Avoiding Amy Jackson

by N. A. Alcorn

  “Just remember that you have to do what is best for you. Not what Matt wants. You need to do what Lizzy wants. Do what’s going to make you happy. And I gotta say, I think Ryder might be the guy to give you just that.”

  “I know I need to do what makes me happy,” she breathes out with a sigh. “Despite the fact that he’s really playing the guilt card, I’m certain that I’m doing what’s right. I’m doing what’s best for me. I just hate that Matt is making me feel like I’m gaining happiness at his heart’s expensive.”

  A few moments of silence descend upon us, and I give Lizzy some space while I finish getting ready for work. She continues to sit on the edge of the bathtub, and I can guarantee she’s silently mulling over everything in her head.

  “And the fact that you think Ryder could be the guy that makes me happy is absurd. Do I need to remind you that he’s twenty-four and my personal trainer?” Her question pulls my focus from applying my makeup back to her internal dilemma.

  “Well I’m twenty-nine and I would most definitely be banging that hot piece of ass if he was my personal trainer. Speaking of personal trainers, is Ryder accepting new clients?” I ask nonchalantly as I powder my nose.

  “No. No way. No fucking way! You are not going to schedule training sessions with Ryder!” And now I’ve got her throwing F-bombs at me. This is awesome and actually a little funny. Lizzy is visibly furious as her eyes shoot daggers into my back. I think the green-eyed monster just made her appearance.

  “But why does it matter? I mean, it’s not like you’re attracted to him or anything, so that pretty much makes him free game.” I turn around and face Lizzy, my back resting against the bathroom sink.

  Her face scrunches up in a scowl and she takes an irritated breath. “It just matters, okay? It matters.” She blinks her eyes a few times and looks up at the ceiling, as if she’s trying to find the right words. I guess I should let this conversation slide…for now.

  “Lizzy, it’s okay. Don’t get worked up. I was only kidding about going to Ryder, but I think you should strongly reconsider your feelings for him. You were getting pretty worked up just now, and I can’t ignore the fact that you even seemed a little jealous—”

  She immediately cuts in. “I was not! My divorce isn’t even final yet. Now is not the time for me to be hooking up with my personal trainer—”

  I put my hand up in resolution. “I’m not trying to get you worked up.”

  She gives me a pointed look.

  “Okay, maybe I was trying to get you a little worked up,” I concede as I smile impishly at her. “But I was only doing it because I think Ryder is a really sweet guy—a super-hot guy—and I just have this feeling that you two would be great together. Age is only a number, sweetheart. Yeah, your divorce isn’t final yet, but it will be eventually. So just think about it.”

  Lizzy huffs out a huge gust of air, strands of her long auburn hair blowing away from her face. She glowers at me in annoyance, and I don’t miss the teeny tiny spark in her eye. A spark that indicates she might be considering what I just said to her.

  “Just think on it. Anyways, I better head out of here or else I’ll be late for work. Thanks for keeping me company while I got ready.” I smile down at Lizzy and then move towards her. I pull her off of the tub and give her a huge hug. “I’m really glad you came to Charlotte, and I love having you as a roomie.”

  She snorts out a chuckle.

  “Plus, you’re a hell of a lot nicer than your sister, and you actually clean the apartment, which is an added bonus.”

  “Thanks, Amy. I’m really glad I’m here too.”

  ****

  Work is crazy busy as usual. The ER is a revolving door tonight; we discharge two and admit three more. I head out to Triage and sit down next to Ellen, putting my feet up on the desk.

  “You just love to piss Shirley off, don’t you?” Ellen grins over at me as she takes inventory of my current position.

  I let out a laugh. “You have no idea. I think I nearly gave her aneurysm the other day when she found me in the breakroom with my feet up watching TV.”

  “You’re lucky that you’re such a good nurse. Otherwise, she would fire your ass.”

  “Believe me, I know this, and I also love this.”

  Ellen files a few consent forms on the newest patient that was just admitted while I continue to sit comfortably next to her. We rarely get to hang out at work anymore. Our schedules aren’t synchronized like they used to be. Ellen generally schedules herself on specific days to allow more time to spend with Trent. They are still as nauseating as ever together, but I can’t deny the overwhelming happiness I have for them. Those two are perfect and they will be forever. Sooner than she even realizes.

  Trent has been strategically working out his proposal plan for Ellen. I helped him figure out the perfect ring for her, and he actually bought it a few days ago. I have no idea when he will pop the question, but I have a feeling it’s going to be soon—really soon. I can’t wait to see my best friend marry the man of her dreams. Let’s just pray I can manage to keep my mouth shut. I have never had to hide anything from Ellen, and this big engagement secret is killing me. If I even give her an inkling of an idea that something is happening behind the scenes, she will question me in a way only Ellen can manage. I think she was an investigator in a past life. She has this way of always getting everything out of me. The last thing I need is Ellen sitting me down like I’m being questioned for a murder and using her detective-like finesse to dig out every detail of Trent’s big plans for her. Believe me, she’s that good.

  A young kid is wheeled up to the triage desk by his mother. He’s dressed in football gear and has grass stains all over his sweaty white t-shirt. After Ellen takes down his information, I volunteer to take him back to bed three to get him checked out. He’s here for a possible knee injury. I help him out of the wheelchair and onto the ER bed. He’s completely adorable with his big brown eyes and dimpled chin, looking young and all of sixteen. I bet the girls at school just fall over themselves for him.

  I take the ice pack and Ace bandage off of his knee and know almost immediately that his injury is serious. His right knee is visibly swollen and already bruised. The swelling starts from above mid-thigh and works its way down to his calf. I guarantee he’s torn something, if not several things. He grimaces when I gently probe around his knee with my fingers. When Ellen did her initial triage assessment on him, he just said that he thought he might have “pulled something.”

  Yeah, he definitely did more than that.

  “Is everything okay? Am I going to be all right?” he croaks out as he watches me make a few notes in his chart.

  “Well, I’m not going to lie to you. I’m a little concerned you injured your knee, maybe a little more than you even realize.”

  His lips turn down into a frown and his precious eyes start to glisten underneath the heavy fluorescent lights that lie above him.

  “I’m going to have one of our orthopedic docs come take a look at you. Just sit tight for a few minutes. Don’t let yourself get too worked up until you hear what he has to say, okay?”

  “I can’t believe this happened! We’re in the playoffs and the championship game is at the end of November! I can’t fucking miss it!” He starts to get upset and his mom stands up, resting her hand on his shoulder.

  “Jack, language please.” She gives him a disapproving look.

  “I’m sorry, Mom… It’s just that…I just can’t believe…” The look on his face breaks my heart. He buries his head in his hands, and I give his mother a sympathetic smile before mouthing, “I’ll be right back,” to her. She nods in response and continues comforting her son.

  I head out into the nurse’s station and look to see what orthopedic surgeon is on tonight for the ER. I glance through the physicians’ on-call book and find that it’s Dr. James Williams.

  Well, that’s just fantastic. Fucking Limp Dick is on call tonight.

  I call our hospital operator an
d instruct her to put a call out to Dr. Williams and inform him that there is a patient for him to see in the ER. Maybe I can somehow manage to get him to see this patient and not actually talk to him?

  In my fucking dreams.

  “Veronica, if Dr. Williams calls back, will you just let him know that there’s a patient for him in the ER?” I ask the one woman I completely despise at Regency. This is the same woman who fucked my best friend’s ex-fiancé.

  Loose-Lips Labia.

  Twat-Face McGee.

  You name it, I’ve most likely said it. She’s a slut of the worst kind. Veronica is one million kinds of terrible. She’s incapable of finding her own men to bang and chooses to sink her STD-ridden claws into other women’s fiancés. That’s not harsh either; that’s one hundred percent blatant honesty.

  Veronica Morris is the worst.

  “Uh, whatever. I’m kind of busy here, Amy.” She doesn’t even look up to acknowledge my presence. If I weren’t at work, I’d have no issues with kicking her in the taint. The only thing that might hold me back from this endeavor is that my shoe may get caught inside of her gaping hole of a vagina.

  “You know, Veronica, I just love how fucking helpful you are. Maybe if you were as accommodating to your coworkers as you are to physicians like Ellen’s ex-fiancé, John Ryan, you’d probably have your shot at being named Regency’s Nurse of the Year.”

  She looks up and shoots a slut-ridden glare my way.

  Ah-ha!

  All I had to do was address Veronica’s inner whore for her to actually acknowledge my presence. I keep forgetting we don’t speak the same language. It really is a shame I’m not fluent in Slutanese. This would make communication with her so much easier. I think the only people who are actually familiar with the Slutanese dialect include: Veronica, prostitutes, and a cheerleader I knew in high school who slept with the entire football team.

  I patiently sit in the nurses’ station and wait for the inevitable callback from Dr. Limp Dick. Obviously, Veronica has no need to chat with him, seeing as he’s single. The phone at the desk rings loudly and I answer it, knowing it’s most likely for me.

  “Regency ER, this is Amy.”

  “Well if it isn’t my favorite nurse. How are you doing tonight?” I’d know that deep, masculine voice anywhere. I have dreams about that voice. Dreams I will not admit to a single fucking soul.

  “Um, should I know who this is?” I spit back at him as I roll my eyes in a pathetic attempt to allow my inner feministic man-hater to shine through.

  His deep, throaty chuckle fills my ear. “Oh I guess I was paged by mistake then. Well, have a good night—”

  “Wait!” I hurriedly say into the phone.

  “Yes, Amy?” I can practically hear his mouth turning up into a smug grin.

  “You’re really irritating, you know that?” I sigh in frustration.

  “Is that so? How would you know anything about me, seeing as you just asked who you were speaking with?”

  “God,” I groan out. “James, I need you to come in and see a patient for me. He’s sixteen, injured his knee playing football. It looks pretty bad. I think he probably tore something. His leg is swollen from his upper thigh to his calf and he’s already bruising. Just the tiniest touch has him grimacing and nearly jumping right off the bed.”

  “Sounds bad. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be there.” The smug tone has now been replaced by serious physician mode. I prefer this side of James. This side doesn’t cause a raging inferno of emotions to course through my body at any given moment.

  I hate that one man can have such a volatile and yet irrefutably passionate effect on me.

  I quietly clear my throat, push my emotions to the side, and focus on what’s important right now. My poor patient is sitting back in bed three, probably bawling his eyes out because he’s afraid he won’t be able to finish out his junior year football season.

  “Thanks, Dr. Williams.”

  “Anything for you,” he replies suggestively and then hangs up the phone.

  Limp Dick strikes again.

  I take my frustrations out on the keyboard of the computer in front me. My fingers slam down on the keys with harsh movements as I type out a few notes on my patient.

  “Could you like stop making so much noise over there?” Veronica hisses at me.

  I cup my ear with the palm of my hand. “I’m sorry. Could you say that in English? I don’t understand Slutanese.”

  “You’re a fucking bitch, you know that!” she seethes angrily, and I’m thankful she volunteered herself to be my punching bag until James gets here.

  I keep my hand cupped to my ear as I turn to look at her from where I’m sitting. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? Your whorish accent is making it difficult for me to understand what you’re saying.”

  Her face turns bright red, and to my great satisfaction, she stomps out of the nurses’ station, leaving me in peace. I love going toe-to-toe in a verbal pissing contest with that twat. She just makes it so fucking easy.

  “Hey, Veronica!” I yell towards her before she heads out of the doors of the ER.

  She turns around and glowers at me with her hand on her hip. “What?”

  “You’re not even out of the room and it already smells less like a brothel!”

  Her jaw drops to staggering depths and I smile sweetly in return.

  “You’re a… I can’t believe… Ugh!” She flips her hair around as she quickly turns for the door and leaves.

  And the winner is Amy!

  A complete and total shutout against Veronica, the scummy cunt. The Scunt.

  I can almost hear the crowd cheering in the background as the doors slam closed behind her. Sometimes it really is the little things that just brighten up my day. I already know that tomorrow morning I will most likely get a call from my manager Shirley demanding that I come into her office to talk about my inappropriate language at work. Obviously, I’m really concerned about this. Don’t forget to insert some heavy sarcasm in my last statement. Any time I get the chance to screw with Veronica Morris, you can guaran-damn-tee I will always take that opportunity and run with it, no matter what the consequences may bring.

  I’m still riding my high from the conversation with The Scunt when James strolls through the ER doors around eleven p.m. He’s freshly showered and grinning from ear to ear when he makes eye contact with me. His brownish-blond hair is slightly wet and perfectly disheveled in a sex-on-a-stick kind of way. He is dressed comfortably in jeans and a black t-shirt, and I’m not going to deny the fact that his muscular physique makes him look anything close to ordinary. He really is devastatingly sexy. Every. Single. Inch. His training from the Marines did amazing things for his body, and I wish I could forget how it felt to have him pressed up against me on the dance floor.

  That’s enough, nipples. You don’t have to salute the soldier.

  I wish my tits weren’t so god damn enthusiastic whenever he is around. They could use a lesson in self-restraint.

  “Here’s his chart. Your patient is in bed four.” I shove the yellow folder right into James’s chest once he reaches me. His beaming grin is replaced by a small smirk as he sets the chart down on the counter.

  “Hi, James. How are you? Hi Amy! I’m great how are you? Wonderful, thank you so much for coming in the middle of the night to see one of my patients. You’re the best.”

  I scowl at him when he rattles off that bullshit conversation. I turn on my heel but stop in my tracks when I feel his large hand encompass my arm and tug me back towards him.

  James chuckles and drags his other hand through his stupidly perfect hair. “Hey, don’t get pissed. I was just joking with you.” He holds his hand to his chest. “Please don’t be mad. I really don’t want our relationship to continue this way.”

  I roll my eyes so hard I think I might have turned my eyelids inside out. “Relationship? There is no relationship between us.”

  “Well there is a like-hate relationship going on be
tween us. I really like you, and you really like to hate me.”

  “Love to hate you,” I correct him as I pull my arm out of his grasp.

  He smiles, looks down at his shoes, and then brings his eyes back to mine. I can’t decipher his expression, but it almost looks genuine. “I don’t want you to hate me, Amy. Can we be friends?”

  A sarcastic laugh escapes my throat. “Friends? Are you crazy? I think you have seriously lost your mind.”

  “I’m being completely serious here. Your best friend is Ellen, and Trent is one of my closest buddies in Charlotte. Don’t you agree that it would make things easier on everybody if we weren’t constantly verbally assaulting each other?”

  I sigh heavily in frustration. “Okay, so how do you propose we go about being friends?”

  “Let’s start over. Let me take you out for coffee or lunch sometime and we will enjoy each other’s company from a purely platonic perspective,” he proposes with the most sincere tone.

  My face softens slightly at his friendship proposition. “You really are being serious, aren’t you?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “No heart attack jokes when you’re standing in my ER,” I jokingly scold him.

  He smirks as I mull the idea over in my head.

  Friends with James?

  Can I be friends with James? Things would definitely be easier on Ellen and Trent if James and I weren’t constantly at each other’s throats whenever we’re together. This might make it easier for me to see my best friend more. And I guess James wouldn’t be that terrible of a friend. I mean, he’s nice in an asshole-ish, smug kind of way. And he is funny; I can at least admit that.

  “Okay, friend.” I test the word on my tongue, not feeling any negative reaction once it passes my lips. “Yeah, all right. We can be friends.”

  “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised by my willingness to call a truce.

  “I already said yes. What the fuck else do you need me to say? Do you want me to go buy us some friendship bracelets and offer to come over and paint your nails?” I place my hand on my hip and give him my best annoyed stare.