Page 63 of We Can Stay
“Sebastian...” Rach’s voice is gentler now. “When’s the last time you ate something? Or sat down for more than five minutes?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it. I honestly can’t remember.
“That’s what I thought.” She crosses her arms, but there’s no judgment in her expression. Only worry. “Go home. Get some sleep.”
The responsible thing would be to stay. To be here in case more emergencies come in. To honor my commitment to keeping the clinic open until 2 AM like I promised the island.
Instead, I find myself walking to the front window. My hand hovers over the OPEN sign for a moment before I flip it to CLOSED. The click of the lock engaging sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet clinic.
“What are you doing?” Rach asks, though her tone suggests she already knows.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out rough, tired. “I told everyone we’d be available until two. They can go to the mainland clinic if?—”
“Sebastian.” She interrupts me with slow, deliberate applause. “It’s about damn time.”
I slump into one of the waiting room chairs, the plastic creaking under my weight. “I’m failing everyone.”
“You’re burning yourself out.” She sits beside me, her voice uncharacteristically serious. “You can’t keep this up, you know. You’ve been running on fumes for too long. You won’t be any good to your patients or yourself.”
Each word lands like a small blow because they’re all true. I know they’re true. But knowing and accepting are two very different things.
“This was only supposed to be temporary,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Just until we got more staff. Just until things settled down at the regular clinic. Just until...”
“Until when?” Rach challenges. “Until you collapse? Until you make a mistake because you’re too tired to think straight? Until you lose Flick because you’re never really present even when you’re with her?”
I scrub my hand down my face. Damn it. She’s right.
That last one hits hard. Because even when I’m with Flick, part of my mind is always elsewhere. Running through case notes. Worrying about the sanctuary funding. Planning the next day’s schedule. She deserves better than that. She deservessomeone who can be fully present, not just physically but emotionally.
“Go home,” Rach says again, standing. “Get some sleep.”
“I need to?—”
“You don’t need to do shit.” She places her hands on her hips, signaling that her word is final. “Everything will still be there tomorrow. And if it’s not?” She shrugs. “Then maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Not everything has to happen right now, Sebastian. Some dreams can wait until you’re in a place to actually enjoy achieving them.”
“Fine,” I mutter. Though, as I collect my things and close up the emergency clinic, I can’t shake the feeling that all my work and effort have led to the most unexpected outcome.
I’m a failure.
At home, I stand in my shower until the hot water runs out, letting the steam and heat work on muscles I didn’t realize were so tense. The bathroom mirror is completely fogged when I step out, and I’m grateful to avoid my reflection. I know what I’d see: hollow eyes, stress lines, the face of a man trying to be everything to everyone and succeeding at none of it.
I pull on old gym shorts and a soft T-shirt, the familiar clothes a small comfort. The house feels too quiet, too empty. I almost feel like a stranger here.
In the kitchen, I open the refrigerator out of habit more than hunger. The same groceries stare back at me—frozen foods and quick snacks. I can’t remember the last time I cooked a meal.
I don’t even go grocery shopping anymore. I have a saved list of groceries that gets delivered automatically each week.
That’s what my whole life is like now. Predictable. Automatic.
I close the fridge and start a load of laundry instead, needing something productive to do with my hands. My head is pounding from fatigue, but I’m too wound up to sleep. The washing machine hums to life, and I find myself standing in my living room, unsure what to do with myself.
This is the problem with slowing down. Without the constant motion, without the endless tasks and emergencies and obligations, I’m left with just myself. And I’m not sure I like what I find.
I grab my laptop opening Netflix, I scroll through movie after movie. Nothing grabs me. Changing gears, I decide to work on the sanctuary funding proposal. But when I open the document, I find myself staring at the screen, unable to focus on the words. Rach’s voice echoes in my head: “Some dreams can wait until you’re in a place to actually enjoy achieving them.”
What if she’s right? What if I’m so focused on building something for the future that I’m missing what’s right in front of me?
My phone sits on the coffee table. It’s after midnight, so checking on Flick is out of the question. But Ben... He’s had insomnia his whole life, so I know that he’s up. He’s always been the one I turn to when things get complicated. He’s also the one who’ll tell me the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it.
