Willow:

"The air feels dense today, like I want to swat at it," I said, as I leaned up against the counter, and tried to engage in conversation with the older-and-more-experienced nurse behind the counter.

Denise hardly looked a year over forty, but she was probably older. She took care of herself. She had light brown skin that glowed, and her black hair was bobbed. She had a medium frame, but she was in great shape. I wanted to get more familiar with my co-workers, since I'd be seeing them every day. Denise was sweet and sassy at times. Very friend-worthy.

She smiled warmly, and then sighed. "I think you're still getting used to that hospital aroma. It takes some adjusting," she said to me, her voice soft.

I nodded, because she was right. I hadn't really liked the smell of plastic, bleach, and sick people, but I'd get used to it. I was also feeling extra claustrophobic this morning before dropping Annette off at school. I hadn't wanted to get out of the car and walk with her to her class, because the other parents and the swarms of small children made me uncomfortable to the point where I sweated more than usual. Of course I had walked my baby to class, I just hadn't wanted to. I had always sucked it up, and taken one for the team regarding those I loved the most. Annette was at the top of that list, now, and Caitlyn was number two.

The other nurse on duty for our floor arrived, and she hung her coat on the rack in the closet before sauntering over to us. She grinned at me like we had been the best of friends, but we were just nurses on the same floor. We just did similar things. She was nice, because she hadn't wanted to do the dirty work that would be in store for us soon. Her smile would be almost convincing if it weren't so falsely presented. She had been caught talking shit behind my back on multiple occasions, so I hadn't trusted her. She once said I was a scrawny and homely looking, which is just mean and untrue. She had been jealous, but I tried to remain unbothered. Denise always had my back.

"Oh my god," she said, looking me up and down like I was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. I braced myself a little bit too harshly as I held my tongue, and waited for her to compliment me like she had done every day prior.

"I love your scrubs," she gushed, looking at me like she was waiting for me to spin in a slow circle. "Where did you get them?" she asked, and I almost laughed.

"Wal-Mart," I responded, trying to be casual and nice at the same time. I forced a smile, because I couldn't smile for real.

She nodded, grinning. "I love bunny rabbits. Very cute."

She oddly resembled the character Regina George from the movie, Mean Girls. She even had long blonde hair. If Regina George was plump in the face, they'd be a perfect match.

My scrubs were a faded shade of purple, and had dozens of animated bunnies on them. They matched my stethoscope that I had hanging over my neck, and I hadn't owned any other pair of scrubs that were this shade of purple. I thought my scrubs were pretty cute up until she told me she thought so, too. She kind of ruined my confidence about it. "Thanks."

"No problem," she waved her hand in the air. She turned towards Denise, a little less smiley. "You look busy this morning, Denise."

Denise grinned, shaking her head at her. "I'm done with your nonsense, Tessa. It's about time momma got her break."

A chuckle caught in my throat. I hadn't let it out, but Tessa noticed it as I had let out a small cough instead.

She tilted her head at me before hitching her eyebrow. She grabbed the folders from the front counter, and was now facing me as she held them close to her chest. I knew what that meant.

"We have two patients waiting for us this morning. A seventy-two-year-old man who can't walk, and some dude in his twenties..." she paused, holding a finger up to me as she looked through his folder.

"Oh god, no." She flipped to the next page, and shook her head. "What? No." She flipped another page over, and then let out a gasp that made me want to plug my ears.

"It is him," she cursed under her breath. She scowled at the papers in her hand as her fingertips curled against the papered flap of the folder. "That asshole, I can't believe..." she snapped her mouth closed, and then took a deep breath before biting her upper lip. She realized she'd said enough.

I had caught her drift, so I held out a voluntary palm. "I'll take the dude in his twenties."

She sighed a dramatic breath of relief, "Thank you so much." She then slapped the folder in my outstretched hand. "He's in room 209," she said, before turning away from me like she'd dropped off ghost residue and was making her escape from it.

I scrunched my nose at the view of her perfect blonde head instead of saying you're welcome. I hadn't felt like being nice to her anymore. I watched as she scurried towards room 207, where she'd have to wash an old man's naked body, and help him take his morning dump.

I was thinking she might have lost her mind - or I was underestimating what I was about to get myself into.

I groaned as I turned to catch Denise's half-hearted smile. "The girl is all drama, Willow. Don't let her get to you."

That eased my thoughts a little.

I knocked on room 209's door before walking in without an invitation. It was a rule to knock and go in anyway, even if they hadn't answered after five seconds.

"Good morning," I announced kindly.

I was looking at his file as I walked in, and I squinted at the paper. His name was Wyatt Blanquette. He was twenty-eight years old. He had a heart-attack last night, and... the cause of the heart attack hadn't been noted.

I looked up from the documents to find him sitting up on the hospital bed, two pillows propped under his lower back as he blankly stared at the television. He hadn't acknowledged me.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Blanquette?" I asked softly.

"Like I had a heart attack last night," he answered crisply. His eyes stayed fixed on the television screen. His feet stuck out at the end of the blanket. He was tall, and muscular. He hadn't looked unhealthy at all, or like he'd had a heart attack last night. His soft black hair was shaved thin and short at the sides, and a quiff was settled there at the top of his head.

This man had a heart attack last night, but he somehow managed to style his hair - or had gotten someone to style it for him before the nurse came in to check in on him. Before I came in to check in on him. I suppose he could have done it for his own satisfaction...

My brow puckered briefly, but I quickly regained my straight-face.

"Where are you hurting?" I asked, as I walked a little closer to his bed.

I checked his IV drops, waiting for him to answer me.

He paused, as he flipped through a few channels on the television.

"My chest hurts, for one. My elbow also hurts, because I fell on it when I went into a cardiac arrest. It's probably broken. I need some real pain medication, not that over-the-counter bullshit," he looked up at me, and I caught his silver-brown eyes. I gulped before nodding.

"Sure thing," I said, as I wrote notes in his file. "I'll schedule you for an X-Ray, and Doctor Venice will acquaint you during the X-Ray. Your prescription has been noted," I finished with a professed nod.

"Thanks." He turned his head back towards the television.

"You ready for breakfast, Mr. Blanquette?"

"I am."

"Milk or orange juice?"

He hadn't smiled or looked at me. "Orange juice," he answered.

"Okay, I'll be back shortly," I told him, before exiting the small room.

I heated a microwaveable breakfast, and then put the portioned plate of food on a tray, along with a carton of orange juice and a packet of plastic eating utensils before escorting it back to room 209.

I knocked on the door, no answer - five seconds passed, and I opened the door slowly with my free hand.

I held the tray in front of me as I pulled the legs out on the tray with one hand.

He had his eyes on me this time, and he sat farther up in bed as I placed the eating stand over his thighs that were indented under the sheets.

"Need anything else?" I asked, as he tore his plastic wrap, and grabbed his fork.

He paused for a moment. "Another pillow would be nice," he said.

I nodded. "Okay, I'll be back shortly."

I brought him a pillow, and he joined it with the others that were settled under his lower back. "Need anything else?" I asked him again.

He held up his orange juice carton and shook it lightly, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "Another orange juice would be nice."

I brought him another orange juice, and Denise noticed the small scowl on my face as I exited his room before getting it. She had given me a knowing look.

I had a fake smile plastered on my face as I gave him his carton of orange juice. My gaze caught his empty tray.

"You're done eating?" I asked slowly.

He nodded, "All done." His tone was nonchalant.

He moved his hands as I went to grab the tray. I stopped about a foot away from his bed before turning around, and flipping the legs back up on it.

Just when I was about to open the door to leave, his sharp voice stopped me. "Wait."

I turned around, and he sighed. "Aren't you supposed to ask me if I need anything else?"

I wanted to throw the tray at his annoying poker face, but refrained, because his face was probably the only good thing he had going for him.

He had a bad heart, and a shitty attitude. He also hadn't smiled at all. I had some measure of sympathy for everyone.

I nodded. "You need anything else, Mr. Blanquette?"

He shook his head no, and then said, "I might need something else in about an hour."

"I'll see you in about an hour, then."

I walked out of his room, dreading the fact that I worked in the smallest hospital in Chicago.

We were hands-on nurses here, because we had so few patients. There were two floors. Fifteen rooms on the second floor, and thirty on the first. There was no way Tessa and I would have thirteen more patients to assist this morning or even five, because we were on the second floor. The first floor had to be full before we got more patients. Mornings were usually when a patient would leave and go home, unless they lived alone and needed more time to heal. We were never full in the mornings. Unless something tragic happened somewhere near us, we weren't going to get much more patients this morning, if any at all.

We had usually been full only on weekend nights, and those patients typically wouldn't stay past one or two nights.

Wyatt Blanquette had a heart attack last night, and just by looking at his exposed elbow - I could tell it definitely had something wrong with it.

He hadn't had any visitors last night, or the first hour in the morning. Did this man not have family or friends in Illinois? Was that why he'd been so conserved?

It worried me that I might have to take care of this man for a few weeks, and talk to him because he hadn't had anyone else to talk to.

I hoped he had family and friends in Illinois.

I also hoped he'd be gone within the next few days.

***

Don't forget to vote, comment! - Cristy M.