Nikita

The hospital is unusually quiet as I walk in. It's literally been three hours since I left this place, and everything feels like a dream. I look at the guard at the door, giving me skeptical looks.

Maybe he's wondering about what had changed since the last time I left this place, but how can I even tell him that even if I don't know what's changed. Instinctively I look at the waiting seats, where Liam had been seated before he died.

Somehow I feel bad for him, but then he's already dead. So many questions, and with no one to answer them, I smile at Maggie, who also gives me a skeptical look. Everyone seems to be trying to avoid eye contact with me, and they think I didn't notice it.

Well, two can play this game. I walk into my office and see the director there, and I guess she received my resignation letter and she wants to ask me when I'm Leaving.

I know I put everything in the letter to the HR office but somehow, I'm desperate for her to tell me that she can't let me go or that the hospital needs me. I want to be required. I want someone to tell me I'm important.

I want someone to tell me I'll be okay and that I can trust them. I really need that right now. The look on the director's face is unreadable, or maybe I'm just too tired. However, I must admit I clean up pretty well.

I look like the photo on my hospital tag. The doctor in a suit, the man who's no longer wearing pink pajamas, and the man who seems mentally stable. It makes me feel good, but it's unnerving to see this woman here.

She doesn't say a thing even when I change into my surgical clothes. The silence is unnerving. I get that I had shown up at the hospital looking like a ghost, but her stare is starting to make me doubt myself. Do I stink? Do I look frustrated that much? Is there something wrong with me today? Why the hell won't she say anything? Defeatedly, I give in and make the first conversation.

"Hey there, director, you look better than the last time I saw you. What can I help you with."

"Have a seat, Dr. Mykolajki," she says in a calm tone. Well, it seems like she isn't going to scold me. Whew. The last woman who scolded me was my mother, and she did that when she was telling me to study harder to finish my projects.

She had looked so good and so kind then, and, unfortunately, I lost her too. Fuck, dammit, I'm in my own world again. With a trained smile on my face, I look at her, waiting for her to say something, anything.

"How are you?" Well, that was random.

It's not every day that she comes to my office to ask me how I'm doing, especially since she knows that I'll tell her I'm fine. But somehow, the way she asks me how I'm doing tells me she doesn't want to hear that I'm fine.

She wants to know how I really am doing. Damn, it takes a while to click, but the footage of the accident is all over the news. Of course. That explains why everyone was looking at me, and now she's here to tell me I can't do the surgery. Goddamnit.

"I'm doing good, director; I can do the surgery. It's not complicated. Let me do my job, don't stop me just because of the footage spreading. I know my parents are dead, and they're not coming back. I already lost them, and nothing I can do right now will bring them back.

However, I know I can save the patient scheduled for the surgery, so don't stop me from doing my job, please, it's the only thing that keeps me going late,y" I rant and she's just there, staring at me like she expected me to defend myself.

"Well, thank the Lord for that." I want to tell her everything in me hurts, my functionality is slowly shutting down and there's a chance that my depression is going to ruin me. But I don't tell her.

"Sorry, continue," I say as she gives me a disapproving look.

A depressed doctor is useless in the operating room.

"Have you been eating well? How's everything at home –" she starts but I cut her off. As much as I want to whɨnė about my medical life and Natalya and her daughter and the fact that I seem to be living on borrowed time, this is not the time for her and me to engage.

Besides, it's awkward right now. I know she's already heard of how frustrated I was just three hours ago. I know she knows everything happening here and she wants to ensure I don't ruin the reputation of the hospital, but honestly, I've just had enough people hurting me in one day.

"I have surgery in the next twenty minutes, ma'am. I still need to scrub in. I apologize for this, but what is it" I ask her bluntly.

I know she won't take offense because she always knows I'm blunt with everything. Not that I would be worried about her having her feelings hurt anyway. I was hurt and the whole world seems to not want me to heal from the trauma.

They keep poking at my wounds.

"I received your resignation notice, and I don't accept it," she says and I look at her. of course she wouldn't accept it. Having one of the best doctors in Russia on her team is something she takes seriously, not to mention my family is well known for their reputation as surgeons.

"Why? I stated every reason I am not fit to be a doctor right now. you'll be putting more lives at risk. I'm not the best at my job right now –"

"Says the surgeon who left home to come and work on a seventy-two-hour surgery to save a patient he doesn't know." Dammit. I know I have a weakness called saving lives. It's a pity my family was reduced to ashes and there's a possibility that my Yuri is somewhere suffering. fuċk.

"I don't want a family losing their children and family members and even friends just because I could have done something to save them but I didn't" I try to reason with her. why are we even having this conversation anyway, besides, it's not like I'll suddenly change my mind. I already made up my mind and not even she can stop me.

"But isn't that what you're doing right now? running away?"

"Doc, you will find better doctors, better surgeons. We both know what impacts mental health has on doctors. I need to get better myself. I need to embrace everything and think" I say as I hear her sigh.

She already knows my mind's made up. I get up and walk toward my office door.

I know leaving her in here seems rude, but I have a job to do, instead of sitting here with her.

"Think about it, please" I hear her say as I walk out and head towards the operation rooms.