Examine

twenty-five

ASHLEY

I need to let Michael know. It's not fair to make him wait this long. 

It hurts, being estranged from them, even if my avoidance of Michael is self-imposed.

For so long, I have felt like not enough. The confidence that carried me all throughout university, the determination to prove my dad wrong, has faltered without the presence of the Rivera brother's support. I never knew how much I depended on them.

But now I know.

When I catch glimpses of Michael's broad shoulders and dark locks in a hospital corridor, my pulse races and I want to run up to him. I want to throw myself into his arms and let him know that I'm ready.

Yet every time I resolve that I'm ready, insidious thoughts invade. That it's too soon, it's not fair on Jack, that I don't feel that different – and how can I be ready if I'm unsure?

But maybe it's less about being sure, and just knowing that I want to try. That I'm willing to risk it all on the line for a shot at happiness with Michael.

Spending time on myself the last month has made me realise how much I want him in my life. When a Marvel movie came out, the first person I wanted to watch it with was Michael. When I went over to see Eliza and Dad, the first person I wanted to talk about it with was Michael. When I saw a funny goat meme on the internet, the first person I wanted to text it to was Michael. 

And when I wanted to get myself off after work, it was Michael's hands that I imagined running over me, his mouth hot on my skin.

Someone died on my shift last night. I was doing CPR, trying to keep them alive, there was terror and unseeing in their eyes. Then they left us.

There is no guarantee in life. And there's nothing like a reminder of your own mortality to spur you into action.

When I went to sleep early this morning, I tossed and turned in my bed, I didn't want to be that person, alone on the floor, dying out, fear in my eyes. 

I had no idea how we would end, but I knew that I wanted to start.

I sniff and bite my bottom lip. Trying to reign in the treacherous thoughts, the tremor that runs through my frame when I think about that moment when I had to let her go. 

When I had to stop doing CPR because she was no longer there. 

I focus on studying the X-ray before me. There's definitely an ulna fracture. This corroborates with the symptoms I saw in the physical exam I performed earlier – and his story that he heard his forearm snap at the time of injury. Luckily, this is only a minor fracture requiring a removable splint.

I arrive at the room to find Sam sitting on the bed, a woman hounding into him.

"We bought that skateboard for Hector, not you. He's eight. You're thirty-four. And I hear you broke your arm trying to show off."

"No," Sam argues. "The board caught on the lip of the driveway and I hit the concrete. It was an accident."

"An embarrassing accident, by the sounds of it. And you wouldn't have been on the board if you weren't showing off. Don't try and pretend otherwise with me." She shakes her head at him.

I clear my throat.

She turns around and after the rough night I had last night, it takes my brain an extra second to catch up with the image before me.

The long blonde hair, the blue doe eyes. My eyes dart down to the matching wedding bands on their fingers. Isla.

Who's married to my patient, Sam.