FLATLINE| JK

twenty four

It is easy to forget where you come from. When you grow up and leave home and fall into the rigorously paced life society has laid out before you, reflecting on who you were before you became a functional adult isn't something you do often. Especially when your past isn't something you're particularly proud of. Especially when you're working thirty-six hour shifts, when it's hard to remember anything but what you're doing in the first place. When a life is on the line, all of your focus is poured into that life, that precious life thats fate rests in your palms. I hardly remember what I ate for breakfast this morning, let alone minute details from my childhood, my time in high school, my time at the brothel.

And I think that's a good thing, for the most part. I'm not exactly fond of the memories of the brothel. I don't like thinking about how many people I have touched, and vice versa. I don't like reminiscing on the demeaning language and degrading looks. I don't like remembering the way I sold myself, threw my dignity to the wind in order to get where I am today. Was it worth it? Of course. Would I do it again if I absolutely had to? Yes. But, am I proud of it? Am I a fan of that time in my life? Hell. No.

And I'm not even going to get into why I'd rather not think about my childhood. That's just depressing.

Being so perpetually distracted by the pace of my life as a surgical intern has done me a favor. I get to learn and do my dream job while simultaneously blocking out my trauma. It's a win-win for me. For a therapist, or a normal person, maybe not. But, for me, at least for now, sorting out my trauma can wait. I'm busy.

The one downfall of being constantly busy with work is that there is little to no time for anything that is not work. I am approximately three months into my internship, and it is only getting more demanding. Dr. Jeon wasn't kidding when he said our lives outside this hospital would be nonexistent. It was nice coming back to work after my two days off, save for the curious looks I get from the other doctors for sticking my hand near a bomb. People who read the newspaper recognize me, too—they put a photo of me in it, saying I was courageous. I would call it stupid, but, hey, tomato, tomahto, am I right? I wouldn't have a huge issue with being preoccupied with work, if I didn't have a problem that I desperately needed to fix—Namjoon.

In the week that I have been back at work after the bomb, I have seen Namjoon three times. All three have been in the mornings, either leaving or coming in to work. Small talk is all we make, along with Namjoon's humorous remarks that would make me laugh if I wasn't so nervous about telling him about Dr. Jeon. Namjoon and I never made anything official, but this state of limbo has gone on for so long that we might as well be. I need to tell Namjoon, but I don't want to just drop it on him like a sack of rocks and leave. He doesn't deserve that.

That would go something like: "Hi, large black coffee, please. By the way, I'm super into your friend. Yeah, Dr. Jeon. Remember him? The guy that singlehandedly cost you your surgical career? Yeah, we made out in the on call room the other day and I really like him. Here you go, keep the change. I'm compensating for being the worst girlfriend-not-girlfriend ever. Bye!"

I need to do it when we both have time to sit and talk about it. If I don't, there's no way this is ending well.

Dr. Jeon is also becoming impatient. Once a shift, he'll pop out from an on-call room or a supply closet, grab my arm and drag me in when no one is looking. Or, he'll corner me in the locker room, or on the way to the subway station. There's a burning question in his eyes, and I can feel that fire on my skin where his fingers hold me in place, and each time, I extinguish the flames with a simple sigh.

"Seriously, Moon?" He breathed out the last time he confronted me, and I grimaced.

"Yeah. Sorry." I said, and Dr. Jeon shrugged, dropping his head so his forehead rested against mine. His gentle breath fanned across my face, his eyes shut. While he kept up his stoic, strict resident act outside our little bubble, these moments remind me of the warm person he is at heart. I love this feeling—being close to him. He makes me feel so...wanted. Like it pains him to have to go any longer without kissing me, touching me, being near me.