you were so pure before they
d r a g g e d you through the flames
now, you’re all charred remains
and s h a t t e r e d bones
choking on ashes and smoke
begging for the fire back
self care is drinking 3 pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight w god
Time ticked steadily onward without consideration for the small tragedy unfolding in Angela’s world. The passage was hastened by a schedule kept unusually busy–and with the normal state being busy on its own, it seemed as though she hardly had a moment to spare. Whether it was a natural surge in the necessary duties or an initiative quietly passed down from higher up the chain, Angela was run ragged day after day and certainly had little time at all to devote to the patient which most certainly qualified as a conflict of interest. This did not stop her from worrying, but perhaps the only silver lining was that it prevented her from agonizing over it continually. Worry came in small waves during the day, waves which crashed down upon her when she tried to sleep.
What would happen next. When would it happen. How much control did she have over the final decision, and would she even know before it happened. These things were best not examined too closely, for the answers she found were not what she wanted.
For this reason Angela begrudgingly found that her workload suited her. She was able to avert her attention from unpleasant thoughts, though she still checked in on Moira at least once a day. To do so was her responsibility as primary physician, and though she wished she could spend more time with her–how scared she must be, how frustrated, how alone–in the end she understood that it was for the best.
That didn’t stop the elated flip of her heart when she walked in to find Moira on her feet. Standing in one place, requiring assistive devices, and clearly taxed from her short journey, but small steps could be worth as much as miles traveled in a case like this.
“I should have known you would be too stubborn to stay in bed for too long.”
There was some affection present, although Angela restrained the bulk of it. Kris was still present, and though she didn’t necessarily think any of the nurses would run immediately to the Commander, she thought it better to avoid testing that particular theory.
All at once the energy in the air shifted. Malevolence Angela could taste dissipated, though she was no less on edge for it. Her white-knuckled grip on the banister did not release, shameful trembling did not ease–trembling which aggravated the break in such a way that made her sick. Pain, she could handle. Even fear was not her greatest enemy, adept as she was at staring it in the face and refusing to quail. But this was something else. A violation of her home, her space, a feud turned violent. Thoughts ricocheted in her head, maddening, until the man she could now recognize manifested on the stairs–when she flinched shame curdled in her stomach.
But there was something different in his tone, something like alarm and regret. It was all she could do to stare incredulously, no less fearful and hyper-vigilant, as he posed a clumsy apology. Sorry didn’t mend bones, nor did it undo the torment she’d suffered these past few weeks. Besides–there existed the suspicion that the sudden shift in temperament was a farce. Regardless, it was better than cold words growled at her ear and unseen hands assaulting her, so Angela tentatively, slowly, released her hold on the banister.
“It is nothing I can’t manage,” Angela posed, her voice small. While that was true, it didn’t change the fact that she had to swallow around her nausea. “I’ll just… go right back to the hospital.”
God, this looked terrible. Sent home on allegations of dangerous sleep deprivation, only to come back hours later with a broken wrist. And with what excuse? I fell down the stairs. Because she wasn’t going to tell the truth, she wasn’t going to explain how a ghost pushed her. That would be just asking to lose her job, and no one would believe her anyway. She hardly believed it, although she couldn’t quite muster the protective veneer of denial which had shielded her. The plan was a success, Angela thought. There was no way she could simple ignore this, and by association, him.
“I’m going down. Stay away from me.”
And to ensure that he did Angela took the stairs cautiously, one at a time, eyes trained on him all the while. Any move he made resulted in a desperate grip to the handrail. If nothing else, he was certainly being noticed and acknowledged.
Angela’s return to the hospital went about as well as she’d expected. News of her injury reached her supervisor quickly, as though she could have done much as a surgeon to hide the fact that one of her hands was out of commission. That meant she was on floor work until she healed up and could return to the surgical unit; fewer hours on her feet, no pay deduction, and in truth a less grueling workload. She ought to be elated at the chance to take it easy, at least as easy as Angela ever took things. On the contrary, she accepted the reality only begrudgingly, only for sure when a cast encased her forearm.
Between the emergency room visit and a trip to a twenty four hour pharmacy for pain medication she shouldn’t take, it was near dawn when Angela returned home. The lock refused to budge without ample wiggling, keys went into the bowl by the door, and humbled doctor ventured into the entry way cautiously. Part of her hadn’t wanted to come back to this house at all, but she was not inclined to give up on things easily–or to be driven away by a ghost with a grudge and a guilty conscience.
‘how do i interact with you’
write me a starter. send me an ask. punch me in the fucking face i don’t care just write with me
(If you cannot see the emoji send “Pencil” plus a scenario.)
