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It only really struck Trinity to what she was doing when she laid down in bed that night. She had run through the apartment tour quickly, wanting to be alone after the shift from hell.
"Living room. Kitchen -- there's nothing in there. Bathroom. That's your room." She pointed vaguely to things around her apartment, it wasn't like the layout was particularly hard to figure out.
Whitaker looked around with wide eyes. He had been nervous the whole car ride, sitting on his hands, asking Trinity questions that she did not feel like answering.
"So how long have you lived here? In Pittsburg I mean."
Trinity's hands had gripped the steering wheel imperceptibly tighter.
"A while. But I'll have to warn you, it's not the farm house you're probably used to." She shot back, then after a pause added, "it doesn't have the same sterility as the 8th floor of the hospital either,"
"Hah, you are probably right." Whitaker replied.
It was silent the rest of the car ride, thankfully. Trinity thought that if he opened his mouth one more time she would have pushed him out while they were still on the highway.
The silent air seemed to carry over in the apartment. After her brief tour, Trinity didn't wait around to show him the spare room, instead just walking the familiar path to her door and flopping on her bed.
She waited in silence as she heard him shuffle toward the room on the other side of the hallway and close the door.
The room was already furnished. If Trinity closed her eyes, she could map the room by heart. The twin bed with a bright floral patterned comforter tightly covering it. The small desk and chair right next to it that was also used as a bedside table. The soft curtains with weird stains at the bottom. There was no lamp and the only light switch was the furthest from the bed. Various posters were tacked to the wall. A mirror with a warp at the top leaned against the wall.
It felt weird. Trinity was alone in her room, but she could feel the presence of another person in her apartment like a parasite eating away at her. She hoped Whitaker wouldn't open the closet, to see all the clothes she couldn't ever bring herself to take out. He only owned like three shirts, so logically there was no reason for him to open the closet anyway.
After a while, she could hear Whitaker in the bathroom. The water was running, she could hear it rush through the pipes that annoyingly ran behind her wall.
She waited until she could no longer hear him. Then waited an extra 30 minutes and got up to get ready for bed.
—
Weirdly, Javadi was the first one to notice that they lived together. At least, she was the first one to say anything about it. Trinity knew Dana was keeping a close eye on Whitaker ever since he arrived.
"Are you and Whitaker dating?" Javadi blurted out one morning after their first patient.
Trinity scoffed and turned toward her, "I thought you were supposed to be like, a super genius"
"What?" Javadi said dumbly,
"It means I'm gay, very obviously"
"Oh." After a pause and an eyebrow raise from Trinity, "Oh! Oh, no. That's completely fine. I don't have any problem with that! It's just... you and Whitaker have arrived together for the last week. And you leave together too."
"We just live together. Roommates." Trinity said simply. Then, because she just couldn't help herself, "That wet rat couldn't land me in a million years, trust me."
Javadi nodded sagely like she completely understood. They both started walking toward central, Trinity could feel her still looking at her.
"Listen, Crash, I understand you are just a little lamb who’s just experiencing the big, new world, but men and women are able to live together without it meaning anything."
She knew she was being mean. But something about Javadi's judgment irritated her in a way she usually brushed off. Maybe it was the room, the ghost of the previous tenant loomed over her like a cold blanket. She forced herself not to rub her arms for warmth.
"I'm an adult. I know men and women can just be friends." Javadi shot back.
"Yeah? Like you and Mateo? What's going on with that anyway?"
Trinity smirked as Javadi turned red and sputtered something about the importance of nurses and that it wasn’t a crime to talk to people.
—
Work was normal. She drove both of them in the morning; silent.
The ER made her talkative; combative; mean. The busy environment possessed her with an obsessive hunger. Trinity knew she wanted more than most. She wanted the best toys, wanted the best grades, wanted to be the best. She knew she could do it too, she just wanted evidence of it, wanted to save lives and do it in a way that said "Look at me! I am the fucking best."
Her mother told her that her wants made her unpleasant.
"Trinity," She would start, "You need to be more quiet, it's not lady-like for you to be so..." She waved her hands around in the way she would when she couldn't find the word, "...loud" she finally settled on.
"I wasn't even talking," Trinity would reply even though she knew what she meant.
"You know what I mean."
Trinity always tried to explain, her "loudness" made her a doctor, the doctor that her mother so proudly boasted to everyone to hear. Despite this, the sentiment never crossed and often they were left yelling at each other across the phone.
Eventually it just became one of the many things her mother wanted to change about her.
Trinity never stopped though. She kept her wants and her mean streak and her loudness. It made her strong, she thought. Even if it came with a side of loneliness.
Whitaker always waited for her by the lockers. He didn't change, just put on a hoodie and held a backpack that contained most of his belongings. By this time, Trinity was still riding the high of the ER, excitedly talking about her day, making comments about random patients. Whitaker would talk back with his own disagreements or observations, he had gained a bit of confidence after the initial awkward politeness of moving in and after Trinity threatened to kick him out if he kept up the weird civilities.
By the time they would arrive at the apartment, Trinity could feel herself shut down. Whitaker probably also noticed but she wouldn't put it past him to be the unobservant type. She would beeline it toward her room, avoiding looking at the door across the hall lest Whitaker had left it open that morning, and dumped herself on her bed.
She would only lay for a few minutes before the apartment became too stifling and she remembered she had another person to ease the tension.
—
They never talked about the room. Whitaker didn't spend a lot of time there, like he could feel the overwhelming weight, the ghost of someone else who had once been in his place. Trinity would often find him in the living room, listening to music on the couch or studying on the floor, his laptop propped up on his knees with a textbook open on the floor next to him. Some days, she would come home and shove him over on the couch before turning on whatever mind-numbing TV show she was currently watching. Recently, it was the newest season of Love Island.
They were similar, Trinity could tell. Except while Trinity was loud and rude, Whitaker only had an endless supply of eyerolls and scoffs.
Once, while they were watching, Whitaker had gone weirdly quiet.
"I wonder what that's like," He mumbled. Trinity glanced at him then back to the TV where a beautiful woman was passionately sticking her tongue down someone's throat.
"What? Kissing? I thought you looked inexperienced, but I imagine you got some action in Bumfuck, Nebraska."
Whitaker reeled back, staring at her with wide eyes. "What? No! Obviously I've... Anyway, I meant," He started waving his hand vaguely toward the TV, "like, that. You know, that life. Such stupid worries,"
Trinity glanced back at the TV. Another woman had come into frame, now screaming and throwing things at the couple. She understood what Whitaker meant. Simple lives exacerbated on television like it mattered. These people were probably raised rich. Probably none had ever held the dying life of someone in their hands, praying to anyone that a miracle would happen. None had felt the high of saving someone's life only to be covered in a child's blood the next hour.
"The point of the show is to not think, Whitaker. Save all that brainpower for your next shift." She meant it to come off meaner than it did.
—
Trinity was fuming. The car ride back had been silent, her hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough her knuckles were turning white underneath the bright red from where her skin broke open. Whitaker glanced at her nervously every few seconds. He was holding his arms close together like he was trying not to hug himself.
They hit traffic. Something Trinity should've expected considering their most recent case was a car crash on the highway. Still, it had slipped her mind.
"God! Fuck!" She screamed. Hit the horn several times before slamming the car into park. Clearly they weren't going anywhere for a while.
"Stop fucking looking at me!" She snapped when Whitaker cast her another glance.
"Sorry..."
"I wasn't fucking wrong. He was an asshole, and he was clearly abusing her. That fucker got what was coming to him, Robby was just too much of a fucking coward to do anything about it." She ranted, turning to him fully. Whitaker shrunk back a little before righting himself again.
"I didn't say anything."
"Yeah, well you don't have to. You're looking at me with those fucked up sad dog eyes. It's a wonder patients don't look at you and start crying out of pity."
"Hey, fuck you! Maybe you were right but you still shouldn't have punched him," Whitaker shot back, his arms falling to his side.
"Hah! At least I did something. You were just going to stand around and let her get hurt,"
"That's not fair. There's a process to these situations, Dr. Robby had it under control. You can't go around accusing people of things!"
"Bullshit. She had an infected cut that should've been stitched weeks ago. She wouldn't say a word and the father was talking for her the whole time. You have too much trust in Robby,"
She knew her mouth was running faster than her brain at this point. She should've apologized, taken the high road like she had done so many times before. But Robby had yelled at her, told her to go home early even though her shift was almost over. For a moment she heard her mother's disbelieving tone across the phone,
"What are you talking about, foolish girl. Don't say stupid things like this! Do you want to ruin someone's life?"
Realistically, she knew it was nothing like that. She knew Robby was stressed out, had heard all the stress Gloria and the administration was piling on him. They had both walked out of Trauma 1, the mother in the car crash didn't make it, probably never had a chance. The crash caused her aorta to tear partially; her husband was out of town, she was taking her sons to the movies. Ten minutes later, her aorta ruptured. Her twin boys were crying in the other room, broken glass covered their arms and their mother was dead just a wall over.
Trinity had walked out and saw the father of the little girl who had come in hours before. Gauze loosely wrapped her leg and her father was petting her hair, a hand holding too tightly to her arm.
It was like she blacked out. She didn't remember walking over to the room, shucking off her gloves and gown and throwing them to the floor. All she could see was the girl's face, completely blank and staring ahead, listless, like she had simply accepted her fate. She couldn't have been older than ten, didn't speak a single word the entire time she was treated, not even when the anesthetic needle came out or when Javadi had stitched the wound up.
The next moment, the father was on the ground and people were pulling her away.
"Are you- Have you been okay?" Whitaker's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. He was sitting on his hands, looking over with his stupid, sad eyes.
"Never better," She breathed out. Traffic had started to move; she took the car out of park.
"It's just-- well maybe I'm reading into things, but you seem different from--"
"From what? You don't know me,"
"We live together."
"That means nothing."
Traffic was easing up, Whitaker turned to look out the window. The adrenaline from the day was starting to fade and a stinging pain emitted from her right hand.
Trinity knew she was loud and mean and so horribly, horribly hungry for something. One of her therapists -- a shitty one, from the free counseling sessions universities give -- told her she uses sarcasm as a coping mechanism for her past trauma. That it wasn't a reflection of who she was, but a wall she hides behind to not seem like the caring person she really is. But from years of dealing with assholes, she can admit that sometimes she really acts like one.
She sighed and flexed her hands, the pain gave a little relief from the overwhelming thoughts slamming through her brain.
"I'm scared of your room," she finally admitted. She kept her eyes trained ahead, but she could see Whitaker turn to her again out of the corner of her eye.
After a pause, she huffed, "Say something."
"Oh! Uhm-" Whitaker started, "Me too."
Trinity looked over at him, unimpressed.
"Well, I mean- I guess it feels, like-" He's waving his hands around again, "bad." He finishes lamely.
"Bad." Trinity repeats blankly.
"Uhm. Yeah."
There's another pause.
"Maybe... Do you want me to move some of the stuff out?" She saw Whitaker wince as he spoke.
She pictured the room again. The bed against the wall, the desk right next to it. The random posters, pictures of the two of them, the felt garland strung around the room (Trinity had come home that day to felt pieces littering the floor and glue covering their coffee table). Behind the mirror was a hole in the wall that they never figured out how to fix.
Trinity had only gone in that room once since everything happened. She couldn't stand it, had shut the door too quickly, eager to pretend nothing was in there.
"No." She said finally. They drove slowly by the wreckage of a blue Subaru, both of them averted their eyes.
—
Their shifts didn't always align. After the four weeks were up, they moved to different rotations. Whitaker ended up in pedes while Trinity moved to anesthesia. Whitaker learned to take the bus and Trinity learned to come home to an empty apartment.
—
Whitaker had taken to leaving a 20 dollar bill on the kitchen counter. Trinity didn't know where he had gotten the money since she was fairly aware of everything he did during the day (study and work and watch TV with her). She had gotten really good at slipping the twenty back in his wallet when he wasn't looking.
Although one such occasion led her to sneak into his room while he was showering. She located his two earthly possessions quite quickly, trying to not look around the room as much as possible. It didn't stop her from tearing a photo off the wall when it caught her eye.
By the fourth week of this, she got very tired of moving the bill back and forth and snatched the bill before ordering from the Thai place down the street they both liked.
—
"Can you stop dumping oil down the drain? You know you're not supposed to do that." Dennis sighed as he looked down the kitchen sink.
Trinity stuck another piece of fried tofu in her mouth before talking, "Weren't you raised to be thankful on 'the farm'? I'm feeding you, thank me!"
Dennis scrunched his nose in annoyance before plucking his bowl up from the counter.
"Let's get more dish soap and vinegar next time we go shopping."
—
On Dennis' birthday, his mom called. He was in the shower getting ready to go to the bar, a location Trinity had been slowly forcing him to get comfortable with. Trinity was toweling off her hair when she heard the phone ring from out in the living room.
"Huckleberry! Your phone!" She called out, still wringing out her hair. When there was no response, she shrugged and let the phone ring out.
Apparently, his mother didn't know when to quit. The phone rang three more times before Trinity got annoyed and picked it up.
"Hello?" She spoke sweetly.
"Oh! Hello! Perhaps I called the wrong number, I was meaning to call my son Dennis." Trinity could hear the flat tones of a Midwestern accent.
"No, you have the right number. Uh, Dennis is busy at the moment, I'm his friend," Trinity cringed as she spoke, immediately regretting picking up the phone.
"Oh Goodness! What is your name, sweetheart? I cannot believe my Dennis has a girlfriend, he was always such a shy boy. Would you put Dennis on the phone for me?" His mother started to speak more rapidly.
"Uh-"
"Oh what am I saying? You just said he was busy. I was calling because it's his birthday! I just wanted to talk to him for a little bit. Sorry, what was your name again?"
Trinity glanced out the window at the darkening sky.
"My name is Trinity," She said, ignoring her previous comment about her being Dennis' girlfriend.
"Oh, Trinity! What a beautiful name, you must be Christian. How did the two of you meet?"
"Oh, we work at the same hospital together. The ER unit." Trinity again ignored the comment on religion. The only time she's been to church was when her mother dragged her to confess her sins once a year.
"Oh." The woman on the other end paused. "The ER is such a dangerous place, no good for Dennis, you know. Certainly no place for a woman such as yourself. Perhaps you could tell him to come back to the farm. You could come visit too, of course!"
Before she could open her mouth, his mother continued,
"I told that boy it was no good for him to be a doctor, God did not want that for him. I told him his path was with the church. Oh, he was such a bright young man. He knew his scripture better than anyone! What a gift! It should not be wasted on this doctor business, let someone else take care of it. The Lord needs him to walk a different path, don't you agree, Trinity?"
"Uh-"
"What are you doing?" Dennis stood in the doorway of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair still dripping with water. Normally, Trinity would jump at the chance to make fun of him, say something about a wet rat. But instead, she jutted the phone out to him,
"Your mother." She said simply.
Dennis' eyes widened and he quickly snatched the phone away.
"Mom!" He exclaimed before rushing into his room.
Trinity fell onto the couch, her towel dropped to the floor. For a while, she sat, until she could hear something bang in Dennis' room and she quickly got up to finish getting ready in her room.
—
Trinity only felt a little invasive when she opened Dennis' door. It opened silently and slowly, welcoming her in like an unsure host.
Dennis had been assigned three night shifts in a row this week. He grumbled when he told Trinity, who couldn't stop from laughing and asking which attending he pissed off. Regardless, Trinity had been coming home alone more times than she was willing to admit she was comfortable with. It was also a large driving factor to why, after all these months, she was finally standing in the room she would've rather set on fire than enter.
It was exactly how she remembered it. The bed tucked in the corner, the sheets were rumpled, like Dennis tried to make it but gave up halfway. The desk was nearly empty, old school assignments stacked neatly on one side, pens and pencils in a cup, a fine layer of dust over everything. Over the desk were the random printed photos, bordered by a felt garland.
Christy had always been sentimental. She was empathetic and kind, she thought everything had a soul that deserved to be loved and cherished. She had a goal to heal people, to touch their souls and leave an impact. It made her strong and very, very hungry. Her and Trinity bonded over their shared hunger, used it to fight their way to med school and move out to Pittsburgh together. But while Trinity was like a loud firework, distracting you from your pain, Christy was a gentle rain, cooling down your inflamed skin while somehow never getting too cold.
She never made it to her fourth year.
No one ever came to collect her stuff. Trinity had spent a long time wondering if she should box everything up and send it to Christy's brother, the only one Christy still talked to. Three months after everything, she gathered as many empty moving boxes as she could, planning to pack everything away.
But when she opened the door, boxes in hand, she saw the bed, made so meticulously and smelling vaguely of their laundry detergent. The desk that was usually covered in paper and books and random cups, had now laid clean and bare. The carpet was just vacuumed; the curtains were closed.
Trinity had shut the door as fast as she could and threw up in the bathtub.
Today, she walked in uneasily, no boxes in hand, leaving the door open as wide as she could in case she needed to make a break for it. She sat down on a random spot of carpet and stared at the wall. In the dark, she couldn't see the pictures very easily, but she knew what they were. Photos of Christy's brother, her friends, and Trinity.
Dennis found her asleep on the floor hours later.