I’m hungry. But food seems to require too much energy to prepare, even ripping open a protein bar or popping some popcorn in the microwave, or reheating leftovers. It’s all too hard. I toss my purse on the island, fish my phone out of it, shuck my hoodie and leave it on the island with my purse—I’m going back to work in less than six hours anyway. No point in putting them away. I trudge upstairs. My footsteps scuff loudly on the carpet, and when I touch the doorknob to open my bedroom door, I’m shocked by a burst of static electricity, bright blue-white in the darkness of the hall. Sometimes, if I remember, I leave the TV on in our bedroom, just for the semblance of welcome.

I neglected to make the bed this morning. Only one side is mussed, slept in. Adrian has been on a research trip to the East Coast for the past week. Even though I’m dead on my feet, I force myself to bypass the bed. I have to shower, and scrub the day away. I strip out of my scrubs and drape them on the seaman’s chest at the foot of our bed, for tomorrow. Toss my sports bra, underwear, and socks in the hamper. Turn the shower on and let it run to scalding and brush my teeth and scrape a brush through my hair.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Black hair, so thick I’ve broken brushes trying to drag them through the waves. It hangs to my shoulder blades, dry and loose and brushed out. Shimmers, glistens. Adrian says he fell in love with my hair first, and then with the rest of me. I don’t blame him—if I’m vain about anything it’s my hair. It’s never felt the touch of chemicals, and I religiously trim the split ends, condition, brush it out every night the way Mom used to. My olive skin is naturally tan and tans darker at even the least glimmer of sun. I’m slender, maybe a bit too slender, and my ribs show. But I’ve got abs, which is nice considering I never work out. I always drop weight when Adrian travels. I work twelve to eighteen hours a day as many days in a row as Dr. Wilson will let me, and I often either forget or don’t have time to eat.

I’ve been spacing out in front of the mirror for…I don’t know how long. Long enough that the bathroom is fogged with steam.

I linger in the shower long after I’ve shampooed and conditioned and scrubbed my skin. I soak up the warmth, let it loosen my tight muscles.