break my bones, but you won't see me fall

chloe giry here, though my da usually calls me dolly. 24 year old aussie, usually found either behind a desk or in a bed at the hospital. sorry to disappoint, but i'm afraid that's about it, unless you also like collecting teacups and copies of jane eyre in which case we'll have lots to talk about.

[tearsinmyteacup]

@chloedoll: One day simply isn't enough. Today, like every day, is dedicated to my mother. I miss her.

[shotgunlxver]

↳INSTAGRAM: @stanleyvegetables uploaded a photo:

Cosette told me my first post had to be a selfie. #domirrorselfiescount #instagram

[tearsinmyteacup]

@chloedoll: Ahh, so handsome!

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

You’re more than welcome, but I can’t promise Gus will share his Red Vines.

I wouldn’t dare to make him part with them! Although odds are if it’s my day off, you’ll still find me around the building.

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

I beg to differ! I hate having an appointment on your day off.

If you wanted, I’d go with you.

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

My smiling welcome when I was eight wasn’t so bad, but you’re right. There were no soothing Australian vowels to came be down.

I think you’re on top of it without needing me.

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

We were eight, and that’s when your way started to scared me as a bean.

Yes, well, I wasn’t there to be your smiling welcome back then so it’s understandable.

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

I love him even when I’m cleaning up his bloody noses.

You know you can send him our way for that?

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

My best friend, Jackson, was super tall when he was little. And he still got bullied. But that’s maybe because he tried to pick fights with the other kids who picked on the rest of us.

That sounds like a good, if reckless, best friend to have had.

[tearsinmyteacup]

wholxvesyou:

That, or he’s been through some bullying at school with a name like that.

I can’t imagine that, he was twice my height! Although you never know.

[tearsinmyteacup]

A young man asked for an appointment today and told me his name was ‘Ben Dover’. I booked him in, but I think he might have been playing a mean trick because he was laughing an awful lot for someone who was worried he had pneumonia. 

[newyorkcityheart]

Apparently, it wasn’t protocol to go out on a date with a black eye. Artie didn’t know where Rita had pulled her sources from, because he’d checked Buzzfeed and that website had said nothing about taking a girl for dinner whilst sporting a shiner, but given their dating expertise (Rita had way more than Artie’s grand total of zero), he had reason to believe that his best friend was maybe possibly sort of onto something. But he’d only accepted that through gritted teeth and with a petulant whine. 

“It’s not like Belle hasn’t seen me look like this before,” he reasoned. “Our meetcute wouldn’t have even happened if I wasn’t bleeding out of nearly every facial crevice.”

Even the monumental event of Artie-and-Belle-finally-going-on-a-date hadn’t been enough to keep Rita from drawing Artie a glare and marching him towards the nearest Duane Reade, Anya in tow because apparently their fellow street rat was the next Gucci Westman now that she was getting trained up to be a socialite by Dimitri and Vlad. The younger girl had seemed embarrassed about getting asked make-up advice, but she’d rolled her eyes and went along with it anyway because - and he’d only admit this under duress, and believe Artie, he held up well under extreme torture - nobody in their right mind was really willing to say no to Rita Park.

The two girls skulked off to find suitable powder or foundation or whatever the heck to cover up Artie’s bruise, and the boy was left to sulkily sit on one of the chairs near the front of the store - the ones designated for fathers in charge of unruly children while their wives went to explore the Maybelline section. 

“Just, whatever you do, don’t come back with blue eyeshadow. I can’t rock it like Rita can,” he called after them. They didn’t turn their heads which either meant they hadn’t heard him, or they were ignoring them. He knew which one was more likely and slumped in his chair, sharing a nod of solidarity with one of the aforementioned stressed out fathers who took one look at Artie and immediately drew his child closer to him. Trying hard not to be offended, Artie simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a tattered copy of Pride & Prejudice, ready to read it to pass the time.

Apparently the sight of Georgian Era literature extinguished any glaring red lights surrounding Artie’s character, as the parent by his side took a simple glance at the cover, and popped his earbuds in his ears to drown out his midlife crisis and silently mouthed something that definitely looked like the word ‘fruit’. Just as Artie was weighing the pros and cons of starting up a fight in the middle of Duane Reade, the asshole’s offspring toddled forward latched his gummy mouth around Artie’s book.

“Hey, watch it, kid. This isn’t candy,” he muttered grumpily. The infant held on firmly. How was he even doing that without teeth? 

“Is this why Anna Karenina hated her kid?” Artie made an ugh noise and continued to wrestle for purchase of his book with the absurdly strong child, when he got that tingling feeling orphans often got when they knew someone was watching them. Most people got that feeling, sure, but for orphans and kids of the unwanted variety, it usually meant danger. 

Artie looked up to see a blonde woman staring at him, her eyes round and blue with shock. She was staring at him and Popeye’s offspring, surprise and, weirdly enough, puzzlement etched clearly on her face. He stopped tugging at his saliva covered book for a moment to raise an eyebrow at her.

“It’s called a baby,” he said slowly. “See, when a man and woman love each other, they make a special wish and if Santa thinks they’ve been good this year, the stork comes and then.” He gestured to the child. “Sprog.”

“He’s not mine, by the way. I already got a sixteen-year-old from my special wish,” he shrugged.

[tearsinmyteacup]

Though it seemed to want to revolt against her on a daily basis, Chloe knew her own body. What was more, she knew and was on friendly terms with several medical professionals who knew her body. She knew at all times that she was on the best course of treatment for a practically untreatable disease, prescribed by Barry and run like clockwork by Minnie who would always stop by her desk to make sure that day’s vitamins and painkillers had been dutifully swallowed. Still, despite her numerous reassurances to her dad that the ibuprofen took away the dull ache of her bones and Stanley brought her nutritious meals whenever he could, she often found that she caved to his ideas for how to make things better even when she knew they were hopeless.

She hadn’t had any crises since long before Christmas, but the odd dizzy spell through January had had her dad on WebMD (despite the fact she patiently reminded him she worked with RealLifeMDs) until he’d convinced himself that iron tablets would help her anaemia. Touched as always by his concern and too tired to argue that iron deficiency wasn’t the problem, she’d absently kissed his head and promised to go to the pharmacy the next day. Not wanting to bother the hospital’s onsite pharmacist, who would have no doubt recognised her and kindly point out the uselessness of the product to her, she slipped Duane Reade. Her main objective was to make sure her dad didn’t think she was ignoring his attempts to help, and although she felt a bit deceitful in humouring him, she figured taking iron wouldn’t not help even if it wasn’t going to fix her haemoglobin issue like he thought it would.

After scouring the vitamin aisles, dutifully ducking her head when a shop assistant happened to come past in case he decided to ask if she needed any help, Chloe picked up the own brand iron tablets and decided to head to the tills. The route took her past the make up section and she couldn’t help a wistful look at the powders and palettes and lipsticks lined up in orderly fashion. Though she touched herself up to look smart for work, beauty products weren’t high on the hierarchy of the household spending. Between her work at the hospital and the three minimum wage jobs her dad juggled, they scraped enough for rent, food and bills, with leftovers saved where possible. She didn’t mind not having luxuries like make up, her guilty pleasures of books being easy enough to come by cheaply, especially since her hospital bills were a gaping hole they could never shovel enough money into. Still, it would be nice to occasionally try a new lipstick or eye shadow - although she supposed she could always ask Minnie, or Nicole if she was feeling more daring, for a sample if she really wanted.

As her gaze wandered over the rows of products, she couldn’t help but notice the small waiting area by the front of the store and found a young man slumped in one of the chairs with a battered book in hand. She was about to narrow her eyes to try make out the title, when she noticed the owner of it was sporting a violent black eye. 

Her natural reaction was to want to send him to Minnie or Victor to check the damage was all superficial, but without the safety of her desk surrounding her and giving her what little authority she had, she dreaded the thought of going up to him and suggesting it. He didn’t seem to be in pain, but she’d seen the aftermath of many a drunken brawl in her waiting room with a punch to the eye bursting blood vessels and causing all manner of nasty issues to the delicate organ. As she hovered, trying - and failing - not to be obvious with her concern, he stopped playing tug of war with the toddler beside him and looked up at her. 

“Oh!” Immediately, she flushed bright red, dropping her gaze to the floor. Without the Australian sun to stain her skin brown, her natural colouring combined with her illness made her skin pale with blushing an unfortunate side effect. 

Not understanding a word he said, or feeling like she’d missed the context for them entirely, she fidgeted uncomfortably. “Sorry, I- a sixteen year...?” She went even redder from embarrassment, although in the midst of muddling through his words she came to the conclusion that the little boy next to him wasn’t with him and was being a bit of a nuisance. A couple of stints covering in the paediatric ward had been an eye opening experience for her as an only child, but it also meant she knew a few good distraction techniques.

Rattling the bottle of tablets in her hand, she crouched to his level, the noise catching his attention as big blue eyes stared at her. The movement meant he had to let go of the book and Chloe smiled widely. Children were so much simpler to deal with than adults. A woman swept past her to the child a moment later, looking over at the source of entertainment as she swept him up, nudging the man who must have been the father and seemed to have been dozing off. 

“How sweet!” The mother cooed. “He just loves music.”

Chloe smiled shyly as the toddler was fussed over, relieved when the parents left, offspring in tow, and leaving the seat next to the baffling young man free. Joints complaining from being crouched down, she winced as she tried to straighten up, catching her hand on the chair to help her stand again. Her hips and knees didn’t agree with the motion at all, pain flaring familiarly in both areas as she pushed herself heavily into the chair, trying to keep her breaths slow and deep.

“Sorry.” She muttered to the guy next to her, knowing how ridiculous she must look. “I’ll just be a minute.”

[tearsinmyteacup]

@nicolettexo: @chloedoll It's not truly a fight until I've stomped my foot, babes.

@nicolettexo: @chloedoll A stiff drink?

@chloedoll: @nicolettexo Now that I'd like to see!

@chloedoll: @nicolettexo Ah, I don't think we have that in the medicine stockroom. Try again?

[tearsinmyteacup]

@nicolettexo: @chloedoll Just because I'm rubbing my temples very intensely doesn't mean we're fighting, doll!

@chloedoll: @nicolettexo Oh I know! My poor only child mind can't quite wrap itself around sibling bickering :)

@chloedoll: @nicolettexo Do you need anything for your head?

[tearsinmyteacup]

@chloedoll: Oh no, my Bingleys are fighting :(

[tearsinmyteacup]

@chloedoll: I'm not one for getting homesick, but seeing that it's 85 degrees in Queensland right now while snow falls outside my window does make me pine a little.

[tearsinmyteacup]

@lefouforyou: Grey's Anatomy has 'McSteamy' and 'McDreamy', Barry is our 'McBanging' (not my words), and Minnie has just informed me that I'm 'McTiny'.

@lefouforyou: I'm in need of some new friends and colleagues.

@misssuzette: False, you're McLovely.

@chloedoll: @lefouforyou @misssuzette I couldn't think of a Mc name better than Sherrie's, please don't get rid of me :(

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Jasmine Cephas Jones for Lou & Grey