Author's Note: Welcome back! Thank you to everyone that's checking this story out, reading, reviewing, and sticking around! For this chapter, I need to make a few notes. To begin, this part of the story is based heavily on the ER episodes "21 Guns" and "Bloodline," and has many direct references to the show, although I did try to bring in as many of my own ideas as possible. But credit where credit is due, because ER is my absolute favorite show, and Michael Crichton is certainly one of my favorite authors, so all the love goes there ;D Now, on a very serious note, which I will delve further into for Chapter 20's A/N, but please be aware that there will be violence at the end of this chapter. I don't want to say anything else here for the sake of spoilers, but please be aware of that from here on out. Finally, the chapter's title comes from lyrics to the song "Hopeless" by Screaming Females. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy!
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Chapter 19 - Begging You to Stay
Erik
The early-morning sun had risen high enough over the horizon by then that its light seemed to reflect off every window of the buildings on either side of the street, rendering my hasty commute back to Schaumburg that much more uncomfortable. The sun's glare, the dense traffic, absolutely everything about that drive had grated at my nerves. Still, I had to admit to myself that I did deserve this annoyance, and then some. Leaving Christine's apartment as abruptly as I had - leaving her so obviously upset - was a mistake. I knew that even as it was happening, yet I did nothing to stop myself from stepping away even so. I gave her no reasonable explanation, no justification for my actions, no promise of moving forward together or coming to any form of understanding. Nothing. I just gave her my goodbye and walked out on her, my mind reeling all the while, absently wondering in the next instant if I'd ever return. I had to admit I wasn't sure then if I could - it was tempting to just run.
Everything had irrevocably changed between us in a matter of moments. And in the wake of that sudden change, I couldn't find it in myself to comprehend exactly why this was happening. Logically, I could understand that we had somehow made a mistake, that we'd been careless at one point or another in the recent weeks, and that carelessness had resulted in an unexpected pregnancy - an entirely unwanted development on my part. But still, knowing what led us to these circumstances and actually accepting the consequences were two drastically different things. Acceptance wasn't going to come to me easily, if it did at all. If I was being perfectly honest, it was more than likely never going to happen. I didn't want this, nor had I ever. We'd been doing so well; it didn't make sense to lose it all so abruptly.
But I didn't want to be a father - at that point, there was absolutely no question in my mind of that fact. I wasn't ready, and anyway, I had no idea how to take on that role even if I had been ready. Because when I really thought about it all - when I at least tried to calm myself down and approach the situation rationally - I realized that I didn't have the slightest idea how to belong to a family. I didn't even know where to start. I entered into foster care before I was ten years old; after Marie's unexpected death, my mother lost control of herself entirely, what little control could be found in her to begin with, at any rate. She just didn't seem to know any other way to function for very long beyond the parameters of her own chaos. Instead, she always submitted to the draw toward extremes that only her oldest friend had been able to keep in check. And Marie volunteered to take care of me in the process.
Yet objectively tragic though the last years of my mother's life had been, in turn it really wasn't surprising that losing that sole anchor to stability brought her down, nor was it surprising that she abandoned me as a result. Though whether that act was done out of mercy or panic or resignation wasn't clear. It never would be; I had long since lost the opportunity to find out for myself. In the end, her motivations didn't matter anyway. She was found dead less than a month after I'd last seen her, and from there, I was the state's problem. Once my mother was gone, I ended up in foster care and group homes and every other sort of temporary guardianship, never knowing about my father's rejection or the potential for my grandfather to take me in, never remaining in one place consistently - not until I was fed up enough to finally emancipate myself, but the damage was done by then. Constant lack of establishment and reliability with others was all I knew for years. I could barely remember my own family - could barely even conceptualize belonging to it beyond the formality of names and genetics - and the fragment of knowledge that I had managed to maintain over the course of my life wasn't positive.
Christine knew as much, but regardless of how much I wanted to be mad at her then for seeming to forget my stance on families in general, I still wouldn't fault her for making the choice to keep the baby. I couldn't. Nevermind how I felt, I plainly saw that she already loved that child - whether she realized it or not, the second she saw the results of that test, she had fallen in love. And anyway, we'd never even made a concrete decision on that possible aspect of our future. Beyond one fairly ambiguous conversation early on, we'd never had a real reason to. That, it seemed, had been a significant mistake. We'd blinded ourselves to the potential of getting off course, so much so that when that inevitably happened, it was a difficult blow for us both.
So how the fuck could we be expected to build a family now? For my part, I was certain that I couldn't do so from nothing; I had nothing, and therefore couldn't contribute to this. It would be irresponsible, and the attempt would ruin us. But regardless of how much I had tried to justify it, the fact that I'd essentially abandoned Christine in the wake of what we'd learned that morning - that I had outright rejected my own child in the process - was absolutely unforgivable.
By the time I made it home, I was well past feeling anxious, so lost to my confusion and guilt that I had to almost forcefully remember to make the effort to level myself out again. Even so, that consuming guilt stubbornly remained at the forefront of my thoughts for the better part of the rest of that day, and continued to bother me relentlessly in the days that followed Christine's announcement. Nothing I did or said seemed to assuage that for me, nor was I even able to comfort her in turn. I'd called her the same night she took the pregnancy test as I'd promised, but nothing substantial really came out of that brief and uneasy conversation - nothing remotely promising for either of us, if I was being honest. Still, just hoping to buy myself some time by then, I had made some half-hearted excuses to keep from seeing her again in the immediate future - otherwise avoiding the subject of the baby or anything even distantly related to it. It was wrong, but I wasn't yet willing to move forward in that regard.
Pathetic.
When all was said and done, I was a coward. I loved Christine more than I could say, but just the same I knew that I wasn't ready to face the very real consequences of that love. I wasn't being fair to her, to our baby, and I damn well knew that - but I could hardly bring myself to look ahead with any sense of positivity or bravery, either. And instead of acting like a fucking adult and righting every last one of my wrongs, I just interpreted that staggering act of cowardice as further evidence against my potential competence as a parent. Christine would grow to hate me for it, if she didn't already - but honestly, I believed that I wanted her to hate me, was giving her every reason to hate me and then some. Over the following days, a part of me began to wonder if I had just been looking for an excuse to sever this bond, always wondering if what we'd shared over the course of our relationship had been a fluke, a stroke of good fortune with an imminent expiration date. She'd been by my side for a long time now, supporting me and cheering me on as I tried not to break, putting the pieces back together after every time we'd fallen out.
And this was how I repaid her.
I left her side, and I kept her in silence, all but ignoring her just as I had before. If she didn't hate me for that, then I certainly hated myself enough for the both of us.
~~oOo~~
After a week of my near-complete barring of contact from Christine, and only limited contact with anyone else that I was absolutely obligated to speak to, I'd finally gotten to the point that I couldn't keep any of what was going on to myself. Doing so much longer would only serve to invite more harm, and I couldn't let that happen - even being a year out of therapy, I knew better than that. And so, rather than taking the risk of throwing myself into another depression, I chose one of the last mornings of my days off that week to steel myself in order to reach out to Nadir, informing him on my way over to his house of my coming presence and that I had news. He knew me well enough to understand that this didn't necessarily mean good news, but still accepted my inviting myself over graciously even so. When I arrived, Sahra was just pulling her own car out of the driveway, quickly glancing at me as she prepared to drive off. She offered me a wave, a familiar and comfortable gesture, prompting Zach to do the same, though with more excitement, from the backseat. I returned their greeting as nonchalantly as I could - I wanted to believe that any showing I gave of outward calmness could only be helpful by that point.
Once they'd gone and I'd taken Sahra's place in the driveway, Nadir met me at the front door, wordlessly moving to let me inside before I'd even reached the steps, his greeting far less amicable than his wife's. But I wasn't offended by his demeanor - rather, I sincerely appreciated his straightforwardness then. Anticipating a long discussion, he settled us down in the relative seclusion of the deck overlooking his backyard almost immediately upon my arrival. He didn't say so outright, but he seemed to determine that surrounding us both with the sharpness of the early autumn air would keep me calm, would give me something to focus on. He was mistaken with that idea, of course - nothing he did for me could achieve that ideal end. I couldn't relax. But I understood the gesture, and once again I was grateful for the consideration, saying so rather succinctly before we sat down, ultimately lapsing into a tense silence.
Finally, he broke it, "What happened?"
I leaned forward in my seat, clasping my hands in front of me and unable to make eye-contact as I responded, "Christine's pregnant."
"Oh...wow," he murmured, and when I chanced a look at him, he made no effort to hide his shock as he continued, "I guess it's safe to say this wasn't planned."
"No, it wasn't."
"So what're you two going to do now?"
"I don't know...She wants to keep it."
He sighed, a defeated tone painting his voice as he concluded, "And you don't."
I shook my head, "I'm not ready to be a father," I said slowly, yet realizing even as I spoke the words that my excuse was weak and incomplete.
Unsurprisingly, he scoffed, "Do you think she's ready to raise that baby alone?"
"I think she's capable of it."
"Go back to your girlfriend, Erik," he advised wearily, as if his having to convince me to actually follow the advice was exhausting to him. Forcing me to look at him directly in the next instant, he continued, "Seriously, you need to get down on your knees, beg her to forgive you for your supremely idiotic reaction, and raise your child."
"You say that like it's easy."
He rolled his eyes, "It's certainly a hell of a lot easier than you're making it. Honestly, I'm disappointed that we're even having this conversation right now," he said, then added pointedly, "You of all people should understand why running out on your family is wrong."
Flinching at the sting of his words, I couldn't give him anything of value in return - not then. To say that I shared in his disappointment would be a strong understatement. But even so, the truth behind his sentiment just wasn't enough to sway me - for the moment, I was still very much caught in between one life-altering decision and another, aware of my selfishness all the while, aware of the irresponsibility of my reactions thus far. So much so that I unwaveringly felt too overwhelmed to foresee digging myself out of that ever-deepening pit of confusion on my own, yet just as stubbornly refusing to accept more help than I'd already sought. And so, instead of actively working through the crisis, I resolved myself to stay in the hell I'd created indefinitely.
~~oOo~~
I hadn't spoken to Christine in two or so weeks by now - rather, I was actively avoiding her, maintaining my stance of indecision and telling myself that I was simply buying that much more time to come to some sort of reasonable solution for us.
Yet I knew, however distantly, that the excuse was complete bullshit - in the end, I was only succeeding in continuing my shameful behavior and nothing more; there came a point that I had to admit to myself that no amount of time spent apart had yielded any semblance of clarity. But even while I knew I was hurting her, it was still my intention to stay away if only for the sake of keeping relative peace between us. On that point, I was entirely sincere. And that method worked out well enough both in and out of the hospital, insomuch as it served my purposes for the immediate future - that was, until the day inevitably came that we happened to be assigned to work during the same shift, intermittently finding ourselves together in the ER throughout the day. I hadn't been expecting that hitch; Christine almost always stayed in oncology, and I in surgery. In theory, and if I had my way, our work pattern should have meant that we wouldn't see each other often within the hospital, if at all. Up until then, that was exactly the outcome.
However, that day almost every service was significantly understaffed - doctors were being sent in all directions throughout the building, to any and every department that required the extra assistance. As such, every elective surgery was cancelled on my floor, and myself and several of the other surgeons I worked with were sent downstairs to pick up the slack where the emergency department staff was struggling. It wasn't an ideal method of handling the issue, but not uncommon, either; and anyway, I didn't really have any say in the matter to begin with. I couldn't have chosen to stay out of the ER.
So, grudgingly, I settled into that department for the day as best as I could, knowing all the while that I'd more than likely be there until the end of my shift. From there, I stayed insanely busy throughout the first half of the day - because everything from multi-vehicle accidents, to assaults, to severe injuries demanded that every available individual working on the floor to split limited time between numerous critical patients. This occured all while we had to weed out the less-emergent cases, and hope that the people who could be better served at an urgent care would realize that they were wasting their time and ours, and just leave.
It was chaotic, and it was exhausting. And so, after a particularly difficult trauma had sapped me of my remaining patience and energy, and once the influx of new patients had leveled out, I immediately chose to hole myself up in one of the supply rooms, escaping the main floor with the excuse of looking for some piece of equipment or another. It didn't matter, and no one questioned me anyway; I just desperately needed the break, needed a moment to breathe and process one thought at a time, and I took the chance to do so the as soon as it appeared. Upon arrival, I'd assumed that I could have a few moments to myself, and for the most part, I'd gotten just that - until I saw Christine leaving one of the curtained exam areas, most likely brought down to the ER from oncology with her resident to admit a patent. Though, the specific reasons behind her presence then were the least of my concerns - I hated to acknowledge it, but I simply wasn't ready to talk to her yet. But we made eye-contact before I could turn away, and she approached almost immediately; and so, faced off with her stubbornness, I quickly determined that I needed to stay where I was and just let us speak in private. One way or another, we needed to have some semblance of a conversation, and I knew I'd lose my nerve if it didn't happen now.
Still, that didn't necessarily mean I was ready.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," I said flatly once she'd come in and closed the door behind her - doing so with more force than was required, I distantly noted. But even so, primarily as a courtesy to her, I moved to take off my surgical mask just the same. She had every reason to be angry with me then, and I knew how much it bothered her when she couldn't read my face beyond my eyes; I didn't want to add to that ire if doing so was avoidable.
Clearly unwilling to submit to my attempt at evading everything that was unsaid between us, she spoke evenly, "No, you've got to stop avoiding me. I know you are."
"Fine, guilty. But...how are you?" I asked hesitantly, gesturing to her midsection.
"Do you care?" she snapped, but when I only continued to pointedly hold her gaze, she shrugged resignedly, her tone losing some of its sharpness, "I'm fine. The baby's fine...Just so you know, I saw my own doctor for a blood test to be sure."
I nodded, unsure in that moment exactly how to interpret my unspoken reaction to her news, and opting to ask instead, "Why are you down here?"
She shrugged, her tension clearly remaining, in turn reflecting strongly in the gesture, "My resident had to deal with something in radiology. She's fighting with them now, and she didn't want me in there for that. So I have some free time."
"Well, you've cornered me, so congratulations," I said defensively, instantly regretting the harshness of my voice - yet I somehow couldn't bring myself to take it back even so.
Unfortunately, my inability to process my emotions was only putting Christine that much more on edge, "Just knock it off, alright? We need to talk about this at some point."
I sighed, "What is there to talk about? You've made up your mind. You want your baby, and I don't blame you," I said, adding in a haste as she began to argue, "I don't. But I don't know if I should be involved, either."
Leaning against the doorframe and looking somewhere past me, she paused before she looked at me again and replied, "Well, you haven't really done a good job of telling me why. You haven't explained anything. At this point, you're pretty much just acting like we're two high school kids that got ourselves into trouble, and it's driving me insane."
"I'm not proud of any of this, Christine. Don't assume that I am, because that isn't what's happening here. But I have no business raising this child."
"You didn't have any objections to creating this child, though," she laughed humorlessly, recapturing my eyes in the next moment, her angered gaze effectively reigniting the shame I'd harbored since the beginning of this situation. I looked away, wrapping my arms defensively around my chest as I did. And for a time, I assumed that she meant to continue to share her position - but to my surprise, I heard her take a deep breath before asking softly, almost hesitantly, "Did you ever love me?"
The question was jarring, "How can you even ask me that?"
"How can you be surprised that I'd ask, Erik?"
"I've loved you for a long time, Christine. And I still do," I said firmly, "But I won't do this. I can't, and I think we both know that," I shrugged, shaking my head as I spoke again, "That alone should be enough reason for you to understand why I shouldn't be involved. I don't want to keep fighting with you about it. Your child is better off without me."
"Our child. And no, it isn't better off," she argued, then continued, "We both know what growing up without a father is like."
"But I have no idea what I'm doing," I said, the words coming as an almost desperate plea, "And I don't exactly have the best example to pull from."
"Just say that you don't want our baby. Say you don't want me," she demanded, and when I maintained my silence, she pressed bitterly, "You're worse than your father, you know. Your grandfather gave him a good life, and he still abandoned you. But you know firsthand why it's wrong to walk out, and you're not doing a goddamn thing to stop it."
That hurt - but instead of acknowledging the truth behind her accusation, instead of realizing that her logic was completely sound, instead I allowed what little sense I had left to be overtaken by my temper. With a tight voice, I responded, "I'm just doing what I think is best."
"I'm afraid I have to respectfully disagree," she said, each word laced with sarcasm.
"Look, I'll pay for whatever you need me to - "
" - Don't. I'm not taking your money. I don't want to deal with any child support nonsense if it means I have to constantly be reminded that you bailed."
I sighed, choosing to ignore that last point, "What does this mean for us?"
"We can't stay together if you won't even accept your own child, Erik. What kind of relationship would that be?"
"So...what, is this the end?"
"It doesn't have to be the end," she whispered, "That depends on you."
I shook my head, every part of me screaming to take back the words before they were even spoken, yet entirely unable to keep myself from continuing on, "I don't know what to do, Christine. I didn't want this to happen to us."
She rolled her eyes, her patience obviously spent, "I've been through this before, I know what to do. You just won't listen to me. Again," she added pointedly, and I strongly suspected that she was referring to the first days of our relationship - to every time I'd attempted to act in her best interest, no matter how misguided my doing so turned out to be. But before I could completely understand why that comparison was so important to apply now, she completely sideswiped me by saying, "At least the last time, Raoul was willing to stick around."
And I couldn't stop myself from nearly yelling, "Goddamn it, keep him the hell out of this! I don't want to stay around at all if it means being compared to him."
Anger flared in her eyes when she said in return, "Fine. Fine, Erik. Do what you have to. Throw this away, I don't care."
"That's not…" I began, closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to regain any shred of composure I might have still possessed. But in spite of that effort, I lost the proper words even before I could truly form them; as much as I'd tried, I couldn't handle her reaction - honestly, I just wanted to hide from her altogether and pretend that none of this was happening in the first place. This confrontation was continuing to bite at my temper, bringing up an anger within me that I knew damn well was entirely misplaced, but an anger that I couldn't stall regardless. The longer we stayed together, the more I felt myself fall away from good judgment. And so, I said almost spitefully, "I think you should go back upstairs."
"No, I have to stay with my resident until she's done here - "
" - I don't care, Christine. I don't want you here…" I ground out, then added, simply for the sake of returning the pain that I felt, "I don't want you."
She paused, disbelief mingling with rage in her eyes, then, "If you do this, you can't take it back," she said, steadily, even imploringly holding my gaze, "I won't let you take it back."
And in spite of myself, I returned the implied challenge, "Then don't."
I'd only just finished speaking those damning words when she glared back at me, her next words sharpened significantly by my own lapse in patience. Maintaining eye-contact - and noticeably near tears - she said in a broken voice, "You know what? That works out just fine for me. I sincerely don't care if I never see you again."
With that scathing comment, she stormed from the room, roughly shouldering her way past me as she left and slammed the small room's door behind her. The sound of it was almost deafening, somehow echoing even in the limited space that I now occupied alone. Closing my eyes tightly in yet another last-ditch effort to regain my composure, I stood almost completely still in the wake of the argument, yet all the while internally collapsing beneath the weight of what I'd just let happen - what I'd done to us. For the moment, I could barely comprehend what as-yet unseen ramifications would come from the decision to say what I had, to allow that terribly approached conversation possibly be the end of us. It was painful to consider, and quite frankly, I didn't want to believe any of it had happened at all. Had we actually just broken up? If it was true, if we had, then that was absolutely my fault, and that idea made me sick. I had no one to blame but myself, and it stung more than I thought it would to acknowledge why.
Reeling, I remained where I was for an immeasurable time, trying desperately to focus on anything else beyond this instant. Because as badly as I wanted to flee into my own private hell and stay there for good, I had to go back to work. But after I'd replaced my surgical mask and left the supply-room, it turned out that I was so caught up in my own melodrama that I had almost missed Nadir calling me, trying to get my attention as I unthinkingly almost passed him.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
My response was a distantly murmured, "Don't worry about it."
"I saw Christine down here - "
" - I know. I just talked to her."
He sighed, giving me a knowing look as he asked, "That's the problem?"
"Just leave it alone," I said, once again unable to keep the pleading tone out of my voice, barely concealing my discomfort as I asked, "Is that what you wanted?"
"No. I need you to go over to triage and see why intake is backed up."
"Look, I don't really - "
" - Erik, please, I need the help, alright?" he asked impatiently, but clearly not intending to give me the option of turning down the request, either - his nerves were likely still set on edge by the difficult shift. A spiteful part of me was tempted to argue derisively in favor of my own recent upset, but I thought better of that pettiness as soon as it appeared. I knew I wouldn't get anywhere with him if I kept setting him off; it was far easier to do as I was told.
"Who am I yelling at?" I asked resignedly before I turned to leave.
"One of the residents from internal medicine," he responded, but before he could explain further, his pager went off. Seemingly frustrated by whatever it was that he saw on the device's screen, he said as he left in a hurry, "Just take care of it."
As it turned out, I was somewhat familiar with the doctor that had been left in charge of triaging emergency room patients, and I knew him well enough to know that he was generally a competent physician, and that he knew how to diagnose and treat a variety of problems fairly well on his own; his status as a resident ensured that much. And so, it was somewhat of a surprise when I saw his name on the whiteboard at the admit-desk and related him to the delay that was taking place at the moment. It was out of character, and in turn I was more than a little annoyed that he'd chosen one of our worst days to have problems doing this job efficiently. We didn't have the time, nor the resources to fuck around, and I intended to tell him just that - though whether or not I censored myself while doing so depended entirely on his attitude toward me. While I couldn't say how long he'd been undertaking his task by the time I'd needed to intervene, it was clear upon arrival that he had been triaging long enough at the very least to throw the pace of the patient intake procedure off significantly.
But before I could step in and attempt to sort out the issue, Dr. Moreno caught my attention from his place beside the resident, Dr. Howe. Turning to face him, and the potential patient that I'd only caught a glimpse of, Dr. Moreno said, "Wait there a minute, would you?"
Once we were more or less out of earshot from everyone waiting in triage, I began to speak, "If I'd known you were already here, I wouldn't have bothered to come," I said directly, distantly grateful to not have to worry about him misunderstanding that directness.
"Sorry, I wasn't asked to come here. I just noticed this one taking longer than the rest, so…" he trailed off, allowing me to fill in the details from there myself.
"Right. Then what's the problem?"
He shrugged nonchalantly, "Drug-seeker. We can't handle him today, but Howe's been trying to plead the guy's case."
"Trying to get him into rehab?"
"Exactly."
"Alright. Then, do you think we need to send him out?" I asked, and with the confirmation I'd been expecting, I replied, "So do I. Let me try to talk to Howe."
"Thanks."
I nodded in response, then, "Dr. Howe," I called from the doorway, projecting my voice loudly enough to startle him. Satisfied that I had gotten his attention effectively, I gestured for him to come out to the hallway with me. Once he'd excused himself from the drug-seeker and had done as he was directed, I continued, "Why did the chief of this department deem it necessary to make me come find out what you're doing wrong over here?"
He cleared his throat uncomfortably before asking, "What do you mean?"
"I mean there's absolutely no reason for triage to take this long. This wasn't a problem earlier, so clearly you're the problem," I said.
"Look," he began to argue as soon as I'd finished speaking, glancing between me and Moreno as he continued, "I've been trying to convince this guy to get clean, or let us help him. When Dr. Moreno got here, I wanted him to back me on this."
Unmoved, I had to fight to suppress a groan as I replied, "You couldn't have chosen a worse time to play the hero to him."
"But - "
" - No, listen to me this time," Dr. Moreno interrupted, his temper now clearly becoming as frayed as my own, "I appreciate that you want to help him. But frankly, we just aren't able to let that happen today. Send him out, he'll get his fix somewhere else."
Still, Dr. Howe protested, "That isn't right, though. He needs to be treated."
"He does," I agreed, then said, "But he's not emergent. End of story."
"Please, just wait - "
"Stop arguing," Dr. Moreno said wearily, "Do as I say and get back to work."
Howe appeared for an instant as if he was about to continue arguing, an obvious flash of stubbornness shining in his eyes - but conceded with a stiff nod and walked away instead, and from there, I had assumed that he would just go on to do as he was told, manage the conclusion of this triage, and be done with it. And so, after a short parting exchange with Moreno, I was then finally able to take the chance to see to my own tasks as I'd initially intended; and while I wasn't looking forward to working the latter half of my shift at all, if nothing else, I was somewhat relieved to at least have some sort of distraction from the rest of my problems.
But before I could actually set out to do so, Raoul Chaney approached, grabbing my arm and preventing me from leaving as he demanded, "What did you do?"
Turning to face him, more pissed off at being handled as I was than surprised that it was happening to me in the first place, I snapped, "I'll need you to be more specific."
He rolled his eyes and released my arm, but otherwise offered no direct response to my sarcasm, answering instead, "Is there something going on with Christine? She was really upset when I saw her a little while ago."
"Did you ask her if something was wrong?"
"She wouldn't tell me."
"Then assume that it's something she doesn't want you to know."
"So there is a problem?" he prompted, much to my continued irritation.
"If there is, then it's between me and my girlfriend," I said firmly. But then, I immediately halted that thought, that specific title. Because Christine wasn't my actually girlfriend now, was she - she wasn't my lover, and if I was making considerations based on our most recent interaction, I assumed that she wasn't even my friend. As of that day, she was essentially just a stranger to me once again, no more my beloved companion now than the woman I'd first met was, that angry and far away person that fled from the result of my poor judgement; and just like that first day together, I had been the one to cause her that pain now, had directly brought on this conflict between us with my own irrationality. And as far as I knew, there was no way for us to reconcile again - certainly not like we had before.
Still, all of that was entirely between us - and so, without another word one way or another, I glared as I turned and left Chaney where he stood awkwardly in my sudden absence, trusting that he'd at least have the good sense to just get back to his own work and leave me the hell alone while he was at it. Regardless, if he'd meant to say more, I didn't hear a word of it as I walked away. Rather, I felt my anxiety steadily rising, and I knew that I needed to do something about it immediately. Even though I had work left to do, had intended to get back to it before that brief and awkward exchange, by the end of it I'd only wanted out of the emergency department altogether; I honestly didn't care if I was needed elsewhere, couldn't bring myself to be mindful of how busy we were that day. I just wanted to be alone before the day got any worse than it was.
Retreating to the ambulance bay, and for lack of any better solution, I quickly decided to choose a random wall to lean against and stay put for as long as I thought was necessary; and, thankfully, in a matter of moments, the growing chill in the air, closing my eyes, and once again crossing my arms tightly around my chest steadily brought me back down from the intensity of my warring emotions - enough so for me to start to feel, though marginally at first, that I was beginning to think more clearly. Separation from the sources of my stress was only a short-term solution - I knew that much well enough - but in the end it was as effective as I needed it to be.
Then, stopping a passing nurse as she tucked a pack of cigarettes back into her purse, I asked as casually as I could manage if I could bum one from her, feeling almost unreasonably relieved when she agreed and passed me her lighter along with the cigarette. I hadn't smoked in over a year by that point - nor had I really had any desire to - but I didn't want to take the time to decide whether or not I should pick up that habit again. I didn't care, for that matter. Rather, I took off my surgical mask again and stood near where I'd started, absently watching the nurse retreat, wondering idly if she was taking her lunch or if her shift was over for the day. And I just looked around me for a time, taking in what little of the sky I could see beyond the buildings surrounding the hospital. It should have been relatively calming, if such a thing were possible.
"Hey, can I get a light off that?" a voice pulled me away from my thoughts, and when I flinched and turned to see the source of the interruption, I recognized Jason Herrera, one of the EMTs that I'd seen often back when I still worked in the ER. Gesturing toward the cigarette in my hand, he spoke again, "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to scare you. But can I get a light?"
Nodding, I handed him the cigarette, and he lit his own with the cherry from mine. Giving it back to me, he offered a few words of thanks before moving to stand closer to his rig again, and once more the environment that made up the ambulance bay blended in with the backdrop of the city. Taking another drag of my cigarette and watching the smoke fade into the air when I slowly exhaled, I tried to focus only on those movements, worked to continue to settle myself down. But not for lack of trying, my mind always circled around to think about Christine, focusing on everything that I was doing wrong now. Grudgingly, I began to wonder if the problem was that I truly wasn't ready to take the step into fatherhood, or if I was just afraid of that step. Ultimately, I had to admit that fear was a significant factor in my decision-making process, and I would be lying if I didn't admit that I wanted a vastly different outcome for my relationship with Christine.
Still, I didn't feel strong enough then to change that outcome, either.
I was lost in that thought when I heard yelling, followed by a sharp cracking sound that tore through the relative silence that preceded it, the next one ringing out almost immediately after the first. But although they were distinct, they seemed to come from nowhere initially, and for an instant I almost didn't believe that I'd heard anything at all - that was, until I looked over toward where Herrera now stood with open shock written on his features, and I knew that I'd probably mirrored the look of confusion that he wore. So, noting that, I knew all at once that we had heard the same thing then, that I hadn't simply imagined it from nowhere. But before I could think about it any further, another crack broke through, this one sounding decidedly more familiar to me - and familiar enough to momentarily throw me back in time, the resulting telltale pounding of my heart forcefully reminding me of the scenes that I'd long-since left in the past.
Jesus Christ…
In that instant, I realized that we were hearing gunshots - somehow, there was now an active shooter in the ER. And Herrera and I both moved forward in the next moment, each of us seemingly doing so without thinking about what it was that we were actually approaching. For my part - and most likely for his as well - many years of training and instinct had completely taken over before any sense of self-preservation could compel me to think better of running headlong into this dangerous situation. Because the noise didn't stop, the sudden chaos rising just inside of the emergency department's doors only worsened within a matter of seconds.
Herrera ran ahead of me, and I soon lost track of him. Several people were racing to get out of the building by then, and while the majority of them passed me without incident, many of the others I saw were far less focused - to have any hope of helping them, I could only force them into the nearest room possible, demand that they keep quiet while they hid somewhere in the shadows. Then, working quickly and methodically, I continued moving forward, looking as I ran for the security guards, a police officer, anyone that could be a source of aid then. But as I rounded the corner that would have taken me back to the emergency room's main floor, all at once, the gunman had appeared across from me, just yards away from me at most. I immediately recognized him as the drug-seeker that Dr. Moreno and I had decided should be sent elsewhere. My heart seized with that recognition - I knew that what he was doing now was done in retaliation. But before I had time to turn away, to escape what was about to happen, he looked straight at me and took aim.
Crack, crack!
It all happened in the span of seconds, but even that little time brought with it substantial devastation in its wake, more so than I'd initially understood. The force of the bullets striking me immediately set me off balance - in the same instant that I was shot, I'd stumbled badly and pitched forward as a result, crying out and hitting the floor with a jarring impact. Then, starting to shake as I lay there absolutely stunned - as the drug-seeker fled out of the same door that I'd just come through - I shifted myself enough to see exactly what damage had been done, and slowly moved my hand to my chest, to the source of the pain that I was just beginning to feel. Only then did I finally comprehend the significance that accompanied every gesture I would make from then on; when I pulled my hand away from my body again, it was covered in blood. But although rationally - if not rather unconsciously under the circumstances - I had expected as much, it was still absolutely terrifying for me to see for myself. And in the next moment, even as I was aware of the continued rush of people around me, in my shock I could no longer move.
In spite of knowing that I had to keep myself awake, that doing so now was imperative, I felt myself go limp. And, entirely against my will, my vision swam - stealing the world away from me until everything went black.