Chapter 2
Three days later…
Twenty minutes later, the elevator doors slid open, and that hospital air hit Tasha like a cold ass shower.
Emerald City always had some shit happening.
Loud patient screaming, constant trauma codes, machines always beeping, phones ringing off the wall, and nurses with rubber soles squeaking down the tile as if there were water spilled on the floor.
Tasha placed the chart binder under her arm, pinned her badge to her scrub jacket, and headed to her assigned floor. She was barely three hours into a twelve-hour shift and already overworked.
“Morning, superstar,” Nurse Kenya yelled from the front desk, her gum popping like a drumline. She was Niyah's replacement after she left, but she wasn’t anything like her. It was something definitely off about Nurse Kenya; Tasha couldn’t put her hands on it just yet.
“Morning, girl. You lookin’ too happy for a Monday,” Tasha called back, sliding on gloves.
Kenya grinned. “That’s ‘cause I took PTO Friday. I’m well rested and full on the ‘D’.”
“Must be nice,” Tasha muttered. PTO felt like a rumor she’d heard once, not something real people got to use.
Her first stop was Room 212. Mr. Donald, a chronic line-puller, was halfway out of the bed, wires everywhere.
“Mr. Donald,” Tasha clapped her hands loudly. “What we not gon’ do is rip out these IVs again.” She caught the tubing just before it slipped loose. “You know yo veins are hard to thread with this needle.”
“I was just stre— stretching,” he grumbled.
“Stretch yo behind back in this bed, sir. They don’t pay me enough for all this back and forth.”
He snorted, which was close enough to a laugh. Tasha checked his vitals, jotted notes, and stood up, and then a rush of heat swept through her. The room tilted slightly, a small invisible earthquake. She gripped the rail until the feeling eased.
“Whoa,” she whispered. “What the hell?”
“You okay, Nurse Tasha?” The Patient Care Tech asked while she placed a fresh cup of ice water on the bedside table.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she lied, while forcing a thin smile. “Stood up too fast, I think.”
Her stomach cramped, with a dull twist. She eased it down, then finished documenting the chart, and hustled to the next patient.
At Emerald City, no two days were the same.
Old folks with stories, kids being fearful of the doctors, families camping out in the hard metal chairs.
Tasha usually would love the chaos. It meant she was doing something that mattered, but today the sounds were really getting to her.
A telemetry alarm was going off down the hall, a code got called on 3B, and the triage nurse was yelling out for the lab tech.
But Tasha moved through it the best way she knew how.
When noon came, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Her head was throbbing, her palms were slick. She slipped into the break room for a quick breather, dropping into a chair. The vending machine was the only sound in the room.
The door swung open, and Nurse Kenya stepped in with her hair swinging, salad in one hand, side-eye loaded. She stopped when she saw Tasha.
“Damn, I knew I’d find yo ass hidin’,” she said, setting her salad down and looking her over.
Tasha let out a short laugh. “Girl, I ain’t hidin’. Just takin’ a breather.”
Nurse Kenya tilted her head. “You don’t look too good. You sure you ain’t gettin’ sick?”
“It’s just hot in here.”
“The A/C is on full blast, Tasha. Ain’t nothin’ hot but that wig you sweatin’ under. It’s liftin’ too, girl.”
Tasha laughed, insisting. “I’m fine, Kenya.”
Nurse Kenya dragged a chair closer and pointed like a mama about to lecture. “Sit. Down. Before I call Dr. Madison up here myself.”
Tasha sighed but sat. Nurse Kenya slid a bottle of water toward her.
“You eat anything today?”
“Coffee,” Tasha said, knowing how dumb it sounded.
“Bitch, coffee ain’t food,” Nurse Kenya shot back.
Tasha cracked a grin. “You sound like Niyah ass.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll listen.” Nurse Kenya's eyes narrowed. “You been ‘just tired’ for weeks. What’s really up?”
The question hit deeper than Tasha liked. Nurse Kenya had a way of seeing through people’s poker faces. Tasha looked down, pretending to fix her badge.
Nurse Kenya chewed on her fork handle. “You better not be pregnant, ‘cause if you are, you know I can’t hold water, bitch.”
Tasha snorted, half-laugh, half-groan. “Fuck yeah, I know. If I was pregnant, I’d be dancin’ on the nurse’s station right now. That’s the damn problem. I ain’t. At least that’s what that cheap ass Dollar Tree test said.”
Nurse Kenya’s jaw dropped. “Oh…okay…”
The silence lingered for a moment, filled only by the sound of the running vending machine.
Tasha leaned her head back, her eyes on the ceiling like the truth might be written in the tiles.
They’d been trying to start a family for years.
Every late period felt like hope knocking, just for disappointment to answer the door.
Tasha finally forced a smile. “Anyway, I just need rest. I’ma finish this shift and crash as soon as I get home.”
Nurse Kenya pointed her fork like a weapon. “You better. And if you pass out on this floor, I’m tellin’ everybody you were high on Benadryl.”
They cracked up, the tension dissolving.
Then Tasha stood, and her knees gave. The world blurred. She grabbed the chair to steady herself, blinking hard.
Nurse Kenya’s salad hit the floor. “Aye, uh-uh. Sit yo ass down, Tash! My salad was gettin’ good, too, damnnn.”
“I’m sorry,” Tasha apologized, even though her voice sounded far away. “Just moved too fast. My bad.”
Nurse Kenya gripped her shoulders. “Girl, you're not fine. Look at you, sweatin’ like a hoe in church. Or should I say me.”
Tasha gave a shaky laugh. “You stupid.”
“I’m serious. You need to go over to employee health. I’m not playing.”
Tasha nodded, mostly to shut her up. “Alright, mama Kenya.”
“Good. And don’t make me wheel yo ass down there myself, girl,” Nurse Kenya said, dead serious as she picked up the remaining salad off the floor.
The rest of the day blurred. Tasha worked on autopilot, pulling meds, wiping foreheads, comforting families, and charting like a machine. Her smile stayed fixed, her voice soft, her pace steady. Inside, the cramps kept pulsing, and the nausea came and went like a tide.
By the time the clock hit 4:00 PM, the "pulsing" turned into a white-hot serrated knife twisting in her abdomen. She leaned against the cold metal of the medication cart in the quiet hallway of the West Wing, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle. She was breaking.
She looked left, then right. The hallway was empty, and the only sound was from a distant hum of the industrial floor buffer.
I just need to get through the shift, she whispered to herself. Just one pill to stop the pain.
She swiped her badge, the electronic lock clicking open with a sound that felt like a gunshot in the silence. Her hands trembled as she pulled the drawer for the heavy hitters, the stuff that didn't just dull the pain but erased it.
She spotted some Oxycodones and, with a practiced flick of her thumb, she popped one pill out, sliding it into the palm of her hand.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she thought it might bruise her chest. She knew it was wrong.
But she was in pain, and the gift shop was closed for the day.
By six, the floor was still wild. A patient in 4C needed turning, a baby in 5A needed vitals, and charting was stacked up. Tasha kept moving, her feet aching, her body screaming for a chair.
Nurse Kenya stayed on her case, dropping off water, sneaking snacks, side-eyeing her from across the nurses’ station. Every time she’d start with, “Girl, you need to get checked out,” Tasha deflected with a joke or a smile. She had a talent for pretending to be fine.
When her shift finally ended, it felt like someone had peeled the weight off her back. She gave the rundown to the oncoming nurse, then clocked out and stepped into the night air. The city outside the hospital looked softer, dimmer, almost kind.
Nurse Kenya walked beside her, with her jacket in one hand. The lights from the parking lot made everything cinematic, like the moment in a movie when the lead finally gets a breather.
“Text me,” she said, bumping her arm. “Let me know how you feelin’. Her tone was gentle now, more concerned.
Tasha smiled, tired. “I will.” They both knew she meant probably not. Tasha was stubborn that way. Always trying to be the strong one.
By the time she got into her car, the relief hit her hard. She sank into the seat, exhaling. She was glad that the night was coming to an end. She opened her phone and typed:
Tasha:
You up? I’m finally off. I’m on my way home.
She hit send and waited, watching the screen for those three dots to appear, but nothing. He didn’t reply. She rolled her eyes, muttered “whatever, Jue,” and started the car engine.
Traffic was light. The city lights stretched into streaks, reflections sliding across her windshield. The fatigue came back heavier, spreading behind her eyes. Her hand pressed to her lower stomach, that same dull ache whispering again.
By the time Tasha pulled into the driveway, all the lights in the house were off except the TV’s blue flicker bleeding through the curtains. His car was parked crooked, the door barely shut. Sign number one, he’d been out too damn long.
She slipped her shoes off quietly and eased inside.
The living room smelled like Backwoods, liquor, and that cologne he always overdid when he hit the block.
Juelz was slumped on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, chain glinting against his bare chest. A half-empty bottle sat on the table next to his dead ass phone.
Tasha stood there a second, shaking her head. “Mm-hmm… same story,” she muttered. She pulled the blanket off the recliner and draped it over him. His eyes blinked open halfway.