Chapter Text
At first, Myah was just a patient. A patient with a dislocated knee from a bad gymnastics landing. A patient who was hiding everything.
Unconventionally, she was wearing leggings. Dr. Robby questioned it to himself, as it was close to 100 degrees outside.
“Okay, cut off the pants so we can properly see the damage,” Dr. Robby demanded.
Perlah rushed in with the fabric scissors and cut a long line from bottom to top. She slowly peeled the fabric back, revealing secrets that no one was meant to know. Secrets that should have stayed between Myah and her coach.
The room went silent. Langdon turned his head away. Perlah silently prayed. Robby was silent. McKay looked at her with those pitying eyes, and Trinity sucked in a breath, feeling her own eyes beg to tip over with tears.
The inside of Myah’s thigh had red bruised handprints, and scars covered the outside of her left thigh.
Trinity breathed shakily. She knew this all too well. She remembered what the wandering hands felt like and the eyes that observed her as she lay there helplessly.
They continued to work, popping the knee back into place and administering pain medication.
Trinity already had three other patients on board, but she still took this one because she figured that maybe, if she could talk to her, she could prevent any more harm from happening.
As Trinity sat at a desk trying to chart, zoned out, she was welcomed back to the world by the soothing voice of Dana Evans.
“Hey, kid, you doing alright? You seemed a bit shaken up earlier,” Dana said softly.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Never been better,” Trinity replied, standing up and slowly walking away.
Trinity had a head laceration that needed to be sewn up, an uncontrollably vomiting child, and a baby that would not stop crying.
She went around and saw each patient, discharging the head lac and the crying baby, but the mental image of Myah remained stuck in her head.
About two hours had passed since Myah first arrived, so Trinity assumed she would be more grounded now. Hopefully some of the medicine she had been given upon arrival had worn off.
Myah had been moved out of Trauma 2 and into Central 13 for observation until her mother could come pick her up.
Trinity checked Myah’s chart before entering to find out more about her.
Myah Holland. Seventeen years and three months old. Gymnast at Pittsburgh Gym and Aquatics.
Myah was lying in her bed with the lights dimmed when she heard three soft knocks and saw a woman with a soft smile staring at her through the window.
She signalled her in, and Trinity sat down beside her bed.
“Hey, Myah. My name’s Dr. Santos. Trinity,” she started.
Myah nodded, small and quick.
“So, I just wanted to discuss your chart with you. You dislocated your knee and we put it back in place. It went pretty smoothly, but you’ll need to stay off it for a little while,” Trinity stated with a calm expression.
Myah looked nervous.
“So, uh, how long will I be off gymnastics? Coach wants me to prep for competition season.”
“Well, it kind of depends how PT goes, but I’d estimate around three to six months,” Trinity explained smoothly.
Myah looked blank. She stared at the wall, not daring to make eye contact with Trinity.
“Three to six months…?” Myah whispered.
“Correct.”
“Coach will kill me,” Myah said, trying to make it seem like a joke.
“Kill you?” Trinity repeated.
“Oh no, no. Not actually,” Myah said, trying to shrug it off.
“Can I ask you something, Myah? If that’s okay with you?” Trinity said, trying to sound calm.
Myah nodded, still looking at anything but Trinity.
“When we cut your pants off… we noticed some bruising. Is there anything you’d like to talk to me about?” Trinity asked.
It took Myah a moment to answer.
“Coach is just… intense.”
“Intense? How?” Trinity’s voice remained soft and calm.
Myah shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Look, Myah, you don’t have to tell me anything, but to me the bruises looked like handprints.”
Myah’s body went still and rigid, like she was putting a tough protective cast over herself.
“You don’t have to tell me today, tomorrow, next week, or next month. But if you ever need or want to talk, I promise I’ll listen.”
That’s what sent Myah over the edge. Quiet sobs escaped her mouth and she finally made eye contact with Trinity.
Trinity didn’t move. She stayed seated and offered a soft expression that was enough to say, I’m here for you.
“I’m sorry,” Myah said, barely audible.
“For what?”
“For crying.”
Trinity chuckled slightly.
“You don’t need to apologise for that. It’s normal to cry.”
Myah remained silent and turned her head back to the same spot on the wall she had been staring at.
“No one listens. They think I’m the girl who cried wolf,” Myah whispered.
“I promise I’ll listen, and I’ll make sure something happens about it,” Trinity said emphatically.
Myah started to cry again and, through tears, said, “He won’t stop. At first he was ‘trying to make me relax,’ but he just kept going, even when I begged him to stop. It’s not fair.”
Trinity reached her hand out and Myah took it.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
She hadn’t had to speak about gymnastics in years.
Then she began to speak.
“You know, I was a gymnast. A good one, too. And it was a coach like yours that ruined it for me and my best friend.”
Myah made eye contact with Trinity and looked shocked that someone knew her pain as well as she did.
Myah began to speak again.
“Even my own mother didn’t care. She said that ‘a well-renowned coach like him would never do that’ and shrugged it off. That’s when I turned to pain.”
“I’m sorry you went through that, Myah. I really am.”
Subconsciously, Trinity started running her fingers over the raised scars on her left thigh.
Every sentence Myah said was painstakingly familiar to Trinity.
She knew what it felt like to be a seventeen-year-old begging for life to end.
She knew how it felt to be on top of a cold, raggedy desk wishing it would stop.
She knew how it felt to be lying on cold tiles, desperate to somehow cut the pain out.
Trinity looked down at her watch.
“Myah, I have to go check on my other patients, but I promise I’ll be back. Okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Trinity.”
“Always.”
Trinity stood and exited the room.
Her breathing was rushed, and she felt like the hospital walls were closing in on her.
She picked up a chart and tried to read, but the words blurred.
The world blurred.
Trinity ran into the bathroom and slammed a stall door shut. That was when the tears began to fall.
Every sentence Myah had spoken felt painfully familiar.
Trinity was breathing so erratically that she didn’t hear the door open.
“Trinity…?” a quiet voice called.
It sounded like… Baran?
Baran delivered two small knocks on the stall door, and Trinity sank even further to the ground.
“Please open the door, my love,” Baran whispered.
Trinity did.
Baran pushed the door open to meet Trinity’s eyes. She was on the floor, knees to her chest and sweat dripping from her forehead.
Baran immediately sat down beside her.
“Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s alright. I’m here.”
Baran offered her arm to Trinity, and Trinity grabbed on, feeling for her pulse.
Finally, she was grounded, breathing a little better than before.
“Would you like to talk?” Baran’s voice brought Trinity back, with panic, of course.
She abruptly stood up.
“Oh God, no. I’m alright. Uh, thank you. See ya.”
“Trinity, wait. It’s okay. I’m here for you,” Baran exclaimed.
Trinity ran out of the bathroom and went to pick up some new patients.
But now, how long could Trinity pretend she was fine before Baran called her out on it?