yours {h.s.} | {b1.5}

OCTOBER 20, 2019

October 20, 2019

I've made a mistake now. I've gone and let myself begin to care. When I came here I made a promise to myself on the account of my sisters: I would do whatever it took in order to be the surgeon that I set out to be. Money is such an awful motivator, simply because it is so good at it.

It's entirely my own fault.

There is some sort of kinship that I've come to associate with Cox. We're something of the same, I think. I don't know how to explain it, considering that we are opposites: she is the epitome of goodness and kindness and everyone loves her. I, quite literally, am antithetical to her. But still, we're something of the same. I feel it very tangibly. I feel it every night when we are amongst the last few in the bar, neither one of us is overly inclined to return back home to our respective houses. That always strikes me as odd. She has something to return home to.

So, I let myself get caught up. I observe her in the bar and I observe her at work. I push her buttons because there is nothing better to do. I also like the way that she gives it back. I like the way that she hates me so strongly because I think that way, too, sometimes.

But tonight, everything spun and changed.

It started with her kind of out of it. Mass shooting crowd came in and she was just flesh against the wall. Her small hand was the only thing holding her up and she looked sickly pale. She looked exhausted but she's a fighter. I know that about her. I told her to get up because I knew she had to do it. I knew she needed to hear it from me. I knew that she would try to spite me and that she would pull herself together just to prove me wrong. Her hatred of me—for lack of better word—does have its benefits. I was trying to encourage her. Distinctly: "You can't help other people like this," but I got cut off in the middle. I got a bit caught up and I got a bit mouthy and Vargas put me in my place. I think she thought she was punishing me when she suggested I drive her home. I would have, had Cox not shut me down immediately. She tried to send Cox away and I said "Are you serious?" because I thought it was completely ridiculous that she could so callously send her away. I tried to defend her when the chief came around, ensuring that he knew she could stay. Cox isn't the kind of girl that would bow out of a surgery for fun.

Cox and I were put together and I think that was some sort of cosmic intervention if such things do exist. For some reason, I felt as though she was my responsibility. Though I know I didn't get her into this mess, I felt like I had to be the one to watch her get out of it. Long story short, that's how I ended here now: sitting in the chair beside her hospital bed while she sleeps. The flu, apparently, and I forced her to work. I thought I was doing good. I thought I was doing right by her, when it turns out I was only doing her wrong. Such revelations hurt more than I would have anticipated. They said she will be okay and that nothing happened. I caught her—I protected her head and I didn't let her fall and I was the one who carried her to the gurney. I took care of her, but I can't help but question whether I did more harm then good. What's the balance on this fine line?