Closer to the Edge
Page 4
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The last thing I remember before I black out is Hoss shaking his head, complaining about having to carry my ass all the way to the retrieval point.
As I close my eyes and let the darkness wash over me, my only thought is of going home and begging her to take me back.
GRABBING THE TWO caramel macchiatos from the counter, I thank the barista and walk over to a corner table in the small coffee house. As soon as I sit down, the bell above the door chimes and my best friend, Parker, rushes in. Her eyes scan the room until she spots me, a huge smile lighting up her face.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. Annie has officially hit the terrible two’s. She threw herself on the floor in front of the door and screamed like she was on fire when I tried to leave,” Parker explains as she flops down next to me, grabbing one of the coffee cups and taking a healthy sip.
I met Parker several years ago when she was a patient at the hospital I worked. Broken and alone, the stubborn little shit initially refused the friendship I tried to give her, but it didn’t take much to get her to crack. When she’s had a few drinks and her soft side comes out, she likes to reminisce about how I forced my way into her life and saved her. Nowadays, I’m the sappy one. I wouldn’t have survived the last year without her by my side.
“So are you excited about starting your new job tomorrow?” she asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
I sigh, wrapping my hands around the paper cup to warm them. “Yeah, I’m overcome with excitement about the prospect of changing some crotchety old man’s bed pans while he either yells at me or tries to grab my ass.,” I deadpan.
At Parker’s sympathetic look, I quickly paste on a fake smile so she doesn’t feel bad for me. I certainly don’t want her to think I’m ungrateful for the job her husband, Garrett, pulled a lot of strings to get it for me. I just never thought that the career and reputation I’d worked so hard to build would be ripped right out of my hands, or that I’d have to practically beg someone to hire me for the job I was born to do. A wave of sadness washes over me when I think about the fact that I’ll never set foot on an ICU floor again. It’s strange for some people to grasp; it’s one of the most depressing floors to work on, but that never mattered to me. I loved being a nurse, I loved my job and I loved the people I worked with. I enjoyed taking care of people who were close to the edge of letting go, helping them slowly build themselves back up so they could eventually move out of the ICU ward and fully heal.
“Hey, being an at-home-nurse has some advantages. You can catch up on soap operas while your patients sleep and snoop through their closets,” Parker says with a laugh.
“Right, because some old, rich guy who lives in La Jolla is going to have a closet full of amazing shoes,” I reply with a shake of my head.
The smile slips from Parker’s face and she reaches over, resting her hand on top of mine. “Look, I know this isn’t your ideal job. What happened at UC San Diego was total bullshit and everyone who works there can go fuck themselves. Even though that bitch tried to ruin your life, you’re still here, still standing and you’re going to show her once and for all that you’re better than her.”
Vivien Vargas is the bitch in question. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart when I think about what I allowed her to do to me at a time when I was weak and naïve. She was my one link to him, the tiny little sliver of connection to the man who walked away from me, and trusting her cost me everything. I foolishly believed our shared love for him would bring us closer, forge a bond to keep his memory alive even though he shattered my heart when he left. Even though he walked away without looking back, he had left something behind that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Vivien knew that and she took advantage of it.
I clear my thoughts before I do something stupid like break down in the middle of the coffee shop. I spent the last three months not eating, barely sleeping and just generally feeling sorry for myself and the mess my life had become. With the help of my friends, I’m moving on once and for all. I’m putting the past behind me, where it belongs, and I’m starting fresh.
“You’re going to be fine, hon,” Parker reminds me. “The board reinstated your license after Garrett threatened to fuck up all of their lives. You’re still a nurse, doing what you love to do. I know you loved that place, but UC San Diego held too many bad memories. I’m glad that you don’t have to walk through those doors again.”
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t lessen the pain. The six months leading up to the day everything went to shit were some of the hardest I’d ever faced. I felt the ghost of his presence in every corner of my world, including the hospital, a place that had always been my refuge. Everywhere I looked, instead of seeing the family lounge where we where shared meals he insisted upon bringing me or the supply closet where we shared more than a few private moments, I saw the look on his face when he said good-bye in front of the nurses station the day he ripped my heart out of my chest with his bare hands and stomped all over it. The days I’d spent as a patient in that place hold enough horrible memories that I’m grateful I will never have to walk through those doors again. I’d never felt more sympathy for my old patients than during that week spent in the midst of my own personal hell, lying in a hospital bed and wishing I could die along with everything else in my life that had been ripped away. It hurt to be there; it hurt my heart and it hurt my soul. No matter where I looked, all I saw was everything that I’d lost.
As I close my eyes and let the darkness wash over me, my only thought is of going home and begging her to take me back.
GRABBING THE TWO caramel macchiatos from the counter, I thank the barista and walk over to a corner table in the small coffee house. As soon as I sit down, the bell above the door chimes and my best friend, Parker, rushes in. Her eyes scan the room until she spots me, a huge smile lighting up her face.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. Annie has officially hit the terrible two’s. She threw herself on the floor in front of the door and screamed like she was on fire when I tried to leave,” Parker explains as she flops down next to me, grabbing one of the coffee cups and taking a healthy sip.
I met Parker several years ago when she was a patient at the hospital I worked. Broken and alone, the stubborn little shit initially refused the friendship I tried to give her, but it didn’t take much to get her to crack. When she’s had a few drinks and her soft side comes out, she likes to reminisce about how I forced my way into her life and saved her. Nowadays, I’m the sappy one. I wouldn’t have survived the last year without her by my side.
“So are you excited about starting your new job tomorrow?” she asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
I sigh, wrapping my hands around the paper cup to warm them. “Yeah, I’m overcome with excitement about the prospect of changing some crotchety old man’s bed pans while he either yells at me or tries to grab my ass.,” I deadpan.
At Parker’s sympathetic look, I quickly paste on a fake smile so she doesn’t feel bad for me. I certainly don’t want her to think I’m ungrateful for the job her husband, Garrett, pulled a lot of strings to get it for me. I just never thought that the career and reputation I’d worked so hard to build would be ripped right out of my hands, or that I’d have to practically beg someone to hire me for the job I was born to do. A wave of sadness washes over me when I think about the fact that I’ll never set foot on an ICU floor again. It’s strange for some people to grasp; it’s one of the most depressing floors to work on, but that never mattered to me. I loved being a nurse, I loved my job and I loved the people I worked with. I enjoyed taking care of people who were close to the edge of letting go, helping them slowly build themselves back up so they could eventually move out of the ICU ward and fully heal.
“Hey, being an at-home-nurse has some advantages. You can catch up on soap operas while your patients sleep and snoop through their closets,” Parker says with a laugh.
“Right, because some old, rich guy who lives in La Jolla is going to have a closet full of amazing shoes,” I reply with a shake of my head.
The smile slips from Parker’s face and she reaches over, resting her hand on top of mine. “Look, I know this isn’t your ideal job. What happened at UC San Diego was total bullshit and everyone who works there can go fuck themselves. Even though that bitch tried to ruin your life, you’re still here, still standing and you’re going to show her once and for all that you’re better than her.”
Vivien Vargas is the bitch in question. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart when I think about what I allowed her to do to me at a time when I was weak and naïve. She was my one link to him, the tiny little sliver of connection to the man who walked away from me, and trusting her cost me everything. I foolishly believed our shared love for him would bring us closer, forge a bond to keep his memory alive even though he shattered my heart when he left. Even though he walked away without looking back, he had left something behind that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Vivien knew that and she took advantage of it.
I clear my thoughts before I do something stupid like break down in the middle of the coffee shop. I spent the last three months not eating, barely sleeping and just generally feeling sorry for myself and the mess my life had become. With the help of my friends, I’m moving on once and for all. I’m putting the past behind me, where it belongs, and I’m starting fresh.
“You’re going to be fine, hon,” Parker reminds me. “The board reinstated your license after Garrett threatened to fuck up all of their lives. You’re still a nurse, doing what you love to do. I know you loved that place, but UC San Diego held too many bad memories. I’m glad that you don’t have to walk through those doors again.”
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t lessen the pain. The six months leading up to the day everything went to shit were some of the hardest I’d ever faced. I felt the ghost of his presence in every corner of my world, including the hospital, a place that had always been my refuge. Everywhere I looked, instead of seeing the family lounge where we where shared meals he insisted upon bringing me or the supply closet where we shared more than a few private moments, I saw the look on his face when he said good-bye in front of the nurses station the day he ripped my heart out of my chest with his bare hands and stomped all over it. The days I’d spent as a patient in that place hold enough horrible memories that I’m grateful I will never have to walk through those doors again. I’d never felt more sympathy for my old patients than during that week spent in the midst of my own personal hell, lying in a hospital bed and wishing I could die along with everything else in my life that had been ripped away. It hurt to be there; it hurt my heart and it hurt my soul. No matter where I looked, all I saw was everything that I’d lost.
