I'm sincerely sorry about how long it's been. Please forgive me and I hope you enjoy.
"Where is she?"
"Is Weaver not on? Oh happy days!"
My cheeks are burning with anger as I hear my co-workers, Haleh and Chuny particularly, complain about Kerry.
About my girlfriend.
In her defense, I chirp up with added bite in my voice, "She is on," I reassure, "and I'd appreciate you not bashing her."
I hear a few snickers.
Oh, fuck off, Chuny.
Kerry's the best attending on the floor, Mark Greene included, and everyone damn well knows it.
Grabbing the chart I'd previously been working on for Luka, I stalk off, moving past Susan and her suspicious face and head down the hall.
It's been weeks since Kerry and I had our falling out and making up and, in those twenty or so days, we've told not a single soul of our relationship and, as far as we know, not a single soul has any suspicions about it. Why would they, Kerry pointed out this morning while we were showering, it's not like we are acting all too differently.
In all actuality, we aren't acting any differently at all; sometimes we're on the same patient, sometimes we're not; sometimes I agree with her orders, and sometimes I don't.
It's all the same, really.
Except now, if I'm angry with her, things can get a little heated once we're home.
Her home, I mean. And not the kind of heated that leads to hot sex.
Unfortunately.
There are plenty of valid reasons to keep our relationship a secret and, unfortunately, those outweigh the fact that, by hiding, we're only giving society what they want.
That's what Kerry tells me, at least.
It's not that I don't agree, it's just that I have a hard time seeing what the big fucking deal is.
And that's when Kerry calls me naïve.
She knows what the big fucking deal is, she assures me, because of, and I quote, "what happened to Dr. Legaspi."
And that's when I shut up.
I'm just changing Luka's flu-ish woman's IV when the exam room door opens and I see a head of red hair out of the corner of my eye.
"Hey, Kerry…" I greet, smiling sweetly.
Or seductively.
Or both.
I can see her freeze a bit, taken aback by the show of friendship no doubt, but she shoots me a small smile. "Abby."
That's enough to put an inerasable smile on my face.
She walks over to the end of the empty bed nearby and grabs the chart that's hanging from the bed, gives it a quick look-over, then walks out with it in hand.
Just as I'm sure she's going to leave without a goodbye, she turns around, "Um…I'm going to take lunch in about twenty…" she offers.
I'm completely surprised by her openness and the feeling's making me want to jump across the room and tackle her open mouth with my own.
I refrain, deciding to nod instead. "Come find me?"
She smiles. "Always."
And, despite the patient who can so obviously hear us and see us interact, I watch as my girlfriend walks away and keep my eyes trained on her until she's far from sight.
Turning back to the woman, I give an awkward smile before finishing what I was doing.
As I remove the tape that's holding her IV in place, I can feel her staring at me. "You know, my gaydar is normally much more accurate."
Her words shock me and I stop all movements.
"Wh-what?"
Damnit, Abigail, no stuttering.
The middle aged woman, Margo her name is, only chuckles and shakes her head.
My ears are on fire and, while trying not to stutter, I speak again. "She and I…she's…we're just…"
Margo waves her hand and makes a tsking noise with her tongue. "No worries, Abby…"
I keep my head ducked as I finish with her IV and thank her, smiling slightly.
I tell her Luka will be in to go over her blood work soon and that, if everything's alright, she'll be cleared to go within the next couple of hours and exit her room, heading straight for the lounge.
Twenty minutes haven't passed and I grin sheepishly when I find Kerry sitting at the table, back to me.
It reminds me of the first night we went out.
Subsequently, my smile grows.
I choose not to scare the daylights out of her, gently clearing my throat before I speak. "Care to head home for lunch?" I question, my voice so thick with seduction that she'll know eating sandwiches is
the last thing I'm suggesting we do.
To my surprise, she spins around quickly, giving me a full view of the mortified look on her face. At the same time, I hear the refrigerator door shut and instantly realize the source of Kerry's shock:
Susan Lewis standing with a bottle of water in either hand.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Kerry quickly closes her nearly-dislocated jaw and tries to cover up. "Abby…if you could…uh…" she's stuttering and cluttering and I feel my ears burning. "If you could just excuse us," she settles on, "for
a few moments…"
I nod shortly, spin on one foot, and go back to right where I came from.
Swallowing my mortification I get back to work, willing whatever radical- and probably truthful- thoughts that are going through Susan's head to stay there and only there.
Who am I kidding; it's Susan Lewis, and that smug little smile she can so venomously put on will have her spilling the beans as soon as Kerry and I are out of earshot.
Fuck.
As if on cue to save me from my own thoughts, as soon as I get to the admit desk the backdoors swing open and a gurney comes in. I'm called to action, Luka shouting my name as he leads the gurney
towards one of the two open trauma rooms.
The patient's multiple gunshot wounds serve as a perfect distraction to the fact that my unintentional display of affection might just ruin what Kerry and I share, and by the time he starts to crash,
everything's a blur. Not the kind of blur that happens when you're drunk, when everything's numb, but the kind of blur that causes you to notice, to feel, everything.
Unlike the former of the two, I don't particularly enjoy this type of blur.
As the monitors continue to beep frantically, an officer comes in and speaks loudly, attempting, like they all do, to drone out the noise of the machines and get what he needs.
When he nearly shouts that the witness, another teenage boy, claims that his "boyfriend was shot because he was his boyfriend," I feel myself freeze.
Handing the ambu bag to Chuny, I take a few steps backwards before exiting the trauma room.
I'm completely aware of my name being called as I go, and as I pass the admit desk and push through the double doors of the bay, out into the cold air.
Conversing about what happened Kim Legaspi is enough to keep me alert, but the fact that a repeat of the witch hunt could very well be unraveling at this very moment is enough to scare me fucking shitless.
I start towards the El.
Fuck.
