Zoya’s P.O.V
I froze in my seat as we were pulled up to the hospital. My hands started to shake, and my stomach dropped. Memories of the past flooded my mind, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over me, a red sea tide pulling and pushing and taking all that it can from me until all that's left of me were my hollow bones and paper-thin ribs.
It was my old hospital…
It was a horrifying kind of ache that started to swell in me, the kind that I could not push down no matter how hard I tried. It was not a wine bottle that I could simply put a cork on and call it a day. It was not a random stranger I could close the door on. It was grueling and familiar, and it was one that did not want to be contained.
As I sat in the car, my mind wandered to memories of my past in New York. I couldn't help but think of the good times I had with my friends, or the people who used to be my friends, but also the bad memories that still lingered, pathetically, desperately in my mind.
I remembered the long nights we spent studying for our medical exams, fueled by caffeine and each other's company. We laughed and joked, even as the stress of the exams threatened to overwhelm us. Those were the good times, the memories that brought a smile to my face.
Despite the good memories, the bad ones had a lot more impact on me, and so I couldn't shake the unease I felt about being back in my old workplace. I knew that people would be looking at me, wondering why I had left, abandoned my post, judging me for my decisions. Did Dr. Salvadorruin my name after I rejected his advances so he could save his own face? What lies did he tell them about what I did? Did the workers here talk about me now like I was the one in the wrong? These thoughts made me feel small and vulnerable. I shivered, rubbing my arms.
Ezra must have noticed my internal conflict, because he turned to look directly at me, and his eyes were churning pools of something unreadable, like a book written in a language I couldn't understand. “Are you alright?” he asked me. “You don't look too good.”
“Yes, I’m fine, just peachy” I snapped sarcastically. With a roll of my eyes, I opened the car door and stepped out; shielding a hand over my eyes when the sun’s reflection on the humongous glass windows caught my eye. Great, even the inanimate objects seemed to be mocking me, holding me in some kind of spotlight as if announcing to the world that the loser was here.
Ezra scrambled to get out of the car, shutting the door hurriedly. “I didn't mean it like that!” he protested, stumbling over his words, worried that he had offended me somehow. “I'm sorry, I—”
“Let's just get this over with,” I said tiredly. I knew it was unfair that I was taking out my anxiety on him, so I tried not to prolong the conversation. “Shall we?”
As we walked towards the hospital, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. It wasn't just because of the task at hand but also because it was my old workplace. I knew that people would recognize me and greet me, but I wasn't sure how to handle it.
As we neared the nurses' station, Ezra noticed my awkward behavior again and pulled me aside, closer to the walls, so the people passing by could use the center of the hallways. "Zoya, are you okay? Be honest with me." Ezra asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. He gave me a look that I didn't understand, like he was in desperate need of an answer from me. “You look pale as fuck and I’m worried about your health here, so humor me, please.”
I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to burden him with my problems. But eventually, I knew I had to tell him. If I knew his character by now, or at least the foundations of it, he was not the type to let things go if his gut told him that something was wrong. And if I knew myself well, I knew that I would eventually give in anyway, being the people-please was now ingrained into my DNA.
"No, not really," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "This used to be my old workplace."
Ezra's expression softened, and there was this look on his face that was basically one of realization. "What happened?" he asked, concern etched on his face.
"I had a…disagreement with my boss," I explained, still feeling the sting of the memory, wincing at the feel of his hand on my thigh, slowly riding up, up, up, and I wanted to throw up. I still felt his presence sometimes, when I closed my eyes and dreamt. "I don’t want to go into details, but I was transferred to the clinic…soon after that disagreement."
Ezra nodded in understanding. Something told me he knew that I wasn't telling him already. Based on what I said, one would assume from context that the disagreement in question had been something else entirely. He was a cop; he could connect the dots himself.
“Just stay close to me,” he said now. “If you think you can't take it anymore, tell me, and we'll go. We can come by some other time; I'm sure they'll understand.”
“Alright.” I nodded. “Thank you, but I can take it. I think.”
He didn't argue, which I was grateful for, and we continued on to the enquiry. Thankfully, everything went smoothly since they already knew me and trusted my expertise. I handed in the papers and tests I conducted on the patient, and they consulted me about the treatment I gave the patient upon his rescue, so they would know how to deal with his body's responses. We came and went as quickly as a blink of an eye, but, just as we were about to leave, my luck ran out.
I froze on the spot when I saw him — my ex-fiancé and my cousin. It felt like my whole world was crashing down on me. I couldn't believe he was here, of all places and today of all days.
Why was he here? What was he even doing here? He didn’t even work here for fuck’s sake! Did he come to taunt me? Did he come to stir trouble? What would the people here think?
But before I could even fully process what was happening, Ezra’s hand intertwined with mine, grounding me. "Zoya, what’s wrong?" he asked, worry lacing his voice.
I shook my head, feeling like I was going to break down any moment. Just like when I first realized where we were, the memories we shared together resurfaced. I gritted my teeth, trying to keep myself from trembling. "No, I can't face him," I whispered. "I need to get out of here."
Ezra didn't hesitate for a moment. He started to propel me further, away from the people who had betrayed me, stabbed me in the back when I hadn't been looking.
But it seemed like my trials for an unknown crime were yet to be over.
“Zoya?”