Sweet Heart

Chapter 01 - Mary

Mary

The cool, artificial light of the ER floods out as soon as the doors glide open with a challenging hiss.

The airflow feels almost as chilly as the blue hue.

Uninviting, distant, cold. I don’t want to be here.

I shouldn’t be here and yet I am. It’s not too late to turn around, is it?

My finger twitches in response to my inner turmoil, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I really don’t want to do this.

I bite my lip and open my eyes again before stepping inside.

The sour smell of sweat and vomit mixed with a strong chemical odor almost immediately hits me in the face.

Normally I’d crinkle my nose at such a foul, penetrating scent, but I brush my fingertips against the wall instead before pressing on and walking through the second pair of sliding doors.

The room tilts slightly as I make my way to the intake desk.

The loud cries of an inconsolable baby pierce my ears, and I instantly squeeze my eyes closed at the horrid sound. I really, really don’t want to be here.

Why I left the house without checking my glucose is beyond me.

I usually do. Last night was hectic, and I was running all over town on barely any food.

I should have known better. But I didn’t.

Instead, I just went on my usual fasted walk this morning.

I didn’t even realize what was happening until my stomach loudly protested and the edges of my sight started to fray.

So fucking stupid. And with no snack, no money, and at least a forty-minute walk back home, I had no other choice but to come here.

The desk is right there. Five more steps.

I steady my breathing and rub the palms of my hands over my thighs.

Four more steps. Another deep breath and a shaky exhale.

I am not going to make a scene. I’ll politely ask them for a quick test. In and out.

Nothing more. Three more steps. A shoulder brushes against my own and a sharp edge hits my bicep.

I wince but am already stammering my apology before glancing up.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

A tall, dark-haired woman dressed in a formidable suit under a white coat holds on tightly to her clipboard.

Her lips are pressed together and her eyebrows are knitted in a frown that tells me I just rudely interrupted her.

I can’t help but stare, even if only for a moment.

She looks so angry and poised that my stomach flips, and I am not sure if that’s good or bad.

Her eyes flick up to meet mine. They are the rich color of burnt umber, but lack any warmth.

Her gaze is cold and razor-sharp, the expression on her face unreadable.

She doesn’t smile, not even when I offer her a weak one of my own.

Instead, she studies my face intently before looking down at her clipboard again. Okay then.

I turn, walk the remaining steps toward the desk, and press my shaking hands against the wooden frame to steady myself. The triage nurse is typing away rapidly on her computer and doesn’t even raise her eyes to greet me.

“Hi, excuse me, I was wondering…”

“Fill out the form.” She nods in the direction of a small stack of papers without taking her eyes from the screen. “And take a seat. We’ll take your vitals when a doctor becomes available.”

“Oh, I… I don’t really need to see… I am just dropp—”

“Fill. In. The. Form. And. Take. A. Seat.”

The nurse drags out every word, her voice droning in my ears, before she puts a pen on top of the stack of papers. Her eyes are still glued to her computer, and her fingers move rapidly over the keyboard.

A darkness starts to creep in, and I have to blink a few times to keep it at bay. I quickly glance at the waiting area. There are at least fifteen people here, and some of them don’t look well at all. Fuck, that is way too long. My finger twitches again.

I slowly turn back toward the desk. My smile is tight and closed-lipped, but I have to let this woman know how urgent this is.

“I just need—”

“Listen, lady, we are slammed. Either fill in the form and wait your turn or leave.”

Her tone is bored more than anything else, but the dismissal still feels like a punch in the gut. I could leave, but then I’d be brought in by ambulance for sure, and fighting her… I shudder. There is only one real option.

“Of course, I… I’m sorry. Thank you for your time.”

I grab the form and a pen and turn around. My first two steps are wobbly, like I’m walking on stilts, and on the third step, my knees buckle slightly. That’s when a slender hand grabs my elbow to steady me.

“Come with me.”

I look up into those dark umber eyes and feel a shiver run down my spine. My hand trembles under her touch, and I am not sure whether it is because of her or because I really need some help. Probably both.

“But the nurse at the…”

“I said come.”

Her voice is clipped and leaves no room for argument.

She turns around and walks away with purposeful strides.

I glance over at the busy waiting area, feeling a tinge of guilt, before I hurry to follow her.

Not once does she glance back. She either knows I am right behind her or she doesn’t care.

Her heels click against the teal vinyl floor, the sound commanding and soothing at the same time.

There is something calming in the staccato, disciplined steps.

Something I want to hold on to, especially now that the world around me is narrowing.

My fingers twitch against my thighs, and it feels like a thick fog is floating into my brain.

Everything feels muted, far away, surreal.

I know I need to stay focused, so I blink. Heels. Follow her heels.

The uncomfortable sensation in my stomach gnaws away at me.

It cuts deep through me, making me fold inward.

I swallow hard so I don’t heave, but in that one moment when I’m distracted, the heels stop and I stumble right into her.

My legs almost give out from under me when her hand wraps around my bicep. Her touch is firm and steadying.

“S…sorry.” I smile weakly. “I didn’t look where I was going.”

Her dark eyes flick over my face, down to my mouth, where they linger for a brief moment before she finds my eyes again.

She doesn’t speak but instead moves her hand to the small of my back and guides me into a tiny exam room.

There is a gurney, a sink, and a whole set of cabinets filled with Lord knows what.

I know the drill. I’ve done this before.

I prop myself up on the gurney without waiting for instruction, my legs dangling over its side.

The woman slides behind a computer and taps at some keys.

The screen flickers to life, and she enters some information, giving me ample time to study her.

Her black hair is pulled back in a tight chignon, her jawline is impeccably sharp, and her tanned skin has a golden glow to it.

That makes her look radiant. And the way her suit wraps around her body as if it were made just for her… well, maybe it was.

“Name?”

“Huh?” I blink, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks as she turns toward me.

“What’s your name?”

“Mary.” I smile sheepishly at her. “What about yours?”

“A last name, Mary?”

She raises an eyebrow and looks anything but amused. I feel lost for a moment. Why would she ask for my name if she isn’t interested in it? Then the realization cuts through the thick sludge of my awareness, making me want to facepalm. The intake form. Fucking idiot.

“Oh, yes, uhm. Marilouise Francisca Adrianna van Achthoven.”

The doctor—she is a doctor, right?—stares at me for a moment.

“Not from around here, then?” she deadpans before she turns back to the computer.

“I, no, yes, I mean, no.”

She glances slightly over her shoulder, and I feel myself shrink. I bite my lip and lower my gaze.

“I moved to Virginia several years ago. I’m originally from Belgium. What about you?”

“I moved here from Cuba when I was twelve.” she replies curtly. “Can you spell it.”

“What? Cuba?”

“Your last name.”

“Oh…”

She types along as I spell it out, and when she presses Enter, I see my file come up. She glances at it briefly, gives a curt nod, and pulls a pair of purple gloves out of the box next to her. She snaps them on as she turns around on her stool.

“Not your first time, is it?”

“No, ma’am,” I reply instantly, provoked by her authoritative tone.

Her eyebrows shoot up and her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t speak.

Instead, she stands up and grabs something out of the cabinet.

She rummages around for a moment before turning back to me, her dark eyes glinting.

Is she enjoying this? She stalks close enough for me to finally be able to read her name tag. Catherine Durand, MD – Trauma Surgery.

“Then you know how this goes. Finger.”

She stretches her hand out in front of me. Her face is a frozen mask, but still… I could swear that I see the corner of her mouth tug up ever so slightly.

“Geesh, you could buy me dinner first,” I murmur, but place my hand in hers regardless.

She doesn’t reply, nor does she prepare me for the lancet that suddenly pierces my fingertip. I flinch, and now she definitely smirks. A drop of blood falls onto the test strip, and she sets the glucose meter aside as it counts down from five. She cleans my fingertip before she checks the reading.

“Dios mío,” she whispers and whips her head back toward me, her gaze cutting sharply. “You shouldn’t even be sitting up right now.”

My hands wrap around the edge of the gurney as I grin sheepishly at her and raise my shoulders slightly. Would I really be here if I could still walk around like a normal person? But instead of returning my smile, her eyes flash at me.

Her movements become quick and deliberate as she opens one of the cabinets and takes out a tube. I wince, aware of what’s coming. Should have brought a snack, you idiot.

“Open up.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth, and I see her nostrils flare slightly. She grabs my chin and bores her eyes into mine.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I should feel offended at that. I know. She is a stranger. She can’t talk to me like that. So why do I find myself smirking again? Maybe because Dr. Durand doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would react this strongly, which means that I make her feel something. And I like that idea.

I dutifully open my mouth and let her administer the glucose gel between my gums and cheeks.

She uses her gloved finger to massage it in while I stare up at her.

Her eyes are trained on my lips, a glint of worry in them.

The artificial flavor of intensely sweet oranges overpowers all my senses, and I crinkle my nose in disgust, but I keep myself from gagging.

When the doctor removes her finger, she raises one eyebrow before glancing at the clock.

“Try not to swallow.”

“I don’t tend to do that in general.”

The quip startles her, and for a second, her eyes narrow in question. Oh? The look vanishes as quickly as it came when she lifts her chin.

“Stay where you are. Lie down if you get dizzy or if your sight narrows. I’ll be back to check your levels in ten minutes. I’ll have a nurse stay close by. Call for her if anything changes.”

Wait. She is leaving? Of course she is leaving. She is a doctor. She has better things to do.

“Sure thing, doctora.”

The reply falls from my lips just as she reaches the door.

She freezes and then gazes over her shoulder.

Her lips are pressed tightly together, but a faint pink blush betrays her real feelings.

I grin victoriously when the woman turns, places her hand on the handle, and walks out, her heels clicking against the floor like my new favorite theme song.

Well, that was something…