My shoes barely make a sound against the tile as I quickly make my way down the hall. My hands are stuffed into my pockets knuckles brushing against the fabric as a reminder to not get all spacey like I usually do when nervous.I knock on the door once, before opening it. The office is small and sterile but holds a weight of efficiency.

  The lights are too bright then I see him. And my breath stops.

  He’s sat in one of the chairs across from my boss, one arm on each armrest, looking like he belongs here. His back is straight and his dark eyes cut to mine. And suddenly I’m not twenty nine anymore. No I’m really not.

  I’m suddenly my eighteen year old self - sitting at the dinner table with the kitchen window across from me; my dad to my left and my dear fucking mother to my right. My father is slurring out the Bible in Spanish, between drinks of his old goddamn whiskey. My mother is sitting there with her eyes downcast to her book, pretending as if none of this is happening.

  My stomach lurches.

  “Anna.” He says, voice calm and practiced. I just stare back, unable to comprehend anything. I’m so frozen in place that I don’t even notice the irritated glance my boss gives Xavier. He clears his throat and motions for my to come sit in one of the seats thats provided. I walk over but don’t sit. I am not going to sit next to this fucking prick anymore. My boss clears his throat again, but there was something in his expression that told me who he already believed.

  “Dr. Felix, your father has come here all the way from Chicago, to express his concerns about your professional representation. He’s concerned about your character and-“

  “Character?” I manage to spit out, trying not to laugh. The air in the room shifts and I know, just KNOW that Xavier is enjoying this. I scoff. “Are we done here?”

  “Now now,” Xavier chided, “where are your manners? I know, just know me and your mo-“

  “Don’t you fucking dare to pull that shit with me Xavier. One. You don’t have the right or the privilege to come up here and interfere with my adult life. Two. You’re a fucking prick and I hope one day karma bites you in the ass. I really really do.” I watched with satisfaction as his face drained of color from each word I said.

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  Xavier leans forward. “Ya know. You always were a bit of a burden on me and your poor, sweet, LOVING mo-“ I look at my boss and silently apologize before I punch Xavier in the jaw. It stung, but not too much.

  “Ya know what Xavier?” I asked, my voice steady and calm. Dangerously calm. “You haven’t changed one fucking bit. You’re still pulling the same goddamn shit and putting the fucking blame on me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not fucking eighteen anymore. I am not something you get to knock and throw around anymore you sick bastard.” I turn to my boss. “Now, if you both will excuse me. I have actual patients to go see. Considering this is a hospital and not fucking court.”

  And with that, I turn on my heel and quietly walk away; burning in my own anger. My boss doesn’t stop me. He just lets me go. I push the door open and continue walking. Even when my hands are shaking and I feel the world collapsing. I. Don’t. Stop. Because I’m afraid if I do, I won’t be able to move again.

  ★★★

  I grip the railing when I walk down the stairs. My fathers voice slashed through my subconscious until I had to hold onto something. The air feels too thick. I can’t breathe. My boss had called me in a second time after he excused Xavier and told him to leave the premises before he calls the cops for harassment to a respected doctor. He had told me that Xavier - the fucking prick - had told him how I was just a confused little girl and how I always make things up then run away. He had told my boss that I don’t deserve this job because I’m ‘mentally ill’.

  So back to now, I’m clinging onto the railing in the hallway with ghost white knuckles and taking deep breaths. Work. I need to work. I have to get back to rounds.

  I willed myself to walk down the stairs and onto the ER floor. The chaos was welcome. It was routine. It was grounding. I latch onto it like a damn leech and drown in my work.

  One patient. Then another. Then another. I keep my hands steady, and my voice even, and my breathing controlled. Like nothing happened. Like I don’t feel my fathers voice echoing and screaming at me.

  Until I crack. I don’t even realize its happening until I’m holding onto a shelf in one of the many supply closets, hyperventilating and repeating the words that were screamed at me all throughout childhood. I squeeze my eyes shut. Digging my nails into my forearm I remember that I’m here and not there. I am not some helpless kid anymore. I am not under his fucking roof. But for a second it feels like I am. That is until the door opens and I hear one of the other doctors’ voices. I snap my head up.

  “Felix?” Dr. Patel asks.

  “Yes ma’am?” I say back, wiping the tears off my face.

  “Trauma has a new case. Are you ok?” I can hear the frown in her voice. Quickly I flex my fingers and roll my shoulders.

  “Yeah,” I say, “I’m all good.” Except I’m not and this is just the same old song and dance. She didn’t push, just stood outside of the door waiting for me to leave.