Chapter 15Fragments of Normalcy
Fragments of Normalcy
Isabella
The world outside the clinic always feels different, almost too bright, too full of life for someone who spends most of her time inside dim, sterile hospital rooms. The air is crisp this morning, the scent of fresh rain clinging to the pavement, mixing with the aroma of coffee and fresh bread from the café across the street.
For once, I don’t have to rush.
Today is my usual day off. And for the first time in weeks, I’m actually taking it without Ada having to force me.
I lean against the doorframe of our home, shifting the paper bag of pastries in my arms while I enter.
“Rise and shine, lazy ass,” I call out, grinning.
A muffled groan comes from upstairs, followed by the sound of shuffling feet.
A few seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Ada in all her morning glory on the stairway; her hair an absolute mess, her oversized T-shirt slipping off her shoulder, and a sleepy glare that could probably kill me if she tried hard enough.
“You’re too chipper for this hour,” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes as she steps down the stairs.
“It’s nine in the morning, Ada. Normal people are awake by now.”
“I’m not normal people,” she mutters, dragging herself toward the kitchen while I follow behind.
A faint scent of vanilla enters my nostrils and something floral; probably one of Ada’s expensive candles.
I drop the bag of pastries onto the counter and start making coffee.
“Croissants from Bennetti’s,” I announce, knowing that’ll get her attention.
Ada perks up immediately, eyes flicking to the bag like a starving animal. “You do love me.”
“More than anyone else ever will.”
Something about this morning, about her, makes me feel lighter.
I don’t know when it happened exactly, when I stopped feeling like I had to keep every part of myself locked up around her.
Maybe it was last night, when we sat on the bed for hours, talking about things I never say out loud.
Maybe it was the way she listened, really listened, without interrupting, without trying to fix me like Dr. Monroe.
Or maybe it was just her. The way she exists in my life, so effortlessly, like she’s always meant to be here. The way she has cared for me like no one else yet, apart from him.
I glance up, meeting her gaze, and for once, I don’t feel exposed. I don’t feel like I’m giving away too much or that I’ll regret it later. Instead, I feel… safe. Like letting her in isn’t something I have to be afraid of.
We settle into our usual rhythm; Ada sitting cross-legged on the couch, stuffing her face with pastries, while I curl up on the armrest, sipping my coffee.
It’s easy with her. Comfortable. She’s one of the only people who doesn’t expect me to be anything other than what I am.
She doesn’t expect a mask, she appreciates the real me, bruised and all.
“So,” she says after a while, licking a stray flake of croissant off her finger. “How was your shift the other night, the double one? You never gave me a real answer.”
I hesitate, debating whether or not to tell her about John and his whispered warnings. But the logical part of me knows it was probably nothing, just the delirious ramblings of a man too far gone to know what he was saying.
Instead, I shrug. “Same as always. Junkies, drunks, and a guy who thought he was being hunted by criminals.”
Ada snorts. “Classic. Did he have any good conspiracy theories, at least?”
I sip my coffee, shaking my head. “Just the usual cryptic warnings about impending doom.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. If you’re going to have a breakdown, at least make it interesting.”
I laugh, and for the first time in what feels like days, it’s real.
Ada stretches, tossing her half-eaten croissant back into the bag. “So, what’s the plan for today? Please tell me you’re not dragging yourself to bed again.”
I smile. “It’s my free day, I can do whatever I please, and I have already been outside.” I point at the now half-eaten pastries.
“I won’t tolerate that today,” she says while shaking her head. “I was thinking we do something different than rotting in bed. Something fun. Something that doesn’t involve dark places and sadness.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”
She grins, the kind of grin that usually means I’m about to regret asking.
“Roller skating.”
I blink. “Roller skating?”
“Yes, Isabella. You know, wheels, movement, coordination, potential broken bones. It’ll be fun.”
I narrow my eyes. “You just want to see me fall on my ass.”
“That is a huge part of the appeal, yes.”
I groan, but there’s no real protest. Ada and I don’t get many days off together, and if she wants to spend it watching me embarrass myself, then so be it.
Half an hour later, we’re at the Rolling Thunder Rink, and I’m regretting every life decision that led me here.
“I hate this already,” I mutter, gripping the wall as I wobble unsteadily on my skates.
Ada, of course, is gliding across the rink like she was born to do this, a smug little smile on her face.
“Oh, come on,” she teases, skating backwards effortlessly. “It’s not that hard.”
I shoot her a glare. “I have no balance.”
“You’re a nurse. You literally have steady hands for a living.”
“That’s different. My hands don’t have wheels on them.”
She laughs, reaching out to grab my hands and pull me forward. “Okay, okay. Just trust me. Bend your knees a little, lean forward—”
She lets go, and I immediately start to fall.
“Shit—”
I go down hard, landing on my ass with a thud. The impact rattles through me, and for a second, I just sit there, staring at the ceiling while Ada cackles like a damn hyena.
“Oh my God,” she gasps between laughs, wiping a tear from her eye. “That was amazing.”
I groan, dragging myself up. “I hope you choke on a croissant later.”
I blink hard while pushing myself up, my vision blurring slightly as I stand up too fast. A wave of dizziness slams into me, forcing me to grip whatever is closest to me.
I exhale slowly, waiting for the room to steady.
Prozac. The doctor warned me about fatigue and lightheadedness, but it still feels unsettling, like I’m walking around in a fog most days.
We spend the next hour skating, or in my case, trying to skate. I fall at least six more times, but eventually, I start to get the hang of it. Sort of. Ada still skates circles around me, but at least I’m no longer clinging to the wall for dear life.
By the time we leave, my legs feel like jelly, and my ass is definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.
“Admit it,” Ada says as we walk to my car, “you had fun.”
I roll my eyes but don’t deny it. “I had mild fun. Very mild.”
She grins, nudging me with her elbow. “We should do this more often.”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
By the time we swing by a Thai place on the way home, my body is officially protesting every single movement. My legs are sore, my ass feels like it’s been through a war, and the only thing keeping me going is the promise of food and sitting somewhere soft.
Ada insists on ordering half the damn menu; pad thai, green curry, spring rolls, dumplings, and something extra spicy just to mess with me. I don’t even argue. I just hand over my card, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that arguing with Ada when she’s hungry is a losing battle.
The drive back is easy, quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that only exists between people who don’t need to fill the gaps with words. Ada messes with the radio, humming along to whatever indie song she’s obsessed with this week, and I just exist.
No patients, no late-night shifts, no half-dead overdose cases muttering about the end of the world.
Just a full takeout bag and the promise of a lazy evening.
By the time we get home, neither of us has the energy to be civilized about dinner. The second we step inside, Ada kicks off her shoes and beelines for the living room, tossing a blanket on the floor.
“Floor picnic,” she declares, already pulling the food out of the bag.
I raise an eyebrow. “We have a perfectly good table.”
“Boring. This is better.”
I sigh but don’t argue, lowering myself onto the floor beside her. My body aches from earlier, but the second I crack open the container of pad thai and take the first bite, I decide it was all worth it.
“Oh my God,” I groan. “This is exactly what I needed.”
Ada grins, mouth already full. “Told you.”
We sit like that for a while, cross-legged on the floor, the coffee table shoved to the side so we have room to spread out the food. The television hums in the background, playing some random crime drama neither of us is paying attention to.
Ada reaches for the dumplings at the same time I do, and we both pause, staring at each other.
“Let go,” she warns.
I smirk. “Make me.”
She lunges first, but I’m faster, snatching the dumpling from the carton and stuffing it in my mouth before she can react.
Ada gasps, eyes wide with deep betrayal. “I trusted you.”
I shrug, chewing slowly, savoring my victory. “Survival of the fittest.”
She huffs but doesn’t push it, probably because she knows she still has five more dumplings to inhale.
Somewhere between finishing my pad thai and stealing one of Ada’s spring rolls, I realize something else, I feel normal for the first time in weeks, even months.
I lean back, stretching my legs out as I watch the TV without really seeing it. Ada yawns, already curled up in the blanket she dragged onto the floor.
“You tired?” I ask.
Ada mumbles something incoherent in response, her voice thick with sleep. She shifts slightly, burrowing deeper into the blanket, her breathing slowing into the soft, steady rhythm of someone already drifting.
I watch her for a moment, the faint light from the TV flickering over her face. She looks peaceful. Comfortable. Like she belongs here, in this space we’ve made together, safe and warm.