Chapter Text
Mel hates the taste of energy drinks, she hates the smell of them, and she can barely bear the sight of them. Joy is drinking an alani in front of her, and thank god it’s an alani, and not one of the brands that was around her first go around with self destruction, or she would dry heave.
(When Frank drinks a red bull in front of her, she has to hold her breath.)
There are three things she never wants to taste again: sugar free red bull, plain yogurt, and zucchini noodles. She has a feeling she’ll be reacquainted with them soon, if she doesn’t pull her head out whatever spiral she’s careening down towards.
She doesn’t realize she’s staring, because she almost never does, and she cringes the moment she hears Joy’s voice.
“You really need one so bad you’re eye fucking my energy drink?”
Her voice has its usual edge to it, but it’s not quite unkind.
“Umm, uh, no, sorry,” she stammers, wracking her brain for a feasible explanation for yet another moment where someone thinks she’s being inexplicable, “I just zoned out for a minute– long day. I’m sorry.”
Joy looks at her, scrutinizing her in a way that makes her want to disappear, but again, when she speaks, it’s not exactly unkind.
(Joy has mastered the art of toeing the line, she thinks.)
“You look like hell… and like you need one. I have an extra one in my locker, if you want.”
“No, it’s okay, really. Um, sorry for bothering you.”
“You weren’t,” Joy shrugs, and Mel assumes that when it comes to her snark, she’s got a “pick on someone your own size” mentality, “Really, I don’t mind. I was about to head on my break anyway.”
Mel knows she should say no. She knows that for her, it’s never as simple as just one energy drink. It’s too entangled with her history of bad habits, how she functioned for so long in that miserable state. She needs to say no.
But god, she is so tired, she still has a bit of the migraine from the day before, and she thinks she’s gonna lose it the next time someone asks if she’s okay without a pick me up in her system.)
(She feels guilty, guilty for even thinking that. She shouldn’t conceptualize it like that, it’s disrespectful to real addicts, to Frank… who really knows what suffering is. Whatever she’s got going on, it’s nothing compared to him being around benzos all day.)
So she says “yes,” and two minutes later she’s sipping on a cherry flavored concoction so sweet that artificial sweeteners now terrify her. It goes down a hell of a lot smoother than the older stuff.
She drinks half. Half, then leaves the half full can in her locker. She knows if she immediately floods herself with the whole caffeine content after drinking nothing caffeinated except for tea for years, it is not going to end well.
It doesn’t sit well in her stomach. She doesn’t feel sick per say, but she’s acutely aware that her stomach is no longer completely empty except for half the granola bar Frank made her share with him because she “looked peaky” and she didn’t want to have a meltdown in front of him and the entire ED, so she obliged. It’s psychological mostly, the feeling in her belly, plagued by guilt and fear and a strange satisfaction that makes her feel even guiltier.
She’s playing with fire and she knows it. She hates herself for it, but she also yearns for it.
Robby’s up a few levels above in the psych ward; she wonders if she should go up there and admit herself too. She’s not going to, of course, because she’s okay, it’s okay, she’s not going to let it get that bad this time. She’s gonna be fine.
But the quiet voice inside of her that swims free from the ocean of denial knows that she’s fucked.
I hear you she thinks to herself, and then goes right back to ignoring it.
This has only been a thing again since two nights ago. She isn’t going suddenly wilt into little petals herself, left behind on the ground.
She groans, annoyed with herself. She needs to stop thinking in fucking metaphors. It’s not helping anything, and it comes with a tinge of self grandiosity she’s not comfortable having. But her thoughts are racing and scattered, and she can’t make it stop.
The caffeine starts to kick in, and it helps, because it always does in the beginning. Her headache fades away and she feels less like she’s going to burst into tears the next time someone as much as looks at her.
Frank notices, because he notices everything. He’s a sensitive person too, she realizes, even if he doesn’t wear it on his sleeve like she does, because she has no ability to mask it.
“Hey,” he murmurs, the two of them leaning against the nurse’s station, “You look a little perkier. Headache gone?”
“Yeah,” she nods, and she feels like she’s somehow telling the truth and lying to him at the same time, “Feeling a lot better.”
“Good,” he murmurs, giving her another shoulder tap.
He averages about two of those a day with her, not that she’s counting. Her brain always just latches onto patterns.
“How often do you get migraines?” he asks, and realizes he’s looking for patterns too.
“Not that often. Usually only if I sleep really poorly,” she murmurs, and then seeing the way his eyes crinkle, she quickly adds, “the other night, I just, umm… the neighbors were being loud.”
He looks at her face, studying her, and she immediately turns her head to the side so he can’t.
“Sure,” he shrugs after a moment, “I’m sorry, Mellie.”
“I’m fine Dr. Langdon– not exactly the first person to have a migraine and noisy neighbors the next apartment over.”
“As long as you’re taking care of yourself,” he says, and it’s that tone of voice he uses when he’s neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her.
She’ll take that compared to the alternative of more questions, more eyebrow raises, more eye crinkling.
His face is always so expressive; it’s kind of fascinating, even though she doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of it right now. She could watch him talk to other people for days, watching how his face moves– just not with herself.
She’s analytical, always has been. It’s gotten her through school, finding the right program for Becca, and apparently now friendship.
“Thank you for being my first friend,” she tells him, instantly cringing and wishing she had kept that an inside thought.
He’s never referred to her explicitly as a friend; what if they’re not friends, and she’s misinterpreting and–
“Mellie, stop spiraling; of course you’re my friend,” he assures her, another tap on her shoulder, actually the third for the day, so he’s going above average, “and you’re welcome. But also kind of not welcome, because you don’t need to thank me for being your friend.”
Mellie. Two times. That’s new.
“I know, but uh… I don’t always make friends that easily.”
“Their loss,” he shrugs.”
He pauses– again, unlike him– and then adds, “between you and me, you’re kind of my favorite in this place. Thank you for being my friend.”
“But you just said not to thank you for– nevermind,” she stops herself, her mouth taking a moment to catch up to her brain, “you’re welcome, Dr. Langdon.”
“You can call me Frank, you know. No patients around.”
“I know,” she nods; she calls him that inside of her head, but for some reason it always feels weird out loud.
“And by the way,” he says, his lips twitching upward, “my actual name is Francis. My parents didn’t look at a newborn baby and think hey, this guy looks like a Frank!”
She laughs, her first of the day.
“I wasn’t going to judge them, but thanks for the information.”
“Anytime,” he says, flashing her a smile that does not see that often from him these days– these days, as if she’s known him for years and not weeks.
Shoulder tap. Four.
The walkie on the nurse’s station breaks the moment. Trauma incoming.
“You coming with?” He asks– probably rhetorically– looking over his shoulder towards the ambulance bay.
“Yeah, always,” she murmurs, following him outside.
She’s right on his heels, navigating through the crowd. He turns around, checking that she didn’t get swallowed by the crowd and that she’s still with him, and suddenly his face is close enough that she can smell red bull on his breath, just for about half of a second.
Luckily, he turns around quickly enough that he can’t see her swallow a gag, eyes wet with tears she blinks back, thinking about the half of an energy drink in her locker.