PRESENT DAY (2022)
"Zach," I looked down on the chart. It said Zachary Goode. It had been a very long time since I last heard or saw his name. For the past year, all my strength and effort was put into making sure he never occupied my brain because I knew it was a waste of space. And he didn't pay rent. "What are you doing here?"
"Cut myself." He smiled weakly, holding up his right arm. He held gauze over it.
"What are you doing in Roseville?" I asked.
"I just happen to be here." He replied. No one just happened to be in Roseville, Virginia. It wasn't a popular town.
I nodded, accepting his lie. Once again. I was used to accepting Zach Goode's lies. "Okay," I said, flipping through his chart. His address said: Blackthorne, Ireland. I decided to ignore it and just looked at the pertinent points in his history. "You cut yourself doing what exactly?"
He looked up at me from sitting on the bed. "Cooking."
I remembered him in his apron, cutting onions and garlic while I wrapped my arms around him from behind. He would tell me to be patient and I would tell him I wanted him more than dinner. He'd laugh and prop me up on the counter, giving me a soft lingering kiss.
I shut off the thought. "May I see? When did this happen?"
He held out his arm to me. "Maybe half an hour ago."
I nodded. "This isn't a cut."
"No, it's not. A champagne bottle exploded, glass broke on my arm."
"You're going to need stitches. Just a few." I said.
"Yes, your friend told me." he smiled.
"You know Bex?" I looked at him.
"I knew you worked here and I asked her if she knew you. She said you were on duty tonight." He was looking at me but I didn't dare make any eye contact. I grabbed the alcohol and sanitized my hands.
"How'd you know I worked here?" I asked as I put on the gloves, making sure I wasn't touching the sterile parts.
"Facebook." he said and we briefly made eye contact before I grabbed the surgical tray and proceeded to sanitize his right arm. I remembered these arms. These arms I always had around me. Arms that made me feel safe and secure.
"Didn't know you still had one." I said, rubbing the cotton in outward circular motions.
"I don't. I just looked you up."
I didn't know why I was going this treacherous territory. We didn't need to small talk. It had been a long time since we had things to say to each other. I'd imagined running into him so many times before. I always played it out cool and casual. But now, it seemed like I didn't even remember my rehearsed lines. I forgot about how I'd tell him that I'm so much better off without him, that it was a good thing we parted ways…with just one look, I forgot everything.
"This is just a local anesthetic." I said.
His eyes didn't seem to leave me.
"How are you?" he asked.
I shook my head as I pretended to not hear what he said. Just hearing his voice made my legs go jello. It was hard not to respond. I wanted to tell him about the life I'd made. The things I'd done and accomplished. That I'd made it! But I held back. I opened up the suture kit and assessed his wound. Simple interrupted suture, I told myself.
I grabbed the needle driver and locked the clamp in place.
"Stay still, please." I slowly made the first bite through the skin, twisting my hand so the needle comes up on the other side.
"So, how are you?" He asked again.
"Zach," I said as I wrapped the suture around the needle holder twice. "Do you want me to butcher this?"
"I know you won't, little one." he said and my hand froze.
"Don't call me that." I frowned, quickly tightening my suture.
We didn't say a word until I made all the knots and cut all the excess threads. It took me a year to practice my steady hand, but it took just Zachary Goode to ruin it all. Suddenly, I was struggling once again to keep my calm.
"Thank you." He looked up at me. I smiled and swallowed a lump down my throat. He still looked as handsome as the first time I'd met him. He didn't even look like he'd aged a day when I was pretty sure I'd aged a lot of years since transitioning from medical school to being an actual physician.
"I just need to wrap it and you'll be free to go." I said.
"When do you get off work?" he asked. I wrapped gauze around his arm and secured it in place with a surgical tape.
"I don't know, it's a busy night." I said.
"Yeah, I heard." he looked at his hand. "I hope you're doing well."
"I am, thank you." We locked gaze. And right then and there I wanted him to take me on that hospital bed. But it was just my limbic system. I knew better than follow its every whim.
"I missed you." he whispered as I pulled the curtains open. "Can we talk after your work?"
I shrugged. "I told you, I don't know when that will be. It's not a 9-5 job, Zach."
He nodded. "Okay, Cammie." He got off of the bed and smiled.
"You can proceed to the waiting area, I'll have Dr. Baxter bring your discharge papers in a bit." I said.
"I want you to bring them to me. Not her." I didn't think there was any point in my life that I could resist any of his requests. I felt like every part of me was alive to fulfill his wishes, satisfy his needs. Even if it had been a long time since, it still hadn't changed.
I nodded as I slowly walked away to meet my next patient.
. . . . .