dealt with men like him before. The ones who smile until you don’t play along, then punish you in ways small enough to deny but sharp enough to feel.
I don’t rise to it. I won’t give him that. I do my job. I do it well. I move faster, chart neater and more precisely, and keep my voice level even when my patience thins to a wire.
Just before seven, I finally get five minutes to breathe. I lean against the counter near the supply room, sipping lukewarm water, shoulders aching.
“Rough day?” Marcy asks, sliding in beside me.
“Normal,” I share.
She eyes me. “Lucas being an ass?”
I hesitate. Then shrug. “He asked me out. I said no.”
Marcy snorts. “Ah. That’ll do it.”
I huff a tired laugh. “Does it ever not?”
“Men with egos?” she says. “Nope.”
I glance at the clock. I’m almost there. I just need Ashley to get in and go over shift change notes. Then I can go home. Check on my grandfather. Breathe.
The thought steadies me.
Ashley calls, she is running late but will be here within the hour so I holdover to be able to give her an adequate report. Luckily, Becky arrives to take over the triage and I can make another final round to my patients.
Lucas doesn’t speak to me unless he has to. When he does, it’s clipped. Impersonal. Professional in the way that’s meant to remind you who has power.
I let it slide. I always do. Because I don’t have the luxury of blowing up my workplace. Because my paycheck pays for medications and home health aides and groceries and things my grandfather can’t do for himself anymore.
By the time my shift ends, exhaustion sits deep in my bones. In the employee locker room, I change out of my scrubs slowly, peeling off the day like a second skin. My reflection in the locker mirror looks tired but intact. No mascara left. Hair escaping its tie. Still standing, though.
