18. Lies
Chapter eighteen
Lies
Drake
“Call it.”
“Time of death, thirteen twenty-eight...”
The nurse continues to ramble on as I strip the bloody nitrile gloves from my hands and toss them into the nearest trashcan. Another one lost, another life I couldn’t save. Either I’m getting worse at my job or Fate doesn’t want me to save people anymore.
It’s been a strange time since I last spoke with Edward.
I’ve made a point of staying away from there as much as possible since Maria works for him now and things are already strained between us.
I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, having her out of sight and hopefully out of mind.
But every time Edward shows up and talks about his son, I can’t help but imagine Maria there with him, looking happy and smiling.
My heart sinks in my chest whenever I remember I might never be able to bring her that: joy.
Not after our first meeting and definitely not after that night I spent at Edward’s place.
But as much as I want to pack up my feelings and throw them into the trash, some pathetic part of me wants to keep holding on.
Out of some sick hope that I could change what she thinks of me eventually.
I stumble into the break room to grab a bottle of water and give myself a break from the stress of yet another death. I will say one thing: ever since my conversation with Ed, I’ve been giving myself more time off so that I don’t have another mental breakdown.
And that time away means I can do whatever I want and I don’t have to explain to myself.
No one’s going to ask me any questions either, knowing that I need the time and space for myself and that they won’t judge.
Ever since Edward found out, things have actually been a little easier for me.
No more questions about my day, no more checking up on me to see if I’m okay.
I pull Chelsea’s number up on my phone and wonder if I should call. I shake my head and tuck it back into my pocket.
I’ve been lying about going to therapy all this time.
Their concerns were for nothing; I could stop taking those pills whenever I want.
In fact, it’s been a month since I last wrote myself a script.
Who knew that a few mini vacations were all I needed to let my brain function again?
That month's break has given me the confidence that I can quit whenever I want, that I’m not just some strung-out junkie who can’t function on any given day.
I can still have my moment and get my work done.
They don’t have to be mutually exclusive, one or the other. I can have my cake and eat it too.
Still... that wonderful bliss it gives me is something I can’t deny. Feeling as if I’m in another world, with not a care on my shoulders... It’s a nice escape now and again.
Especially during moments like these. It wouldn’t hurt just one more time.
I pull out the phone again and look up a patient’s chart. Perfect.
I head out to the pharmacy and ask for a refill for a patient’s prescription: a three-day supply.
That way I can have my last hurrah and then go into therapy.
No one would be the wiser. One last mental parade before I lock myself in and deal with my demons.
No one could blame me for that, could they?