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The first time it happened, Trinity almost thought she’d imagined it.
“Snitch.”
Her head was always on a swivel, alert to dangers everywhere she went, so she turned in the direction she thought the word had come from and saw a gaggle of medical assistants and two security guards (one was Ahmad, but she was still learning names) in a tight little circle by the security office. None of them were looking at her but as she watched a few of them snickered. Hot flames raced up Trinity’s neck but she told herself she must have misheard, maybe even made it up. That was, until she glanced around and spotted a bewildered, doe-eyed Crash, who met Trinity’s gaze and half-whispered, “Was that directed at us? What did we do?”
Not we. Her. Trinity.
Trinity was still three weeks fresh in The Pitt, three weeks separated from the day that she had told Dr. Robby about her suspicions that Langdon was diverting. Stealing. All anybody knew was that Langdon had spent a day riding Trinity hard for her brash, reckless behaviors, he’d screamed at her, and then he was gone. They knew it was serious. They knew Trinity was, somehow, involved. And ever so slowly, word of “drugs” and “rehab” were making the rounds in the narrative.
Santos became The Snitch.
Trinity did her best to ignore it. So what if her coworkers avoided her, left rooms when she entered. This wasn’t new. Unlikeable Trinity. Tattletale Trinity.
Liar Trinity.
“Trinity is making stuff up again.” She knew the drill.
Which was why it was pathetic that the social outcasting made her relapse.
Trinity had been clean for over a year. She’d been able to stave off the worst urges by picking at her cuticles, biting her knuckles, pinching herself, all these little things for a burst of brief pain to distract from the ache she could not shake.
But the suture cart was right there.
One use, disposable scalpels were more plentiful than pens in an ED, so sneaking one into her pocket was easy. Transferring it from her scrubs into her outerwear was easy. Putting it under her bathroom sink for a “just in case” was easy.
Using it was so very easy.
The first time in ages and she didn’t even hesitate putting blade to thigh. Tension left her body at the familiar tug, the parting of skin and swell of blood as pain burst fireworks of released endorphins and she could finally breathe again.
Trinity fought the guilt of relapse by limiting herself to one cut, one “use”, just as the scalpel declared. She tossed the scalpel immediately into the trash, cleaned the cut with soap and a wet hand towel (she’d kept her gross Blood Price hand towel because she knew herself well enough to know she’d never truly stop) and antiseptic before bandaging herself right up. She could focus now on hot blood pumping and the sting of a fresh wound instead of her pan-banging thoughts. It was such a simple act and she felt better now. What a shame it meant that she was crazy, too.
Unfortunately she felt even worse the next morning, ashamed she didn’t have enough willpower to resist and jonesing for another release. She snapped at Dennis from the instant she saw him, transferring her anger at herself onto a safe target like the rotten little goblin that she was. Dennis shrank in size to make room for her anger and she felt even more furious at him for just taking it. Whatever. They’d only known each other a few weeks and she was already well on track to making him hate her. Better to get it over and done with.
She’d still house him even once he did, hate had nothing to do with her offer if he kept to himself.
Which was why she found it strange that night when Dennis Whitaker asked Trinity if she would go out with him to find a good reuben sandwich.
“Can you afford a sandwich?” Trinity jabbed.
“I even have enough for two,” Dennis said with a smile.
They found “passable” reubens.
The hostile environment didn’t ease at work. Trinity got more mutters, more glares, more coldness. Dennis noticed, too, and he made efforts to break the ice around her. That was much more of a mystery to Trinity than the hostility.
Trinity’s social standing at PTMC limped along. The ire seeped in through the opening had Trinity cut for it, but on the surface it seemed like she let it slide off her back. She wasn’t about to win the old guard over when Langdon’s absence made the entire department’s life more difficult, so she focused on building little rickety suspension bridges between herself and the others who had started the same day as her and had no loyalty to Langdon to speak of. Then of course somehow Mel King had already latched onto Langdon after one day and Trinity couldn’t help but pull back. She kept her interactions with Mel to minor pleasantries and major teasing. The one saving grace for any hope of social connection was Crash giving zero fucks about Langdon, leaving Trinity the ability to poke at Crash without any worry about it having Langdon undertones.
Garcia, Yolanda, was a member of the old guard, too, but she was aware of the full truth of the Langdon situation in a way that no one else was privy to because Trinity had spilled the beans before taking her vow to keep Langdon’s secret. That made Yolanda the only person Trinity could even rant to about the unfairness of it all. She’d done the right thing and she was hated by people for it because Langdon was some kind of golden boy wunderkind adored by the Pitt’s doctors and nurses.
Trinity had never been adored, and now at PTMC she never would be.
Yolanda listened to Trinity’s rants but rarely said much in reply, usually distracting Trinity with sex or leaving if they’d already had the sex and Yolanda didn’t want to stick around. The message was clear… but Trinity chose to ignore it. She had nobody else.
Two months into their situationship Nurse Jamie snubbed Trinity after a successful intubation and Trinity snarked, “And they say I’m a bitch,” to Yolanda as they finished up with the patient.
Yolanda snapped, “Dr. Santos, whether or not you are likable to your coworkers has no bearing on quality of care. Do better.” Trinity felt like she’d been sucker-punched in the gut. At her clear alarm Yolanda rolled her eyes. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Another scalpel found its way into Trinity’s pocket.
Dennis side-eyed Trinity the entire ride home that night.
Trinity made a beeline for her bathroom with the wrapped scalpel tucked into her waistband. She shimmied her sleep sweats down to her ankles and stared at the parallel scarring on her left thigh before she peeled off the plastic wrap and picked a spot, new and clean rather than a retread. The sharpness of the surgical grade blade made blood bloom at the barest touch of edge to skin.
Just as Trinity finished a knock came at the bathroom door. She was startled into dropping the scalpel and the grip hit her bathmat but the blade clattered against tile and blood flecked outward in a halo of red on white.
“Trinity?”
“What the hell do you want?!” Trinity snarled more aggressively than the act of knocking warranted. The sound of the scalpel hitting the tile rang in her ears.
“You seemed, I don’t know, upset?”
“How would you know?”
“You’re right. Sorry. I just… wanted to make sure, I guess.”
Tightness gripped her chest and she felt her heartbeat in her throat as well as in her thigh. How had he- “I’m fine, weirdo!”
“Good! That’s good. Do you wanna, maybe, go get some food?”
Blood trickled down the sides of Trinity’s thigh and she watched the snail trail grow. She could sit here watching, feel the pumping of her blood as platelets packed in to clot and scab, or-
Huckleberry had given her an “or”.
“Give me a minute,” Trinity said.
“Okay!” If Trinity wasn’t imagining it, she thought she heard a smile.
“Okay,” Trinity said, only loud enough for herself.
She bandaged herself up and rolled down her pant leg before throwing out the scalpel and cleaning the bathroom floor until there was no evidence left to find. Trinity paused at the doorway, hand on the knob, and stared. Even though she was the one who’d cleaned it seemed strange that there wasn’t any sign of what she had done. Not that anyone would bother looking…
Unless.
…was that what Huckleberry was doing? No way. Right?
Trinity found Dennis waiting in a fresh change of clothing as if he was doing something other than going out to grab 7/11 sushi with Trinity or whatever. He smiled hopefully at her and she didn’t know what to make of it. “Where were you thinking?” She asked, wondering if she’d have to change out of her sweats and tee or she could just pop on a jacket.
“Samira recommended a burger place a few blocks from us,” Dennis said. “I thought we could walk over and check it out?”
Trinity couldn’t picture Mohan recommending anything outside of medical practices. Dennis could really pry friendly chatter out of anybody. “Let me change real quick,” Trinity said. She sidestepped into her room and changed into cargo pants that didn’t chafe against her thigh and a hoodie. She made a face at Dennis as she reentered the living room and his eyes wrinkled around the edges as he chuckled at her. Weird.
The walk was more than “a few blocks” and Trinity was huffy and complaining as they finally made it to the burger place while Dennis apologized profusely for the misjudging of distance. The place was a hole-in-the-wall with picnic tables out front and they were the only ones there at 8 PM, illuminated by street lights as the wind and chill buffeted them around. Dennis’s cheeks were red with cold and he stared wide-eyed at the picnic tables as Trinity began to laugh.
“Oh my god, THIS is where you brought us? We’ll fucking freeze.”
“I-I didn’t know,” Dennis stammered. His damp blue eyes had the same look about them as they’d had that entire first day at PTMC. Trinity cackled harder. The freezing air burned her lungs. “I’m so sorry,” Dennis continued apologizing, and Trinity lost it. She could hardly breathe from laughter. Dennis looked alarmed, then worried, then a little annoyed as her laughter continued. “I don’t know if it’s that funny…” Trinity wasn’t sure why it was so funny. Maybe because the one time she’d tried to grasp at a straw of connection it had gone so hilariously wrong… and she appreciated it. It was still a gesture that made her warm enough to ignore the freezing air. She smirked at Dennis as he wrang his hands in a carbon copy of Robby and said, “Should we just go back or…?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve earned this fucking burger,” Trinity declared and she marched to the window where a stoned teenager leaned on his elbow and regarded their approach with disinterest.
They sat at one of the picnic tables and ate their food fast so that it didn’t immediately go cold. The burger was very good.
As they walked back their shoulders were hunched to protect their ears and their hands were in their pockets, and they were full and freezing. Dennis glanced sideways at Trinity and through chattering teeth he said, “Thanks for coming.”
“Next time I’ll send you to get my order,” Trinity replied.
Dennis laughed and nodded. “Okay.”
“You aren’t supposed to say “okay”! God, you’re such a fucking Huckleberry.”
“Did you, um, have a bad day, by the way?”
“Huh?” Trinity turned to look at Dennis, the change in subject whiplash making her momentarily un-quippy.
“You seemed upset,” Dennis said, a repeat of his words at the bathroom door. He was going back to that?
“How’s that?” Trinity asked, a little agitated that he was able to tell. What was that about? Just because Dennis had lived at her place for a few months shouldn’t mean he could tell what she had learned to hide to perfection.
“Just a vibe I was getting.”
“A vibe?” Trinity snorted.
Dennis shrugged.
“Well, I’m fine,” Trinity said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s good,” Dennis replied. He smiled but his eyebrows tilted upward and Trinity wasn’t sure he believed her but he was going to accept her answer regardless. Unease made her face forward and duck her head to the wind. He’d seen she was upset but he wasn’t pushing it. As if he might actually care.
“You’re really weird, dude.”
“I… sure?”
The next day when Trinity heard her name whispered from somewhere in the Hub she ignored it completely to go tell Crash the story about Dennis’s disastrous dinner recommendation.