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Samira Mohan has never been enough. Of that, her mother has always reminded her. After her father’s death, she did everything she could to win her mother’s approval, but it was never enough. Now, after the mass casualty incident, Samira’s not sure she’ll ever be worthy. How many people died because she wasn’t fast enough? How many people suffered because she was so worried about making a mistake? What if Robby is right? What if Samira isn’t cut out for emergency medicine?
Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror reminds Samira that she’s not enough. That she’s never been enough and will never be enough. That even though she saved lives today, she couldn’t save her father’s. Her mother never forgave her for that. Not that she did either, but… technicalities. She might’ve been young, but that doesn’t matter. Her mother wanted her to be something, to fill a void she couldn’t. And today, Robby trusted her to save lives, to work quickly, and she probably did. What she’ll never forget is seeing the casualties. Seeing the death that comes from one person’s anger.
The tears slip down her cheeks before she can stop them. She knows she shouldn’t cry, but she can’t help it. The adrenaline of the MCI has worn off, and now, she wonders if this would be enough for her mother. Would her mom finally think she’s worthy? Would she finally be seen as good enough? Would she fill the hole her father left with his death? It’s not like her parents were that close before his death anyway, but…
Samira scrubs her hands over and over, hoping that it makes a difference. Hoping that it cleanses her soul of the weight she carries, the desperate need for approval from her mother, from Robby. She tries to wash away the guilt, the shame, the pain she’s hidden so well that threatens to spill over. Samira Mohan won’t let it show, not now. Don’t cry, Samira, her mother’s voice echoes inside her head. I taught you better than this.
Samira exhales, gripping the edge of the sink. “Will you shut up for once!?” she bites at her mother’s voice. The voice doesn’t say anything in response, shockingly enough. Samira quiets her sobs enough to meet her reflection in the mirror. She wipes her eyes as dry as she can before she slips out into the rest of the ED.
What she doesn’t expect is to almost collide with Trinity Santos, only catching herself seconds before disaster. Trinity doesn’t even flinch when Samira barrels out of the bathroom. “Whoa, Mohan, you good?” she asks half-jokingly, but when she spots the look on Samira’s face, all playfulness leaves her body.
Samira stares at the floor, unable to meet Trinity’s eyes. She can’t answer Trinity’s question. She doesn’t need anyone else worrying about her today. She knows the tone in her voice will give her away, but Trinity won’t let it go if she doesn’t give her something. “I’m fine, Santos,” Samira answers flatly. It’s so devoid of emotion that even Samira hears it. Great job, Samira, her brain remarks sarcastically. You reeeeeally convinced her there.
Trinity waits for the gurney to pass by before stepping toward Samira. “Samira…” she says softly, almost like a prayer.
Samira shakes her head. “Leave it alone, Trinity,” she bites, sounding angrier than she means to. Samira knows she shouldn’t be so defensive, so ready to push away everyone who wants to help her, but how does she know they’ll stay?
Trinity shakes her head. “Can’t do that,” she replies, shoving her hands in her pockets. “What’s wrong, Samira? You don’t have to hold it inside.”
Samira scoffs, like she’s forcing a feeling she doesn’t have. “I don’t need your faux concern, Trinity,” she snaps, finally losing whatever was holding her back. “It’s not your place to insert yourself into my life when you’ve known me for, what, 15 hours? What gives you the right to act like you know what’s best for me!?”
Trinity steps toward Samira, her arms reaching around Samira’s shoulders. Samira jerks away. “I’m not trying to act like I know what’s best for you,” she assures. “I just want you to know you’re not alone.”
Samira backs up until she hits the wall. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to be loved, to be cared for. You can’t ask for help, Samira, her mother’s voice returns. You have to keep your chin up. You’re stronger than this. Samira wonders if that voice is right. Is she stronger than this? Can she keep her chin up? She doesn’t know that she can. Is she strong enough to survive this?
Samira has wished for something to take her, for something to return her to her father, more times than she can count. She doesn’t deserve to live when he died. If she could trade her life for his, she would in a heartbeat. Maybe then her mother would be happy. Maybe then her mother would see her as good enough. Maybe then she would be worthy.
Instead, Samira has suffered in silence as her mother taught her to do. But today has brought up all these feelings again, and Samira isn’t sure what to do with them. Why does it hurt so much?, the voice of a younger her, one that replaces her mother’s, says. Make it stop, please!
Samira claws at her skin, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like that would change anything at all. She wants to sink into the floor and disappear forever. Why can’t she just be normal, dammit? She blinks back tears, staring at the ceiling like that will help her regain control.
It’s at this moment that Trinity realizes what she’s witnessing: Samira’s carefully crafted facade is shattering into a million pieces. She’s drowning without a lifeboat to catch her, and Trinity knows now that she can’t let Samira go home alone tonight. Nothing about this screams mentally stable, and Trinity knows full well what happens when you’re left alone like this.
She takes another step closer. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I need you to be honest with me,” Trinity begins, meeting Samira’s gaze. “Are you okay, Samira Mohan?”
Samira tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. “You don’t need to pretend to care about me, Trinity,” she fires back. Not an answer to Trinity’s question, not directly, anyway.
Trinity searches Samira’s face and finds a pain that she can’t mask anymore. “Well, then, can I trust you to be home alone tonight and not do something stupid?” A silence settles over the two of them for longer than is comfortable. Trinity shakes her head. “Then, it’s settled. You’re coming home with me, end of discussion.”
Samira opens her mouth to protest, but Trinity pulls her into a tight hug, and any resolve Samira had shatters like glass. She buries her face in Trinity’s shoulder and sobs, letting the weight of the world crush her. Why are you burdening her with this?, her mother’s voice nags once again. You can handle this yourself, can’t you? Just like you always have. You know how to do that, don’t you?
Samira’s fingers dig into Trinity’s upper back, where she clings to for stability, like it’s the only thing that’s keeping her from drowning. Handle it how!?, her younger self screams back. By opening a vein!? Is that what you want!? Why can’t you see that I don’t want that? Why can’t you help me!?
Trinity wraps her arms around Samira and squeezes tight. “You’re safe, Samira, I promise,” she whispers against Samira’s hairline. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you’re not alone.”
Samira chokes on a few more sobs when her mother’s voice starts to speak. Samira doesn’t let her finish. “Will you shut up, Mom!?” she shouts, covering her ears as she steps away from Trinity. She needs to get out, to run as far and as fast as she can. She needs to get away from everything she’s feeling because if she doesn’t—
Trinity cradles Samira’s head in her hands. “Samira,” she urges softly. “She’s not here. You’re okay, I promise.”
For the first time since she almost ran into Trinity, Samira actually sees her. There’s no voice in her head telling her to run, to question why someone is being nice to her, why someone cares about her enough to wonder why she’s so distraught. To ask why she thinks so little of herself. Samira’s not used to that sort of thing. She’s much more used to fending for herself and using her teeth. It’s safer that way.
“Are you safe right now?”
Trinity’s question cuts through Samira’s thoughts. What kind of question is that? Is she—oh. Samira knows what she means now. While Samira has been lost in her own thoughts, Trinity lifts Samira’s arm and finds scars on her wrist, most of which look self-inflicted.
“It’s the only way to make her stop.”
And that is true. The pain is the only distraction from her mother’s voice she’s found that actually works and keeps her away for long enough. Samira knows it’s not healthy, but is anything, really? She knows better, but she can’t help it.
Trinity sighs shakily. “Be honest with me right now, Samira,” she begins, inhaling sharply through her nose. “Do I have any reason to trust you to be alone?”
Samira opens her mouth to respond but closes it because she knows that’s not the answer Trinity would want. She waits for a second before properly answering, “...No.”
Trinity closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Didn’t think so. C’mon, we’ve got a team meeting to get to.”
Samira doesn’t really process the next ten, twenty minutes. Robby gives a speech, and all Samira feels during it is numb, empty. How can she feel anything when Robby spent the last 15 hours screaming at her, telling her she’s not enough, right before the MCI happened, and then praising her for her work? She sees his mouth say, You okay, Mohan?, but she can’t respond. It’s like she’s frozen in place. And then Trinity slips off and returns with Whitaker, who looks grateful but confused. “Don’t ask,” Trinity says as she loops her arm through Samira’s.
They arrive at Trinity’s place, and Trinity points at the spare room, saying a few things to Dennis before turning her full attention to Samira. “You still with me, Samira?” she asks with levity, trying to crack the tension that’s landed over them.
Samira’s numbness doesn’t even let her crack a smile. She barely registers Trinity’s touch until her hands cradle Samira’s head so gently it would be unnoticeable for most people, but not Samira Mohan. “I’m here, Trinity,” she whispers, not daring to speak louder.
The vacant look on Samira’s face gives Trinity everything she needs to know about where Samira is at. “Why don’t you hop in the shower first while I make something for dinner? Unless you wanted to order something?”
Samira just shrugs, like that gives any sort of answer. “I’m tired,” is all she says.
Trinity sighs softly. “I get that, but you have to eat something. When’s the last time you ate a meal?” Samira avoids Trinity’s eyes. “Exactly. Point proven. What do you like? I’ll order in.”
Samira shakes her head. “Trinity, you don’t have to—”
Trinity takes Samira’s hands in hers. “Samira Mohan, I swear to God, if you don’t start letting me take care of you, I will unleash hellfire onto this earth. Do you want that?” She makes a point of meeting Samira’s eyes to prove she’s serious.
Samira’s numbness cracks at that, and part of the person underneath peeks through. “No, I guess I don’t,” she chuckles. Trinity’s heart warms a little. “I don’t really care what you order, honestly. Like I said, I’m not—”
Without thinking, Trinity pulls Samira in for a kiss, and Samira melts. There’s no way she can resist that. When Trinity pulls back, she meets Samira’s eyes, and she knows she’s won. “Will you let me take care of you now, Samira?” she asks softly, her hands drifting down to Samira’s waist, slotting to them like they were always meant to be there.
Samira closes her eyes, exhaling like she needs to catch her breath. “Mira.”
Trinity doesn’t move, doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop looking. “What?”
Samira opens her eyes again and sees Trinity’s expression. “My friends call me Mira. And yes, Trinity, I think you’ve earned that much.”
Trinity brushes the pads of her thumbs across the juts of Samira’s hip bones absentmindedly. “Trin. My friends call me Trin,” she corrects. “I’ll make food for us here, then it can be bedtime, yeah?”
Samira nods wearily. “Sure, but…” She glances around the room. “Where exactly did you plan for me to sleep?”
Trinity grins mischievously. “Oh, I dunno, my bed’s big enough for two, if you were comfortable with that, of course.”
My daughter will not engage in such behavior, her mother’s voice chides. You know better than this. You will marry a proper Indian man—
Trinity digs her fingers into Samira’s skin, jolting her out of her head. “Hey, stay with me, Mira,” she whispers, lifting one of Samira’s hands to her lips. Trinity presses a kiss to each of her knuckles, lingering just enough to remind Samira that she’s worthy. “If you don’t want to share the bed with me, that’s okay, I can sleep on the—”
Samira shakes her head, shutting Trinity up with a kiss of her own. “No, no, Trinit—Trin, please don’t sleep on the floor.” Please don’t leave me alone, is what she wants to say but doesn’t. That might be too much too soon. Samira can’t scare Trinity off that quickly, now can she?
Trinity grins as if she won the lottery. “Then sharing my bed it is.” She spots the look and the words hidden beneath what Samira actually said, putting a serious look on her face. “Thank you for trusting me with so much of yourself tonight, Samira. You’re not alone, I promise. Go take a shower, I’ll have food ready by the time you’re out.”
That’s how, an hour later, Samira finds herself curled up in Trinity’s bed in Trinity’s clothes after eating and showering. Samira had told Trinity she didn’t need clothes, that she’d figure it out, but when she stepped out of the shower, she found a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt of Trinity’s sitting on the counter. Samira could get used to life like this.
Now, though, she lies in Trinity’s bed, arms wrapped around her stomach because, of course, to make things worse, she got her period at work and didn’t realize. That’s probably part of the reason she crashed so hard after the MCI, but she’ll never be able to say for sure. Every limb aches, and every time Samira shifts, another one of her joints pops.
It’s just as Trinity steps into the bedroom after her shower when Samira’s hips subluxate loud enough that it echoes throughout the room. Samira groans, pausing her nightly scroll on her phone. Trinity hurriedly towels off her hair and climbs onto her bed. “Are you okay, Mira?” she asks, her hand resting on Samira’s hip. “That sounded like it hurt.”
Samira exhales heavily. “I’ll be fine,” she answers. “It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last.”
Trinity shakes her head. “Not what I asked.” She hangs her towel up before climbing into bed beside Samira. “Is that normal? Like does that happen often?”
Samira all but drops her phone on her face. Trinity picks it up and puts it on the nightstand behind them. “As it gets colder, yes. I try to keep it from happening at work, and usually I can handle it on my own.” Samira opens her mouth to say more when she registers Trinity’s hand on her thigh, tracing something. She realizes too late what she’s found, and she has no time to explain before the question comes.
“How old are these?”
A very solid question, to be sure, one that Samira isn’t exactly happy to answer, but she will because Trinity asked. “Some are years old. Others… they’re newer.” Not the answer Trinity’s probably hoping for, but Samira can’t lie to her, not after this, not after everything.
Trinity’s heart cracks a little more. “Oh, Mira…” She lies down beside Samira and wraps her arm around Samira’s waist. “I don’t want you to ever feel like that again.”
Without thinking, Samira leans into Trinity, allowing herself to be cared for by someone else, trusting that they’ll safeguard the pieces. She reaches around and rests her hand on Trinity’s cheek, but not before her shoulder pops. They both laugh, which diffuses the tension in the air. “Trin, it’s not your job to worry about me. We don’t even know each other like that.” But I want to, Samira wants to say. She doesn’t.
Trinity rests her chin against Samira’s shoulder. “But what if it was my job?” she says, like it’s not a life-altering proposition. That would change both of their lives, for better or for worse. Is this really what Trinity wants?
Samira’s breath catches, almost imperceptibly, but Trinity notices. How could she not? “What are you saying, Trin?”
Trinity squeezes Samira a little tighter. “Just one date. That’s all I’m asking. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, but…” She exhales. “You deserve to have someone who cares about you, Mira. And you deserve to have something that makes that voice in your head stop that isn’t… this.” She gently lifts Samira’s arm and presses soft kisses to the scars as a reminder that she’s beautiful. “You give so much of yourself to this job, but who’s there to pick you up after a long day? Who’s there to support you after a tough shift? You can’t carry it all alone forever.”
There’s a long silence that stretches, and Trinity’s about to say something when she realizes there isn’t silence at all; Samira’s sobbing but trying to hide it. Still trying to minimize her impact on everyone around her for fear of being too much. “Let it out, Mira,” she whispers, brushing Samira’s hair out of her face. “I’m right here.”
And Samira finally does. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel so alone. She cracks, letting the sobs take over her body. The weight of the world has been sitting on her chest for as long as she can remember. She doesn’t know what it feels like to breathe without wondering when something was going to snap and crush her. Trinity doesn’t let go, though. Doesn’t let her try to shrink into herself. Just holds her tight, telling her that she’s safe, that she’s allowed to feel whatever she feels. That she doesn’t have to carry it alone anymore.
And for once in her life, Samira’s mother’s voice doesn’t try to refute that. “Thank you, Trinity,” Samira whispers as she drifts in and out of consciousness. “For saving me from myself.”
Trinity’s arm wraps reflexively tighter around Samira’s torso. “You don’t have to thank me,” she replies just as quietly. “Just call me, let me in. That’s enough. You are enough.”
Maybe, just maybe, this time, Samira believes that it's true.