“You’re so far from fine, boy,” Micah says as he moves around me, cleaning up and bandaging the smaller cuts and scrapes that have been ignored until now.
I bristle, having to focus on tamping down my anger at the word. Micah doesn’t say it like my dad says it. Micah almost said it like he was about to call me “girl” but pivoted at the last second, like I might get offended.
Which I don’t, but like I said, we don’t know each other that well.
The memory of my dad threatening to wash my mouth out with soap comes back to me and I have to suppress a shudder.
Micah takes a step back and stares at me, hands on hips and a critical eye checking out his own work.
After a minute, he clearly decides he’s done, and then he softens with a sigh. When he sits down in the chair next to the bed I’m perched on, putting us eye to eye, I know I’m getting a lecture anyway.
“Nobody wins when you do that. You know that, right? No matter how much the other person deserved it. You both end up fucked up, and you’re never going to change the part of them that made them deserve it in the first place. You can’t beat someone into being something they’re not. Trust me.”
Yeah, but it feels hella good in the moment.
I don’t say it out loud, because I know it wouldn’t be well received. Instead, I stay silent.
Micah huffs after a minute and stands up again. He goes through my discharge instructions quickly, mostly for Silas’s benefit, and hands him a plastic bag with my meds, beforeadding the part of the instructions that I’m sure most patients don’t get.
“Do not think you’re a fucking badass and know your limits, and start playing fast and loose with the tramadol dosages, or mixing it with booze or other painkillers. It’s a weak opioid, but it’s still an opioid. Your body is fucked up, whether you want to admit it or not. You can overdose. You can become dependent very fucking quickly, and ruin your life. And you can also give yourself a bleeding gastric ulcer. So take as fucking directed.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I say, saluting lazily with my splinted hand, earning myself an eye roll.
“Your work note is also not optional. If you use that hand too soon, you could do more damage. Take this time to rest. Maybe take an anger management class with all this free time. Or get a therapist. And no, blowjobs do not count as therapy, no matter how transcendent it seems in the moment. Bitching to Tristan also doesn’t count. Please unburden yourself to a professional. Self-reflection is strongly encouraged.”
I stare at him, because that was a lot for the wee hours when I’m already starting to feel the effects of my painkillers.
There’s a moment of tension between us, and I can almost feel the intensity of how much he cares. It’s surprising, but makes me feel weird. Embarrassed, almost. I guess I’m not used to this kind of unabashed care, except from Silas. Who is less talkative about it, obviously.
“Therapy beats a jail sentence, I promise,” he continues. “Plus, you’re a good EMT. I’d hate to lose you if you got fired for catching a felony charge.”
I push back on the urge to snark, and nod at him.
“Okay, Micah. Thank you.”
He gives me a sharp nod back.
“Good. I don’t want to see you in here until you’re back at work. And I don’t want to see you at that fucking bar for a while, either.”
Silas saves me, walking over to help me stand up, taking most of my weight for the millionth time tonight.
I look at him, our faces too close together, and for a second I feel the overwhelming urge to start bawling like a little kid.
“Can we go?” I say instead, my voice tight.
“Yeah, baby,” he says, kissing me softly on the side of my head, even though I’m sweaty and smudged with iodine. “Let’s go.”
I shiver, and allow myself the luxury of burrowing deeper into his arms. Let people see me leaning on him, I don’t give a fuck. I’m too fucking tired to walk by myself.
I haven’t done much but sleep since we got home. Silas woke me up after about eight hours to make sure I was alright and forced me to drink some water, but when I told him I was still tired he turned out all the lights and ran his fingers through my hair until I fell back asleep.
Now that I open my eyes again, I think it’s late. I can’t tell for sure, because a little while after I moved in, Silas rigged up an amazing blackout window situation to help when I’m working nights. It could technically still be light outside and I wouldn’t know.
I just… feel it. It’s probably like 10 p.m..
When I hear whispered voices ghosting through the closed bedroom door, I realized what woke me up. Maddi and Sky were supposed to come back tonight. Fuck, I totally forgot. I’m such a shitty brother sometimes.
I cut off that train of thought before it threatens to consume me. Everything inside me feels fragile right now, in a way I don’t particularly fucking care for. And I don’t even have a good excuse for it.
