She rolls hers, but bails me out. "Did you file that report?"
"Killjoy," he shoots back. "Nice to see you, Ree."
"Uh. Y-Yeah. You too."
I enjoy the view as he walks away, then lean forward to rest my forehead on the back of one hand.
"Girl. You have no game. All these years of coaching and . . . still. Nothing."
"I know," I say again, this time drawing out the last word. "You are right about e-ver-y-thing."
She snickers. "Well, at least I taught you something."
I swing my leg forward, hitting her ankle just hard enough to let her know what I think of her humor. She narrows her eyes at me and there's an answering sting on my own.
Our lips quirk up, but I still see the worry etched on her face. I resolve to say no the next time someone asks me to cover their shift, the feeling of purpose reclaiming some of the space freed up by the slowly retreating ache of failure.
Her face falls into a more serious expression, and I know what advice is coming next.
"You can't keep letting him mess up your head, Ree. You are a great person, and you deserve happiness."
I try to keep looking her in the eyes, but the mere mention of my ex-husband makes my eyes skate away. Then my heart races and my mind shies away, too.
She's right, of course. She always is, but I married when I was young and dumb. I didn't recognize the damage until it was well past already done.
My career I can handle. Finishing my abandoned degree after I found the courage to leave him helped ground me. The past few years working as a nurse has been incredibly fulfilling.
I've also used it as a reason to avoid facing the issue. At the same time, I yearn for companionship and a healthy relationship. What does that even look like? Can I trust myself to recognize it?
My ex seemed great. Until he wasn't.
Interacting with men seems permanently linked to trauma and his voice in my head. It would be really convenient to be attracted to women, dammit.
She doesn't push me anymore, thankfully.
She knows this isn't the time or place. Instead, she begins rattling off her weekend plans with her wife. She always knows just what I need to ease out of being triggered.
Shared moments of peace are hard to find and predictably we're right back to the insanity soon after.
Per usual, I find energy reserves I didn't realize existed to meet each new challenge. After a blur of activity, I'm heading out to my car, my fatigue pulling me down and each step making my aching head pound.
I'm making my way through the covered walkway between buildings when a buzz tickles my hip. I fish my phone out and see a message from Sherry.
Can't face work yet. Not sleeping. Can u cover again?
I tap back an instant reply, my heart aching for her.
Of course! Self-care is important! :)
I cringe as I slide the phone back into my pocket. Tamina is going to pin me with one of her famous scathing looks tomorrow. The verbal lashing will be even worse.
I groan, then keep walking so I can finish my post-shift routine.
As always, I imagine all the horror sloughing off as I take the long walk through the hospital annex and make my way out into the night. The weight can't come home with me or it will disrupt every part of my life.
It would make me less useful to the next person. Or the next.
Sometimes they don't make it. Sometimes it's a life cut entirely too short. If I let myself think of all the pain each passing causes their family and friends, it would be a constant torment.
