Page 88 of A Brush with Love
Depersonalization
Paresthesia
Derealization
The words had sounded shameful. Complicated. They still did. At the time, Harper hadn’t known what most of them meant, but she knew the number of boxes she’d ticked in the doctor’s thick, scary book seemed never-ending.
And no matter how close she was to the people in her life, there was a constant survival instinct to shield them from how out of control her anxiety made her feel. It was hard to believe that anyone could witness the irrationality of her jumbled mind and not run away.
“They sent me to therapy, wanting me to get better,” she continued, her throat thick with pain and embarrassment. But something compelled her to keep being honest—for once in her life, to share with someone just how fucked up she was. “I hated it though. I hated talking about losing my mom and reliving it and having to process it. I started to refuse to go, and Aunt Rachel eventually gave up the fight. I fixated on every step that went wrong throughout that day. Everything that led to that moment. But it hurt so much to say it out loud. Share it with another person. Astranger. I couldn’t look at them and admit that if I hadn’t taken so long to find my boots, we could have driven through the intersection minutes earlier. If I hadn’t finished off the milk that morning, it wouldn’t have been so pressing we go to the grocery store. Even things as drastic as if I had only been born four years earlier, I could have been the one driving, not my mom…”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Dan ran his hands through her hair. He gave it the gentlest of tugs, mimicking what he must have seen her do a thousand times to center herself. The gesture nearly fractured her into a million pieces. His close watch on her, his careful observations. His relentless caring. It was terrifying to have someone know her like this, to flay herself open for another person. But Dan had her trust and her heart, and she didn’t want to hide anymore.
“My mom didn’t die on impact,” she said, her eyes flashing open. “They found her alive, rushed her to the hospital in a separate ambulance.” She paused, trying to steady her breathing.
“They took her into surgery. Her worst injuries were to her head and neck. She hit the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. Oral and maxillofacial surgeons are often called in for car accidents, restructuring jaw bones and eye sockets, operating on the cranial nerves and jugular arteries and veins.” She said the last part with a detached, clinical voice.
“She died on the table,” Harper said simply, turning to look into Dan’s eyes. “I was never told it was a surgical mistake, or anyone’s fault. But I always assumed it was. I always assumed it was the hands of someone else that took my mom from me. And I’ve always thought, maybe if I’d been that oral surgeon, I could have saved her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she continued to hold his gaze. “Maybe it’s ridiculous. Maybe it’s true. I don’t think it really matters.”
Dan stared back at her, anchoring her. He brushed his fingers over her cheeks, wiping away the tears.
“All my life, I’ve been working toward thisone thingI’m supposed to do. It’s almost like if I fail, she’ll have died for nothing.” Harper’s lips twitched and she lost the ability to form words. She started crying then. Truly crying.
Ugly, raw sobs ripped from her body, threatening to break her apart. Pain so intense it felt powerful enough to kill her.
And through it all, Dan held her. He pulled her close to his chest and didn’t let her go, placing soothing kisses to her hair, running his strong arms over her back.
When she’d finally cried herself to exhaustion, exposed herself to her messiest core, her body relaxed. She felt afraid of what he thought, ashamed at her weaknesses, her shortcomings. But she also felt nurtured. Protected.
Neither of them said anything. Harper doubted they would. She’d propelled all that tangled emotion into the world, onto someone else, and she didn’t want to unravel it.
So instead, she gently drifted off to sleep in the comforting nest of his arms.
CHAPTER 29
HARPER
“Dr. Horowitz!”
Harper catapulted out of her Dan-drenched daydream and landed firmly in the middle of the surgery she was assisting Dr. Ren and a resident on. Harper absorbed Dr. Ren’s disapproving look and panicked, moving to suction the patient’s socket with gusto.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Ren said calmly, grabbing the tip of the suction and moving it away in the universal dental school signal that said,You really fucked up your one job, huh?
Harper looked down. She’d accidently suctioned up half the bone graft Dr. Ren had placed.
“I’m so sorry,” Harper said, taking a step back. Dr. Ren gave her a sharp, warning glance to not act alarmed in front of the patient, who’s wide eyes had swiveled to look at Harper with fear.
“I’ll get more,” Harper said, scrambling toward the cupboard.
“Not with your gloves!” Dr. Ren scolded as Harper almost compromised the sterile cupboard environment.
Harper wrestled the tight rubber off her sweaty hands, panic humming in her chest as she grabbed more grafting material and handed it to the resident.
Dr. Ren eyed her for a moment before quickly repacking thematerial. She turned to the resident. “Dr. Wiles, I’m going to have you suture up the patient. I’ll meet you both in post-op.” The woman nodded and moved to replace them.
“Come with me.”
Harper and Dr. Ren stripped off their isolation gowns, then exited the operatory. Harper followed Dr. Ren into the hall, a steady thrum of dread beating in her ears. How could she be so stupid? How could she take her surgical privileges for granted, daydreaming like a lovesick teenager?
