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Emma shares a look with Dennis, exhausted after the first half of her day. Her eyes are tired, heavy despite the smile that she wears on her face. The spring season is beautiful…less beautiful is the flu which accompanied the gorgeous weather, the chronic under staffing growing more desperate— calling for an increase of hours from everyone. She generally tries to get in a room until it’s inevitably needed for someone who is being rushed into the department. Today, however, this proves itself impossible. A lack of staffing coinciding with an increase of patients, making it near impossible to find somewhere to sleep.
He grabs her hand, tugging her to follow him— exiting the ED doors, out to the elevators. Once they’re inside, he presses the number 8 and leans against the railing along the back of the cube.
“Dennis. Where are we going?”
Her voice teems with impatience which makes him grin, shrugging his shoulders.
“You’ll see, it’s quiet, no one will find us.”
She hums, not impressed with his answer.
The elevator dings and the doors open, Dennis lacing their fingers together— leading her to the abandoned wing, straight back and to the left. The small room was tucked into the corner. The only space which felt like some sense of control while he was in med school. She peers into the room, the dull white walls which have grown dingy with age are highlighted by the harsh fluorescent lighting. One bed is against the back wall, bare and unmade.
“Dennis. What is this?”
“My old bedroom.”
His sarcastic tone comes across less as a joke and more as a confession, her face shifting from confusion to concern.
“What do you mean your old bedroom?”
“Before Trinity, and after my grants ran out and I had to take out just enough loans to get my tuition and books paid for. I worked overnight at a convenience store a few nights a week to make some money but… I was living in my car. Until it got towed… and I didn’t have money to get it out… Coincidentally it happened right after I started here.”
“Oh honey… How did she find out.. that you were. You know."
“Homeless? She caught me dancing one night. It was a horrible day. Pittfest. My first day in the Pitt. I just wanted to have one good thing, I was getting ready for bed and listening to music and she caught me. Asked me what the hell I was doing and asked if I needed somewhere to stay. I can fix things and she likes to fix people. So. Here we are now. It’s just a good place to get rest. I still use it between doubles. We never double together and I just. I know you need to know more. I know that I need to let you in. The whole Amy thing-”
“Don’t even bring that up. Dennis, my love, I’m glad that you’re telling me this. Thank you for telling me.”
Her eyes are watery, staring at him from the other side of the room. He stood awkwardly beside the bed, his shoulders tense, clinching his jaw. She sees just how scared he looks, the nervous way he was scanning her face for judgment. Her look isn’t founded in judgment, it’s held in concern— in protection. The urge to have rescued him herself weighs heavily in her chest as silence falls between them.
“You sound clinical”
His face is bright red, and he sits on the bed— scooting so she can lay beside him. Hoping she lays beside him. He’s embarrassed, and obviously so. Terrified that she is going to leave, that homeless is one more thing to add to the list of things he kept from her.
“I’m sorry… I just don’t want to say the wrong thing. I’m just.. I just want you to tell me everything. I’m not going to leave. I’m not going to abandon you because you struggled, or because you slept in the hospital. I want you to open up about everything, but I won’t push. I can’t do that. I know how hard it is for you to open up. I know it’s not personal. You’re good at hiding. I’m just glad you’ve realized you don’t have to be invisible anymore.”
He sniffles and then clears his throat. She frowns as she climbs into the bed, curling into his side, tracing shapes into his ribs. She can feel the way his ribs are skipping, his breath trying to steady as he holds back tears.
“It’s easier to be invisible than it is to be noticed. Standing out meant breaking the rules, breaking the rules meant being punished. Being punished was never worth standing out. I was worried that if I asked for help they’d kick me out of the program. I was taught that help makes you weak, and weakness is equivalent to worthlessness. I needed them to need me. To want me around.”
“So you chose to live in their hospital?”
“It wasn’t foolproof. But we’re busy and it’s not that hard to blend in. To disappear. I just can’t seem to disappear with you. You find me every time, and I can’t say that I dislike that. I.. I need you to promise that you won’t get scared and leave. And that you won’t feel bad for me. I just want nothing to change. I don’t want anything to change, Emma.”
She takes his hand and presses it to her lips, holding their hands to her chest.
“Dennis. I promise nothing is going to change. Nothing can change how I love you. Nothing you went through, nothing you did to survive, nothing. I want the chance to love every part of you.”
“I haven’t spoke to my family in eight years. When I left for college they disowned me. I left the family for my education. I was on grants for the entirety of my college education, until the grants ran out and I turned to loans. I couldn’t take enough to afford rent, I couldn’t work enough to afford rent. My car kept breaking down… My mother refused me when I told her I was going to leave for school. Told me all the education I needed they had given me on the farm and in the church. I told them I wanted to learn more about God. In learning about Him, I learned about myself. I found God in this job, actually. What is emergency medicine if not leaving the ninety-nine for one?”
“I didn’t realize you were still religious..”
“I’m not.”
“Oh.. Keep going?”
Her fingers draw lazy loops on the back of his hands, encouraging and soft. Love evident in every nod of her head and ghosting of her lips against his shoulder.
“My childhood was rough. To say the least. My father was gruff, short tempered and generally angry. I was too feminine. I enjoyed too many things that my mother taught me. Like how to cook. I’m good with my hands but I loved helping my mom in the kitchen. Baking, canning, cooking. I wanted to help with everything.”
“You wanted to be useful.”
“Yeah. Yeah… Anyways, I just. Don’t like to think about it. I’m unlearning it. I just. I want you to know that I’m here to share myself with you. I want to share myself with you. I trust you, Emma.”
“Thank you”
Her voice is warm, full of emotion and honor. She knows that she is probably one of two people who know this. Trinity is his best friend, she’s the one who took him in after all. The one who noticed him. Who pulled him out and said ‘You can’t disappear on me.’ Of course she knows. Emma was now the second. Honor barely describes the pride that she feels with this knowledge.
“One time, my dad told me that reading was for sissies. For girls. I was reading books from the local library, they were free and my mom loved to read. She mainly read historical fiction, she loved the stories that she would find. He didn’t appreciate my lack of a reaction and told me that he’d toughen me up. My brothers were outside playing, I was inside reading. He took me outside and whooped me, told me to pick a switch and hit me with it. Across my back generally. When I would cry he’d hit harder. Tell me that men don’t cry. To grow up.”
Emma’s mouth drops in horror, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him in the eye. She studies his red eyes, tears pooling at the edges but not daring to spill over. Her heart pangs for him, for the little boy he once was who was just trying to learn more, for the teenager who was trying to find moments to enjoy himself, and for the adult who never learned how to become safe within himself.
“You don’t toughen a child up by beating it. For reading? For education? My love you were a baby. You didn’t need to grow up. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know Em.”
She exhales, feeling herself get angry for him. Angry that he is so aware of the abuse. So nonchalant about the torture that he experienced.
“You’re so strong.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he swallows the tears pooling in his eyes.
“I mean it! You’re so strong, you took so much on as a kid. You carried it until you could set it down. You know you can set it down. Right?”
“I know”
His voice is quiet, watery and teetering on the edge of whiny. She rubs her thumb along his cheek bone, a sad expression crossing her face.
“You can cry.”
He shakes his head, clearing his throat.
“No. I’m okay. I’m good. You’re right, I’m strong.”
He is desperately trying to influence his voice to stay steady, just sounding wobbly instead.
“Strong doesn’t mean emotionless. I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got you.”
She moves to straddle his lap, wrapping her arms around his torse and hugging him tightly. He holds her into his chest, burying his face into her shoulder and releasing a wretched sob. Loud and painful, full of grief and sorrow. Her chest burns for him, holding him as tight as she could.
They remain this way, shushing him as she rubs his curls. He continues to cry into her shoulder, crying until the tears run out— sobs turning to hiccups, hiccups turning to steady breaths, and steady breaths turning to soft kisses along Emma’s shoulder.
“You feel better?”
Her tone is genuine, soft and full of love as she cups his face and examines the expression he wears.
“Like a weight is off of my chest and I can breathe. I feel like I can breathe.”
“You can breathe with me.”
He nods, pulling her into his chest, her head resting below his chin. He kisses her frizzy curls, smelling more sweat than product. She gave her all during her shifts, giving everything to her patients. It’s one of the things he loves the most about her.
When their break ends, the room becomes vacant once more. He says a silent ‘thank you’ as they leave . Thank you for giving me a safe space to stay. Thank you for giving me a convenient place between shifts. Thank you for giving me the chance to let her in.
“Thank you for letting me in.”
Her voice breaks his thoughts as the elevator doors open, walking into a St. Patrick's day parade gone wrong. Unable to respond as they go their separate ways he just nods, knowing that in ten hours he would get to go home. They would get to go home. They would shower, they would cuddle, and they would sleep.
Together.