To Love Serenity (Fated Tides)

CHAPTER ONE

Death, Revival & Everything Between

SERENITY

THE ER FEELS like a constant burst of panic, guilt, and horror- especially when you’re on top of a dead person.

I start my break by pulling my hair back into a bun. My biggest problem at work is keeping every strand of hair tucked behind my ears. I can’t frame my face, put on fake eyelashes, or wear long nails.

I stand in front of the rectangular mirror, rubbing my hands together in a circular motion under scorching hot water. Once my hands feel squeaky clean, I travel back to the breakroom to fix the laces on my plain sneakers.

I’m used to the bareness of my face and clothes. I forget about it when I deal with my first impatient patient of the night, but I wish I could look a little more lively. Sometimes I worry my smile isn’t big enough to reassure worried families and sick patients.

Nothing compares to the nights when I can’t bring myself to smile at all. The nights when the ER doors would slide open and the blaring sirens echoed too close.

Nothing compared to that night. The night multiple paramedics pushed in a stretcher, shouting updates on the patient’s status. When my heart dropped so deep into my stomach, I could’ve sworn it spilled out and hit the floor. That empty feeling as I took over for the paramedic, jumped onto the stretcher, and pounded my heavy hands into a cold chest. Nothing compared to looking up at the woman’s face, only to realize it was my sister. Dead under me. As I tried to pump her full of the life I knew she lost long before she died.

There’s a tap on my shoulder. It’s like someone throws a flashbang in my face. The shade of a cartoon duck covers my old friend from head to toe.

Maggie’s smile hits her eyes. “You look like you’re having war flashbacks, girl. You okay?”

“Yeah.” I give her a tired smile.

Honestly, I don’t know what okay means anymore. I’m on my third night of twelve-hour shifts. Drowning in my yawns, and there’s a strong possibility I’ll need Q-tips to hold up my eyelids.

“Don’t stress so much, sugar. You’re doing fine.” Maggie sets her hand on my shoulder, shaking it lightly.

Stay awake, Serenity.

After this shift, I can go home and sleep in my cozy bed.

I blink a few times to make sure I still can. When I’m exhausted, I wonder if my body can even move. Then I repeat the same mediocre thoughts of willpower, so I can keep going.

I rise from the plastic gray chair and the back of my thighs tingle until they’re awake.

Maggie lifts an eyebrow. “Your break isn’t over yet.”

She brings a coffee mug up to her lips. Both of her brittle hands cling to the mug. As if it’s the last existing coffee on planet earth.

“It’s busy today, Mag.”

She grins, taking a big sip of her hopefully not-last coffee. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

My stomach fills with little sparks of joy.

“Oh, Serenity?”

I turn back to face Maggie. She pushes her braids out of her face and sets her mug down on the counter. “Remember to breathe, honey.”

I do as she says. Taking on one big inhale and pushing it out through my mouth.

Maggie is the ER’s head nurse. She’s held that title for two decades. I completed my internship under her guidance.

Since my first day as a baby nurse, she’s treated me like her own child. Her sixtieth birthday is in four months, and I still don’t know what to get her. All our conversations morph into therapy sessions. Usually, Maggie throws in a story or two.

I love Maggie to death, and I’m happy I’m someone she can rant to, but if she could rant about a certain plant, maybe an antique dish, a dog? Just once. That would be great.

An older woman catches my attention and I’m drawn back to reality. She’s sitting up in a hospital bed. Her hair is in loose curls, reaching just to her chin.

“Hi there. Do you need any help?” I stretch my smile and observe her for any visible injuries.

Her eyebrows furrow. “Well, you can put me in a proper room.”

She waves her hand out around her head. She’s in the middle of the hallway, along with many other people. Her arm keeps flicking in the air like she’s the Queen, deserving of the privilege.

“I’m sorry, the emergency room is packed tonight.”

I pick up her chart, scanning every detail on the pages. She’s only in her 50s, though she appears much older. She has deep lines that run from the corners of her nose down around her lips. There’s another line that links to the furrow of her brow. She’s here for a persistent headache. It’s lasted a few days.

“We need to keep any open rooms for emergencies.” I raise my shoulders to my ears, attempting to sound as nice as possible.

She sucks in a shallow breath, her collarbone strikes through her skin. “This is an emergency.”

“I understand, Mrs. Dover, you’re experiencing headaches,” I tilt my head. “Have you met with Dr. Fletcher?”

“Not headaches, migraines.” She points at me with a stern finger. “And Yes. Dr. Fletcher confirmed that a nurse will take me for a head scan.”

“We’ll need to wait until then. Can I get you anything in the meantime?” I clip her chart back onto the edge of her bed.

The wrinkles on the woman’s face grow deeper. “No.”

She spits out, “I don’t trust you nurses, anyway.”

With a forced smile on my face, I nod. I speed toward the Nurse’s desk. The woman’s icy stare is burning into my back. I’ve successfully forgotten about my appearance.

I take a deep breath. Just another day.

My last shift until I get a full day of sleep. I’ve gotten through this a thousand times before, and I’ll do it again.

“Hey, Rachel.” I tap my arm on the desk.

Rachel glances up, tucking a strand of ruby-red hair behind her ear. She doesn’t say a word, she just passes me my phone.

I regret looking at my phone the second I see the first notification. My grocery order has been canceled. Great!

I type in the string of numbers that I’ve memorized from the back of my bank card. Then my password, BabyIsnt-In-The-Corner222

I groan internally. One of my many loan payments came out. I forgot about it. I have a grand total of ninety-eight dollars for this week’s groceries. Which isn’t terrible until I consider everything else I need to pay for this week. Like tampons. Why do I even have to pay for them? Plus all the Uber’s I take each week.

My deepest regret at the moment is selling my car, but I needed the money to afford my lawyer. My lawyer that I’ll lose if I can’t pay him for our next session.

There’s a knot forming in my throat.

“Are you okay?”

I lift my head from my stupid, stupid bank statements and find Rachel. “You seem like you’re about to cry, but you’re too dehydrated to shed tears.”

I croak out a laugh and brush over how fake it sounds. I put my phone back on the desk. “Everything’s fine.”

My sentence repeats in my head a few times. Then I think about my warm bed once more. I’ll be fine after this shift. I can hold off my worries for another day.

Rachel holds my gaze for a moment. I won’t fess up. I let the lump of my problems stay nested in my throat. She nudges her head, returning her attention to the computer screen.

***

I spend the next while inserting an IV into a little boy’s arm. He decided it was the perfect time to ride his skateboard down his staircase.

“I’m gonna be in the hospital forever?” his lower lip pouts.

I stare into his emerald eyes, the smallest tears filling his waterline, gently rolling down his cheeks. My arms ache to wrap around the small boy. His curious mind has the better of him.

“No, but you hit your head, so we want to keep you overnight.” I bring my hand to his cheek, wiping away the tears.

“It’s like a sleepover,” I reassure, then I narrow my eyes. “Can I tell you a secret?”

His hair swirls around his face as he nods.

“I’m actually part nurse, part secret agent, and I need a sidekick.”

His face lights up. He leans towards my ear, his eyes fall to his mother, and he whispers, “Can I be your sidekick?”

“Only if you promise to stay in bed and rest.”

I stand up straight, placing my hands on my hips. “I can’t have an injured sidekick.”

He brings his hand up to his head, saluting me.

My pager dings.

“Thank you.” His mother holds out her hands in a prayer shape, and smudged mascara covers her eyes.

“Someone will stop by soon to bring him upstairs. It might be me. Things are all over the place tonight.” I wave my hand.

“Also,” I bring my hands to my eyes, mirroring where her mascara has smudged, “Your mascara.”

She jumps, instantly digging into her leather purse. “Thank you, again.”

My pager dings. And dings. And dings.

I unclip it from my waistband. My heart flutters. As soon as my night slows down, it seems to speed right back up.

I tightly smile. “I’ll be back.”

The way I dash behind the curtain says that’s a lie, but there’s no time to waste.

Someone’s overdosed.

I became a nurse for my mother. What seemed like every night, she’d tell heroic stories of her saving lives. She never took a breath to talk about something other than her nursing career. She left out all the details of how stressful nursing is. The snobby patients who question if I’m capable of inserting an IV. My mother definitely didn’t mention the endless nights of tears after witnessing someone in pain, or take their last breath.

The smell of sanitizer strikes my nose. I pass by more people scattered in the hallways. There’s a few people who are asleep, the rest look exhausted.

I slide open a curtain, and there’s Maggie, hooking up an mCPR. My best friend, Jimena, is doing compressions.

My eyes drop to the limp body. His eyes are closed. His deep brown hair falls in natural, messy waves. It looks matted. I can’t tell if he likes it that way, or if he hasn’t had the strength to care for himself. I can’t ask. He’s unresponsive. Dead.

I reach across Jimena and grab the scissors from the tray. She releases her hands from his chest, holding them up beside her. I twist the fabric of his shirt into my two fingers.

He’s in a light gray T-shirt. His arms have scabs all over them. A few seem new, the rest are like they’ve been etched into his skin for years. The most prevalent ones are small circles where he’s pricked his skin.

“Have you paged Fletcher?” I ask in a panic.

Maggie is holding onto the two handles of the mCPR as Jimena squirts gel onto them.

“Yes, I have.”

Maggie scans my features. I know she sees the fear circling my pupils, the horrid feeling deep in my soul filling every speck in my eyes. The way my hands shake before I force them into control.

She knows how OD cases affect me. She was there that night. I snap my gaze away from hers. I cut into his shirt, and Jimena unfolds the material.

“Jimena, I’ll continue with compressions.”

Jimena doesn’t complain, she nods. She lets me. Jimena was there that night, too. She takes the handles from Maggie, stretching the twirled cords as far as she can, and places the machine against his chest.

“Clear.” She glances around the room.

“ Clear .”

His body jolts. The monitor beeps. Then returning to a flatline. I lower my hands onto his chest. I can still feel the warmth in his body through my gloves.

Then Caleb Fletcher walks in. I don’t see him at first, but the irritated thrash of the curtain, the angry sigh as he witnesses what is in front of him- I know it’s Dr. Fletcher.

“What’s his name?” His voice is flatter than a wooden plank.

“John Doe.” Maggie’s response sends a pang to my chest.

“Some employees found him in the Chinese buffet on Market Street.” Another pang.

“He looks to be in his early 20s.” Pang.

Caleb walks around me. He brushes his arm against my back, sending an unwanted chill up my spine. Caleb Fletcher is the head doctor of both the ER and our treatment clinic upstairs. He’s also my ex-boyfriend and an asshat.

“He’s an addict.” His words are blunt. As if John Doe being an addict makes his life worthless.

I lift my hands from the stiff chest, and Jimena shoots another wave to his heart. He jolts. He goes limp.

“How long has he been out for?”

Maggie looks up at the clock. “About three minutes now.”

Each push, I like to imagine, is sending a piece of my life into his.

Caleb mutters under his breath. Any other day, I would’ve left the room. I want to punch him. I want to back away and wash off the ugly tingle that’s resting on my back where he touched, but the limp man is my priority.

If the man was sitting up, if he was breathing, his wavy hair would reach his eyebrows. From the expression on John Doe’s face, I can’t tell if he’s scared or peaceful. I can’t tell if he wants to live or if he wants to die, but I want to find out.

I miss my sister. I miss the way she was before her addiction. Even at the beginning, when she started to crumble, she still looked at me like I was her baby sister.

I miss the way Delilah’s peers looked up to her in high school. I miss the things I used to hate, like how she’d scare off every guy that approached me. Or when she stayed in our shared bathroom too long, screaming the most absurd music at the top of her lungs. Or the day she dumped an entire bag of flour on the floor and blamed me.

That protective, annoying older sister left. She became a different person. Enraged and fearful, but when she died under me, she was that same sweet sister I loved.

So this stranger means everything to me. I wonder how far he’s fallen. If he still looks at his loved ones with splashes of sympathy and tenderness. If he’s already so invested in his addiction that his eyes have lost their color. I wonder if anyone will come running through the curtain and scream out his name in pure sorrow. Is there anyone willing to allow him to breathe all the air in the room? People who love him?

Jimena moves in slow motion each time she rubs a new slab of gel between the two handles. I’m pumping into his chest, muttering desperate phrases under my breath that I don’t even register.

What brings me back is Maggie’s deep sigh. I know that sigh. The sigh of throwing the towel in. The sigh of failure. I snap my head towards her. A sympathetic smile fills her lips. The smile is for me. For me and my past. Not for the man.

I shake my head and glance over at Caleb. His jaw ticks. He crosses his arms over his chest.

He glances at the clock. “One more time.”

I lean so close to the man that my lips brush on his ear. “This is your last chance, alright?”

I can only hope he hears me. I can only do these compressions. If it was up to me, I’d break my soul into thousands of shards to save him, my sister, and other people who lost their light.

Jimena rubs the two handles together.

“I need your heart to beat.” My words are stern. I’m not asking the unconscious man to wake up. I’m demanding he does.

“Your heart is going to beat, and you can scream at me for letting it. I don’t care, do whatever you need to do, but you are not dying tonight, not under my care.”

I raise my hands from his chest. Jimena locks her gaze on me. She gives me one, confident nod.

I return the gesture. “Clear.”

She sends the last voltage to his heart. My hands return to his chest. He seems much colder than he did just minutes ago.

I push and I beg. My hands press deeper, and I continue begging.

I keep pressing. I keep begging.

The room falls silent. All I see are my hands on his chest. I can hear the flatline, but it seems foreign. Distant. From another world.

“Serenity,” Maggie calls out. She feels too far away.

My tears fall onto my hands. I didn’t even notice them push up against my eyes.

Did he want to die? Or was he just trying to find a way to live?

“Serenity, that’s enough.” Caleb places his hand on my shoulder, and he tries to nudge me away. I force my shoulder away from his grasp.

“We still have a minute,” my voice cracks.

Caleb leans forward and glares at my tearful face. “I thought I told you to stop letting work interfere with your emotions.”

“We still have a minute,” I snap. “Shock him again.”

I look towards Maggie and Jimena. They turn to Caleb, because they can’t shock the dead man without Caleb’s permission.

Why does he get a say when he’s never given a shit?

“Serenity, enough. He’s just some junkie. It’s too risky to shock him again.”

“If he’s just some junkie, why do you care if we shock him again?” I grit my teeth, my eyes digging into Caleb’s soul. “Shock him!”

Maggie picks up the handles. “Caleb,” she tilts her head at him.

I’m still doing my compressions. I’m still begging.

“Go ahead, I don’t care.” Isn’t he just so professional?

Maggie rushes to my opposite side. “Do you have faith, girl?”

I lift my hands from his chest. She slams the handles onto his skin.

I crane my neck to the side, glaring into Caleb’s eyes, “I have more than enough faith.”

A line creases in the center of Caleb’s forehead.

Maggie grins at me, nodding at Jimena to turn up the voltage.

This is his last chance. Maggie clicks the handles. His limp body jolts. I return to him as quickly as I left. My rhythm is steady. I count down the seconds.

“Please,” I whisper.

My tears fall. They splash against his skin.

“Please, just beat.”

It becomes just the two of us again. I feel like I’m floating. No one else matters to me as much as this stranger. It’s just him, I, and his flatline.

Wake up.

He has something to live for, please. He just needs to find it. His soul is worth this life. Let him come back to it.

Live. Live. Please. Just. Live.

Beep.

Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You’re alive.

I don’t know his name. Or his story. Or if he’ll hate me for this.

I don’t know how any of this works. Why God decides who lives and who dies. I can’t explain it to myself, him, or anyone. But he’s alive. That dead heart is pumping again, filling his infected veins with clean blood.

You’re alive.