I lashed out at an intern. A goddamn intern.
They're babies—stupid, stupid babies, but babies nonetheless. They need patience, an ocean of patience; when I turned into a proper nurse, I promised myself I wouldn't join hospital toxic culture, and lashing out is definitely not like me, but I feel like a fucking jenga tower right now. All I need is a gentle sway, the softest of breezes, to go crumbling down and ruining everyone's day.
I'm not gonna be the one to raise the white flag. The rendition flag.
Almost an entire week goes by of radio silence between Ben and I. I do reach for my phone more than once (a day) to text him something funny or naughty or both, but I catch myself before I can send anything. I delete more messages than I can count, redacted versions of the first one—a long apology—until it's just "Can I come?". But I don't send that one either. If he doesn't wanna talk to me, then too bad. His loss.
I stare at the ceiling, the pain in my legs no longer a background noise.
It'a fucking Carnaval parade.
I want oxy.
I stare, dumbfounded.
"What is that?"
"Exactly what it looks like." He's grinning like a champ.
"Ben, you didn't."
"You bet I did."
"You ruined your car."
People look—all the time. They glance over once then twice, until they're staring; when Ben assembles his chair next to the car, when he transfers and wheels inside. Especially, they stare while we wait in line.
"Sir." A man standing behind us taps his shoulder. Ben looks around and angles his chair a bit. "You can use the preferential line."
I'm not sure if I'm feeling cold or anxious, because I'm shaking. Standing there between Ben and Theo, waiting for them to draw swords and stab each other like a in a medieval sparring that looks nothing like a gentleman's duel.
As soon as Ben wheeled in, Theo stood up, and perhaps if he hadn't done that, Ben wouldn't be so goddamn pissed right now, looking up at his brother with his jaw set so tight it could pop. He's tall—they're tall, I suppose. I'd guessed that much already, judging by how long the legs of the sweatpants I so often wear to bed are, but seeing it vertically, standing there… It's nothing short of a shock.
"How did you get up here?"
Theo lifts his head. He didn't hear me coming—it's like he forgets I don't have footsteps anymore.
That thought makes me equally bitter and amused.
"The doorman..."
"Thought I magically healed my spine?"
