MEERA

Monday

It was only thirty minutes into my shift and I could stop staring at the clock in the corner of Dr Franz's office. It ticked away at a mind-numbing Pace that left me bereft in a sea of my boredom. Okay. Maybe that was a little dramatic but I was still waiting for my 10 o'clock appointment to show up.

Dr Carlson was in the OT with his staff and That left me in outpatient waiting patiently for the next lucky (or unlucky) patient that came my way.

I took a sip from my water bottle, contemplating if I should go and get a quick snack or not. One of the nurses——Samantha—— was nearby, busy on the phone scheduling appointments that would show up depending on their mood. Her soft and gentle voice provided some well-needed noise in an otherwise silent clinic. Two other nurses, a male and a female were hanging outside of the break room chatting about their exciting weekend.

I couldn't remember the last time that I had a fun weekend that didn't involve Pharaoh, ice cream, and my tv.

"Hey, Sam." I raised my head from the desk. "It's kinda a slow——-"

"Shhhh!" Sam dropped the phone and clamped her hand over my mouth, her other hand holding onto the phone. "We don't say the S word."

I smacked her hand away. "What word?"

"The S word!" Dr Carlson interceded from nowhere. He placed a neat pile of folders down, all of them colour coded and with little post-it sticking out from the margins. Behind him were the newest batch of interns, all of them frazzled "First rules of residency, We do not speak that word here." He said solemnly.

"What?" I raised a quizzical eyebrow, hoping they were joking and I wasn't about to invoke some thousand-year-old curse. "Slow? I mean, it kinda is a slow day. What's so bad about that?"

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, both of our pagers started to ping. Loudly. I pressed down a button to silence the abrupt and annoying sound, grimacing at my luck.

"Well, well, well." Dr Carlson drawled, giving me a smug look. "Would you look at that?"

Male, late thirties, gunshot wound to the chest, ETA 15 minutes.

Well...Isn't that just nice? And here I thought this day was going to be a boring one. I slid the pager back into my coat pocket and nodded at Kelly. "You know what to do. Get OT two prepped. Contact the floor below us and ask if they have the patient blood type available."

"You got it!" Sam flashed me a thumbs-up and ran in the direction of the operation theatre. The two nurses followed behind her, their coffees and weekend plan forgotten.

"What were you saying earlier?" Dr Carlson said, sitting down at her desk. "Slow day, huh?"

I scowled and grabbed the emergency kit that I had stashed underneath mine. "Shut it, you."

It took us an hour to dig out the bullet. And another two to keep our patient from going into hypovolemic shock. I finished up the last stitches. My white gloves were stained with iodine, blood, and antiseptics. Neither of which were pleasant smells even through the face mask I was wearing. Our patient would live for another day, I let the nurses and Dr Carlson take over, securing the patient to the post-op ward while I went to fill out the necessary paperwork.

I stopped when I noticed someone standing in the middle of the hallway, looking a bit lost. I was about to reprimand the patient for being out of bed when I recognized the familiar mop of platinum hair. He turned around, his face brightening up suddenly.

"Hey!" Nik stood there with his cast, smiling at me. "How you been, Doc?"

He was still dressed in his winter coat. A scarf wrapped sloppily around his neck and a beanie that looked like it was going to fall off with one wrong move. I didn't want to ask If he had been beaten up again but boy, it was tempting.

"Swell," I answered without missing a beat. I stepped around him and kept walking, wondering if I should jumpstart my caffeine addiction right now. "What brings you to our humble kingdom?" I motioned him to follow me. "Anything you wanna tell me, Nik?"

"Oh, you know——" He tried to lift his sling but barely manages to move an inch. "I think I tore my stitches."

I stopped and turned on my heel sharply. He barely stopped himself from colliding with me. "You think?"

I gave him a look over, a closer one. There was a small wet patch of blood that was spreading from where his jacket was open. I narrowed my eyes at it, hoping that it would heal if I glared at it enough.

"Do you want to tell me how you ripped your stitches when you're supposed to be in bed and not moving a muscle?" I crossed my arms over my chest, staring up at him. "Well?"

"I tripped?" He grinned sheepishly.

"Try again."

"Well....you see. I reached over to grab my glass of water but it was too far away and I.....might have ripped my stitches."

"Should I just call Anya and ask?" I smiled tightly, not buying it. "I have her on speed dial."

"You're one tough cookie. I'll give you that." My smile dropped and my expression turned even more stern. His face fell when he realized he couldn't charm his way out of this one. "You're not gonna call Anya, right?"

"Thank you, Nik." I straightened my coat. "Follow me and behave. Then I'll decide if I should call Anya or not."

Nik was pretty quiet when I stitched him up for the second time in the past 24 hours. He barely flinched when I took out his old stitches and applied antiseptic. He must be used to the sting of antiseptic given how he only blinked when I dabbed it on.

"You're lucky it didn't get infected," I said. I tugged off my gloves and tossed them in the bin. "Have you ever seen a bad case of septicemia? I have textbooks with pictures you want to see."

"No. But I'm sure you wouldn't let that happen to me, Doc." He smirked. "Honestly, I see why Ivan can't shut up about you. You're a saint."

"Oh," I said, feeling as if I should be saying something other than that. "That's nice."

Nik, with all his infinite mercy, chose to keep his mouth shut. He only smirked like the little shit that he is. "So...." He pointed to his arm. "When do I come back to get these out?"

"A few weeks."

"Can't I come by tomorrow?"

I smiled, pulling off my gloves. "Do you want to die?"

"By someone as pretty as you, of course." Nik grinned, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "But between you and me, I think you prefer a different type of Farewell."

"Oh, that's it!" I pushed him away and stalked towards the door. I could hear him laughing behind me. "Don't come back until two weeks or I'll tell Anya!"

"You're the best, Doc!"

Once I sent him on his way——not calling Anya to tell her about her (irritating) little brother——I did my rounds, filled out the paperwork, and walked myself over to the corner store to get some groceries. I was almost an hour late when I got home. Nat didn't look up from her phone when I walked in with my groceries. Her other hand was occupied by snuggling Pharoah close to her.

I placed the grocery bag on the counter with a huff. "How was your day, Nat?" I asked, opening the fridge. "Hopefully you haven't gotten hurt.....or maimed anyone."

"Pretty boring. Punched a guy in the face and saw a fat racoon try to break into a dumpster." She shrugged. "Not much else."

I chuckled at the flippant answer. I really shouldn't be so surprised. Causal violence must be a farewell thing.

"I'm sure that's your average day," I remarked.

"If the racoon didn't smell like shit or have rabies, I would've brought it home to show you. Seriously, it was the biggest racoon I've ever seen."

I eyed Pharaoh. The grey cat lay on his back, tail twitching as he dreamed on. "I don't think Pharaoh would like that," I said. "He's too spoiled to share any attention."

"Nah. He'll chase the racoon out. He's a good boy," she rubbed his tummy and gave him a rare affectionate smile. "Aren't you, boy? You're the best boy in the world. Yes, you are."

Pharaoh lazily opened his eyes and went back to sleeping, purring louder under Nat's attention.

"So?" She asked, voice reverting to normal. "How was your day? Hope you didn't have to deal with too much."

"Well......I saw Nik today......." I bit down on my lip, waiting for her reaction. Nat didn't say much, her face was neutral as she continued to pet Pharaoh.

"Oh? How's the idiot?" She asked simply.

I let out a silent sigh of relief. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to mention her family ever since the incident that occurred last weekend.

I know she was angry, sad, and frustrated. Family is......complicated. I could relate to that feeling. I just wasn't sure if I should push her into a conversation about it or just step back and let her handle it.

As Anya said, don't interfere in any situation. And I firmly held onto the notion of staying neutral.

Even if it came to Ivan.

"He's fine. Tore his stitches again."

"Yup," she hummed. "As I thought. An idiot."

"That's a little mean."

She shrugged, not looking away from her phone. "Meh."

"Does he always gets into fights?"

Nat laughed sarcastically. "It's a family thing."

"I'm beginning to see that."

"Hey, you free next weekend?" Nat asked. She leaned on the door frame, a hand casually placed on her hip.

I heated the leftovers from last night. The smell of tomato sauce and garlic filled the room. It nearly made my mouth water.

"No," I answered distractingly as I looked for my missing fork and plate.

"Like none?"

"Yes." I gently shooed Pharoah from the countertop when he tried swiping at my ingredients. He made displeased merp and jumped down. "Why does my lack of a social life interest you?"

"Because you're almost a hermit."

"Almost," I pointed out. "I could be a total hermit and then who would bandage your wounds every time you get into a fight."

"Touché."

"Thank you."

"No, but seriously. Let's just say that a ......friend of mine is opening a club downtown." She said, passing me the melted butter. "It's the grand opening. Do you want to come with me?"

"What club is it?" I asked.

"It's on 30th and Broadway. New. We'll get the VIP treatment and everything."

"You drive a good bargain." I glanced down at the instructions. "Never got VIP treatment before."

She huffed. "You in or not? We can make a girl's night out of it. Just you, me, and Franzie."

"Well, as they said. Three's a crowd." I smiled, a little bit excited about my upcoming adventure. "Where did you say it was again?"

Tuesday

Tuesday morning brings on a depressing bout of sleet and another postcard from my mother.

I bought myself rain boots for a day just like this. It was bright red and squeaked with each soggy step that I took. I kicked a puddle or two, aimlessly splashing water on the damp and slippery sidewalks.

I tucked the postcard away, hoping to take it out and read what my mother wrote in a much drier place.

Mrs Grover who sat two seats down from me smiled as I passed and returned to her magazine. Two kids on their morning commute to school were chattering away, hunched over their phones. Some people I recognized, and others were regulars who were busy in their world.

My rain boots squeaked as I made myself to the back, seating myself close to the window and popping in my headphones before I took off my gloves and pulled out my mom's postcard.

The glossy photo showed a range of mist-filled purple-blue mountains with snow-capped on the peaks and a monetary nestled in front with golden walls that caught the light of the setting sun.

I rolled my eyes.

This Thanksgiving had passed by in a boring and monotonous haze of Nat, Carla, and I watching reruns of FRIENDS and eating a home-cooked meal made by yours truly.

And now Christmas was around the corner.

There was carolling in the streets and festive lights strewn about all over town. At least it made the mushy grey-toned snow a little bit more festive.

I don't think I've ever felt so bored during the holidays.

For one, I'm Indian. And two, most of the holidays that I celebrate aren't considered holidays here. Diwali had me saying a prayer, lighting some incense, and decorating the apartment with candles and lights. Fire hazard aside, not a bad way to celebrate. Honestly, I hate being alone around this time. I remembered London when I was younger. My mother used to decorate our house for Diwali. Candles and garlands of marigolds and roses strewn around the house—dipping underneath the arches of our doorways and handing next to our windows. I used to sit next to her every year as we prayed, listening to her steady voice as she chanted and the smell of spicy-sweet incense that swirled through the room.

There were two idols that my mother kept in the prayer room of our house that she had taken from India. One of the few things that she could grab before everything went to shit. I was around ten but I remembered the statues of the god Ganesha and the goddess of Lakshmi specifically. The goddess of Lakshmi was the mother of Ganesha, it was said that she had made him out of clay and brought him to life because she wanted a child.

I think my mother bought the Lakshmi statue for me because she was the Goddess of Wealth and Good Fortune. At that time in our lives, we desperately needed both of those things. The statue of Ganesha was carved out of rosewood, polished, and painted with red for his trunk and eyes, and gold paint for his crown and ornaments. It was small enough to sit in the palm of my hand but it felt heavy as steel.

It was a beautiful statue that had been passed down in my mother's family for generations. And now it's mine. He's the last thing my mother gave me before we had to run away.

Nat had come home early on Diwali, eyeing the candles around the house. She didn't comment when she found me sitting cross-legged in front of a statue, staring into the flame of the lamp I had lit.

"I didn't think you were religious," she said, sitting down next to me. Her duffel bag was discarded on my bed.

"I'm not." I picked up the incise and lit it. The pleasant smell of sandalwood filled the room. "My mother used to do this."

"Diwali, huh?" She intoned, picking up a flower from the base of the elephant-headed god's feet. "I don't know much about it. Tell me more."

And I did. After that day, Nat would sit next to me whenever I prayed. Her presence was as valuable as her silence. Christmas was a fun holiday but I never felt the religious implications of it, it was just gifted giving and spending time with friends. Nothing much else. It was a pretty holiday and I liked the gifts.

Wednesday

Wednesday evening brought in a call from my favourite uncle.

I answered the phone, part nervous and part excited.

It was the feeling that you got after the first day of school. You just wanted to tell your parents everything that happened; all the friends that you made, the homework to complete, and the complaints that would last till the end of the year.

"Uncle?" I said, my voice trembling slightly. "How are you?"

"Passoretta!" He exclaimed loudly through the speaker. I could hear the background noise of the restaurant he was in, steel utensils clanking against fine china and classic jazz streaming through the speaker. "How is New York? Tell me everything. Don't leave out a single detail!"

So I told him. From the strange cases that called me away late at night to the new coat, I had brought on sale the previous well. Everything.

Even about Ivan Farewell.

"I thought you were trying to stay out of trouble?" His tone was disapproving. "He's not bothering you, is he? Do I need to talk with him?!"

I could see the way that his eyes narrowed when he asked that.

"No! No! Not at all!" I protested quickly. If I didn't stop him, he'd be on the next flight over. Not that it was a bad thing but I didn't want him to go and challenge Ivan on my behalf. "No talk needed. "

"Passoreta, are you sure? I can fly over there and talk with him!"

"Nope!" I shook my head vigorously even though she couldn't see me. "Not necessary at all. You stay in sunny LA with your grandsons and your fancy cigars."

Uncle Roma huffed in an annoyed manner. "He better have been treating you kindly."

"Yeah. He's......" I trailed off, thinking of How would I describe Ivan without it sounding unprofessional.

Ivan was......well, he was a lot of things. He was kind, he was sarcastically funny, and he was handsome. But he was also lonely, quick-tempered and awkward when he didn't know how to express himself. There wasn't a definite word I could use to narrow him down. One word wouldn't be enough. 'Interesting' made him seem like a specimen to study. 'Polite' gave off the idea that we barely talked. And 'sweet'......well, that would imply that I knew Ivan enough to describe him as sweet and I didn't, not fully anyway.

He never seemed to keep eye contact with me. He would glance away or look at something else. And on the rare occasions that he did, I noticed how beautiful his eyes were. They were the nicest part of his face. A pretty shade of blue that belonged on billboards and magazine covers. A pair of blue eyes that you could get lost in.

Maybe the best words to describe Ivan were tragically beautiful. Especially when he looked at you with tired and sad eyes.

I paused what I was doing, reeling from the sudden realisation that had evaded me.

Fuck. I think I might have a crush on this man. An intense, over-my-head, heart-racing type of crush that could end in a lot of bad ways.

With that sudden and abrupt realisation, I felt my face heat up even more. I ducked further into the blanket I had wrapped around me, feeling unbalanced. I couldn't help but focus on that fact, it drowned out whatever uncle Roma was saying to me. How the fuck could have this happened? I thought I was supposed to come to New York and find a decent job and live the rest of my life in quiet. So why the fuck did I suddenly have a crush on a man that I shouldn't even have a crush on in the first place?

"Passoreta?" Uncle Roma's distant voice called me from my thoughts. I was startled from my reverie, nearly dropping my phone. How long did I stare Off into space like an idiot? "Are you okay? You were quiet for a bit." His machoism melted away into concern. "Did—-"

"He's nice!" I blurted out. I didn't know why I said that. I slapped my hand over my mouth, feeling my face heat up.

"Who? Ivan Farewell?" He intoned. "The Ivan Farewell? We are talking about the right Ivan Farewell, right?"

"Er......yes. He's nice."

"He's nice?"

"Yes."

"Ivan Farewell?"

I rolled my eyes. "Are we going to go around in circles, Uncle?"

"Forgive me, Passoreta!" He laughed warmly. "It's not every day that you think a man is nice."

I clutched the pillow closer to my chest and sank into the couch, pouting ridiculously down at my dinner. "That's not what I mean," I said. "He's just.....well.....nice. Polite, You know. That's all."

"Okay, whatever you say." He said, completely unconvinced.

"How's Andy?" I asked, hoping to guide the conversation after Ivan. "I haven't heard from him in a long time."

"Oh! I'm so glad that you asked. He's thinking of opening a new nightclub. Recently, Andy found a nice place and——-"I listened to my uncle go on about his grandsons and their new business, closing my eyes and just letting his voice drown out the doubts that rang in my ear.

And I certainly didn't think about Ivan Farewell. Not at all.
Thursday

Thursday was a good day.

I got out of work early, caught a drink post-work with Dr Carlson and Dr Franz, and then it started to snow on my way to the bus stop.

It was the perfect kind of snow. Soft and fluffy, floating down gently. The wind had died down into a soft cold breeze that turned my nose and ears red.

It was almost romantic. I stopped and lifted my head, letting the snowflakes settle onto my hair. Cars droves past, their headlights illuminating the snow. I didn't know that snow could be so pretty in a place as ugly as here.

"You'll get sick of you doing that." Someone held an umbrella out, obscuring my view of the sky and falling snowflakes.

I turned around. Ivan stood there, his gloved hand firmly grasping the handle of the outstretched umbrella, holding it over my head while leaving himself to the mercy of the elements. He was dressed sharp, in a dark wool overcoat with silver buttons that looked like it could blend into the shadows and a blue three-piece suit with a dark green tie. Ivan looked out like he belonged on the spread of a high-end fashion catalogue rather than on a dingy sidewalk.

My sudden revelation the night before had cost me an entire night's worth of sleep. I felt a bit nervous just looking at him. I didn't like this feeling, it was tumultuous and it felt me off-kilter. I hated just how aware of it I was. It was like a little voice in the back of my mind, screaming at every interaction that we'd had in the past few months.

I swore to myself that I'd never tell him about these feelings. Crushes and infatuations faded with time. I knew that as a scientific fact so I'll shove my emotions into the deepest recess of my soul and never let them see the light of day. That was normal, right?

I glanced down at his face, my ears heating up. I stared at his frayed green scarf, wondering if it had been a gift from someone. I wanted to reach out and touch it to see if it felt as soft as It looked. "Ivan." I greeted him with a soft smile, holding my hands down to my side. "What brings you here?"

He smirked. "Saw a friend walking alone and wondered if she wanted some company."

I glanced behind him to see his men across the street. Eddie was leaning against a fancy white Land Rover, once he saw me he waved causing the other three suit-clad men around him to turn around. One of them wore glasses, his finger resting against an earpiece.

"And your other friends are okay with that?" I asked. "They don't look very happy."

I assumed Ivan had new bodyguards. Other than Eddie and Felix, I didn't recognize any of them. It made me wonder just what sort of trouble Ivan could be in if he needed additional security. I'd read the newspapers. Some businesses had been vandalized, and well......it wasn't great for Farewell and Sons at the moment.

Ivan scowled and turned around. He was probably glaring at them because they pretended to look somewhere else. Eddie only smiled once caught me staring and flashed me a thumbs-up.

"As long as I'm in their sight, they won't have a problem." He said, still glaring at them. "You're usually not out this early."

"Since when do you know my schedule?" I asked crossing my arms over my chest.

His cheeks turned pink, he averted his eyes away. "I don't. This is just a coincidence."

"I know." I laughed. "I'm just teasing you."

Ivan gave me a tentative little smile. It was soft and fleeting, replaced by a worried frown.

"What's wrong?" I stepped closer, my hand wrapping the umbrella handle so that it laid over the both of us.

He stiffened up when my fingers brushed against his. "Ivan?" I called out. "You look like something is worrying you."

This close I could smell his cologne, sweet and musky. My breath came out in little white puffs of air that mingled with his. Ivan wouldn't look at me, his hand was wrapped around the handle tightly. "It's nothing," he reassured me. Ivan let go of the handle, leaving only me to hold the umbrella. He didn't step away from me and a part of me was relieved. "You really shouldn't be out here alone. It's dangerous."

I rolled my eyes. "Ivan, I can take of myself."

"I'm serious." He pointed to the bus stop. "I don't like the idea of you walking to the bus stop this late."

"And why is that, Ivan?" I knew my tone wasn't very kind, it had an edge to it. "I've handled much worse things."

I know." He glanced back at his guards. "Let's just say things haven't been going well."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose between my two fingers. Of course, gangsters and their little pissing matches for territory. That was the problem with Ivan.
Sometimes I forget he isn't just somebody I know. As far as the public knows, Ivan is a gangster who reformed and legitimized his family. But to me, he's still the son of a gangster and a struggling businessman trying to keep his family from falling to pieces.

Maybe Uncle Roma was right, I should stay out of trouble. But then again........what difference did it even make. It seemed I was doomed to repeat the same mistakes. He made me want to chuck my rule book into the garbage.

"Ivan. I don't like riddles," I said. "Tell it to me straight or don't tell me at all."

Ivan finally looked me in the eye. He probably wasn't used to someone talking to him that frankly outside his family. He had very expressive eyes. I often thought they were his best feature but now I've learned it's what's behind those eyes that make him interesting. That fire, the drive—-it burned bright. It could burn this city to the ground if it wanted to.

I stood still when he reached his hand out to brush a stray strand of hair that escape my ponytail. His gloved fingers brushed against my cold cheek.

Ivan tried to pull his hand away but I caught it, my fingers pressed against the strip of skin between his sleeve and his glove. I could feel his pulse. "You know I'm not scared of you, right?" I said. "I'm not the one to be easily intimidated."

"And that's what worries me." He sighed. "You really should be."

"Tone down the brooding angst, mister. You're not a nineteenth-century novel protagonist." I brushed off the sense of uneasiness that settled in the pit of my stomach. "Can you tell what I'm supposed to look out for at least?"

"Anyone suspicious." He grimaced, and then looked away.

"And?"

"If they try to hurt you, tell us. we will take care of them."

"That's all?"

"Meera," Ivan said. "People will go after you for just associating with me. Just understand that and be careful. Maybe you shouldn't be so friendly with me."

He pulled his hand from mine and let it drop back to his sides sighing deeply. I shouldn't have expected a clear answer but that was about as good as I would get.
"Fine." I wrapped my arm around myself. I didn't know why I felt so irritated by his lack of answers. "I understand, Ivan."

"Meera." He pressed closer to me, eye glancing down at my lips. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in before stepping away from him.

"Ivan. I promise I'll be careful." I pushed the umbrella back into his hand. "But only if you promise to be careful too."

"I wish you weren't so kind to me." He said softly, it was a murmur. "It's so hard. I don't deserve that."

"And why shouldn't I be?" I asked primly, head held high and nose in the air. "You're my friend and just because your such a big strong tough guy doesn't mean I can't be kind or compassionate. Everyone deserves kindness. Even you."

I saw him grit his teeth. "That's not what I want."

"I'm not pitying you if that's what you mean." I spat back. "I'm not going to insult someone like that. Especially you. It's the last thing I need."

He didn't say anything. Whatever or whoever was the reason for Ivan stressing out, I'm sure that it wouldn't stop soon. I could see the weight that dragged his shoulders down.

"Whatever is bothering you, I hope that it resolves soon, Ivan." I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "You should get back to your men." I nodded towards them. "They look anxious."

"I'd rather wait with you." He said. "You're better company."

"I thought I should keep my distance from you?"

"You should."

"And yet?" I raised my eyebrow.

"I want you to be safe. So can I please wait here with you?"

I peeked over to the bus stop, noticing it was empty except for a man reading the newspaper as he waited. I didn't recognize him. "I'd like that."

"Ok." He said, holding the umbrella over our heads. "Just so you know, you're stubborn."

"I'm sure you find that endearing," I said sarcastically.

"Perhaps."

Friday
Friday was a bad day.

A young woman came to our E.R., late 30's, with multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. There was so much blood that some of the nurses were slipping in it.

I had to put her under to get the bullets out. Dr Franz monitored her vitals while Dr Carlson and I worked to dig the bullets out.

The x-ray had shown two shattered ribs, one of the bullets was lodged in her lungs while the other had richoted and ended up in shattered shrapnel, nicking her aorta.

The amount of damage was severe—-even for me. Blood was everywhere and I couldn't stop it.

It was useless to transfuse more blood into her.

There are moments in life when everything crashes around you and you have to stand up or you'll just keep on falling. The sound of a failing heart and the metallic smell of blood.

You can't shut down no matter how much you want to. Your hands move robotically because of your training and adrenaline rushes through you so fast you can't stop yourself.

Sometimes it doesn't matter.

I watched her die on the operation table......and I couldn't do a single thing to help her as her life slipped away.

I glanced up at the clock in the corner, noting the time and calling it.

The sound of a long and steady beep followed me out of the OT.  I didn't know her name, I didn't even know what she did for a living. I didn't think it would help her........

She was dead.

And that was that.

I sat down in the hallway, gathering myself to go back in and write the death certificate. It's a daunting task, writing down the details of someone's death and signing off on it. There was no coroner, just us.

I took a deep breath in and shuddered like a leaf as I let it. I wrapped my arm around my stomach and waited for this feeling of uselessness to just pass so I could go on about my day.

As a doctor, I was used to seeing death. I've seen terrible injuries, people dying within seconds of reaching the hospital, and a litany of gruesome cases that would make a less sane person want to quit. We're trained for it. It's what defines a doctor, to do things that others can't. You can't lose to your emotions in situations like this, no matter what——no matter how much it hurts——you have to keep going.

Other people need you, people that need help and comfort and have been waiting in an emergency room for hours. I had to get up and keep going. But for some reason, my legs didn't work. They felt completely like jelly. I don't know why I was so shaken up.

"Dr Saravana," Dr Carlson stopped a few feet away from me, wringing his hands nervously. The blue surgical mask was folded underneath his chin. "Are you alright?"

I scoffed. "Alright?" I gestured around me, to the blood on my scrubs and the floor. "Do I look okay to you? I'm sitting on the floor in an existential crisis."

"You're right." He scratched his head. "Poor choice of words."

"No, no. It's fine." I got up on steady legs, ripping the OT cap from my head. The flimsy material crumpled in my hand. "Sorry for snapping at you. It's been a while since I've seen.......that."

He grunted. "It's happened to all of us, Doctor. There's no shame in that. Death is a part of our life, and sometimes it can be overwhelming. You just gotta take a step back, reaffirm your thoughts, and come back."

"I'm sorry." I looked down at my hands. There was still latex powder on them. I rubbed it off but I could still smell it. At least it didn't smell like blood anymore.

"Don't be." He offered me a hand which I took quickly. Dr Carlson pulled me up, steadying me. "Dr Franz is transferring her down to the morgue, I'll call her family and inform them."

"And what about me?" I asked.

"You have to sign the certificate." He offered me a smile. I almost wanted to return it. "Don't waste your time on guilt, Meera. You did your job to the best of your ability. Be proud of that."

"Thanks."

"You should go home early today." He patted my back. "Come back tomorrow with a fresh mind."

"No, I'd rather stay."

"And I'd rather you not work when you're shaken up." He pulled me up from the floor, turned me around and gave me a gentle push towards the locker rooms. "Go home, that's an order."