Work Text:
06:03
She wakes up alone - Danny was paged away to a surgery a few hours ago, so that's not surprising. But she doesn't bound out of bed like she normally would, keen to start the day. She delays it, lies there, knowing that something has changed and not willing to find out exactly what it is yet.
06:42
She calls in sick. Jeremy tells her to feel better soon. She promises she would, like she has any control over it. Her voice is bright, and only an expert would hear the strain.
She flicks open the medical encyclopaedia her aunt bought her when she'd started medical school, as if doctoring was really that easy. She follows the flow-charts and mini surveys until they all lead her to one bolded word, and a page-long explanation. As if anyone wouldn’t know what it was.
She wishes she didn’t know what it was.
09:15
Her cell phone rings, and she stares at it on the coffee table until it loses its voice. Then the phone rings in the kitchen, and she can almost hear him tapping impatiently on his desk. She’s not just avoiding him. If she gets up, the world will be moving again and this will be real. It will all change, and she’ll hear the sirens down the street, the radio in the apartment next door, the couple having sex before work upstairs. She’ll hear and see and feel and think, and that’s the last thing she wants. She’s more than happy to leave her senses out of this for now.
So she just stays still.
09:53
She takes her second shower of the day. The smell of citrus and honey is overpowering and she barely notices as she pummels it into her skin, rubbing it in like she's stained. Some way off, her cell phone rings again. Any other day, she would've been psyched to be so popular. She plays imaginary voicemails in her head, and turns up the heat of the water until it’s enough to make a difference. It’s almost scalding before she’s satisfied, before she can acknowledge that the water is hot at all. Her skin is as pink as rose petals, but she feels as delicate as a lump of wood. She turns the heat up again.
11:21
“Min? I guess you’re…sleeping. Jeremy said you’re sick and you seemed fine earlier so I wanted to…” There’s a pause, a sigh. The line crackles. “Make sure you’re okay. I'm sorry, this sounds like crazy over-protective boyfriend, doesn't it? I guess I'm just used to hearing your voice. Anyway, uh, call me – or not, I guess, you need the rest, so…” This pause is too long, and she looks away from the phone. “Love you. Rest up.” She deletes it before she can give it too much thought.
13:37
It’s like any other day, she tells herself. Any other sick day, at least, because at this point at work she’d be sat in the break room, her foot toying with Danny's while listening to him ramble on about the new deli's serving system. Instead she's staring at a blank TV screen, counting back the days in her head. This time two weeks ago, she was gently unfastening his shirt buttons in the hot pipe room – they hadn't been able to wait a moment longer. So much of them was about living in the moment, about making the most of it, maybe because she was a little afraid of it all coming to a screeching halt again. And they'd talked about the future, about their future, with such certainty that it eased away her fears again in a heartbeat. The dream was there, it was attainable, it was suddenly more than just a movie playing just out of her reach.
Reality was such a piece of shit, though. She shouldn't have forgotten that.
15:39
It hurts. Like a period, but worse, probably because it’s coupled with the feeling of slowly losing anything that connected her to him. She thought she was stronger than this; she thought she’d never have to give these things a second thought. She tries to track it all back to a day, a missed pill, and let's face it she's not always been great at remembering this stuff, but it makes her eyes sting somehow and she has to focus on the TV or the paper or stopping her hands from shaking.
She doesn’t even consider painkillers. That wouldn’t be cleansing.
17:02
She doesn’t know why she picks up the phone this time. Maybe to just stop the noise. “Hello,” she answers, a statement not a question. She hadn't bothered to check the number calling.
“Hey…” He sounds hesitant. “Did I wake you?”
“What? Uh. No,” she replies. She’s impressed with how calm her voice sounds, in direct conflict with how her heart is thumping in her chest. “It’s okay. Thanks for your message earlier.”
“Sure…” It sounds quiet, wherever he is, and she idly imagines she's there too, shut away from the busy practice, settled in his arms. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m...okay. I’ll be back in tomorrow.”
There's another pause, but she can almost hear him trying to figure this all out. "Do you need me to come home? I only have one more patient for the day, I can reschedule - "
"No, it's okay," she interrupts. It's not like the news can't wait. And it'll give her time to find the words, anyway. "See your last patient. Really."
"Okay," he doesn't sound particularly reassured. "If you're sure. I'll see you later, Min. Love you."
She forgets to answer before she hangs up.
18:46
She slips back into her bed and pulls the sheets up to her chin, just like she did when she was little. It tickles her skin and she wishes it were all that simple again. But then she remembers that it was never simple, not any day of her life, and she might as well go forward instead of back so she doesn’t have to live this day a second time. She knows it’s stupid to miss something she never knew she had. But all that potential, all that opportunity is gone now and she didn’t even get a chance to try and protect it. Because you can’t get back what you’ve already lost, her mom used to say. She’d been talking about toys, but it still worked.
She hears the front door opening, the soft shuffle of feet that is breathtakingly familiar and - today - a relief. She still hasn't found all the words, but somehow, with him, she knows that doesn't really matter.
Maybe tomorrow would be easier. At least, then, the ache would be gone.