by Bella Grant
I waited for him to finish up with a ‘they’re in critical condition’ or ‘they were rushed into immediate surgery.’ I wasn’t prepared for the words he spoke. “They were pronounced dead upon arrival," he stated. The weight had dropped on my lungs.
"No." I shook my head and backed away from him. "No, they can't be. They were on their way to see me. To toast with me, to celebrate with me. No, you’re… you’re wrong." I backed up to the cold reality of the wall behind, reminding me where I was. I was in a hospital, with two pairs of eyes trying to empathize with me. Trying and failing. The nurse who was previously speaking with the officer caught up to us, and with one look at me, she scurried off, calling for others. The words “Ativan” and “stat” were yelled, and it got harder to breathe as tears streamed down my cheeks. I clutched at the wall in protest, the doctor moving his lips to speak. It would all be in vain, though.
"I'm so sorry, if you would like to see them one more time…"
After that, all I remember was screaming “no” when the doctor asked me to see them. Screaming “no” when the cop tried to calm me down. Screaming “no” when a group of nurses tried to coax me out of the hallway and into a nearby room. “No” when they forced a needle into my arm, holding me down as they sedated me, calming the rising panic that shot through my body.
"Nooo!"
I forced myself out of the horrid memory and into the scene in front of me where I was a crying, hot mess on my bathroom floor. That was nine months earlier, and I still relived the nightmare over and over. Not only did I lose my parents that day, but also my best friends, my rocks, and my shoulders to cry on.
All that was left was me. Alone. My parents’ families had long gone back to southern California where our family originated from. Friends treated me as if I was dying, tiptoeing around me as if they could catch whatever disease I had. The disease of loss.
I never went to class anymore, which led to dropping my first class ever. The rest weren’t far behind. Even getting to work on time became a chore. No one dared to call me out on it. Instead, they whispered behind my back. It was better that way. Less people to have to communicate with. Less questions and attempted empathy.
The one person I didn’t mind having around was my best friend and roommate, Lisa Jones, who graciously took me into her one-bedroom apartment in which I now occupied the living room until the lease was up.
“Then,” she once said, “we can look at the two-bedroom condos on the north side.”
Meaning we could move further away from my childhood home. Where my old life was stuck in time and my new one was forced upon me after the fatal accident. Because a middle-aged man fell asleep at the wheel. Because he shouldn't have been on the road in the first place after drinking since noon and thinking it was safe to get behind the wheel.
Because one person made a selfish choice, my family was dead and my world turned upside down. I hadn’t been able to sleep or eat properly since, let alone keep up with the outside world around me.
Lisa didn’t mind, though, and never pushed me to move. She understood I needed to take things at my own pace now—a much slower, unsure pace. That for the first time in my entire life, I was being selfish with my time. Even when the occasionally concerned friend or classmate did try to visit me, Lisa turned them away.
“She’s not here right now, but I can let her know you stopped by,” she would lie and narrow her vicious green eyes at them like she dared them to even think about trying to get around her. To see the truth of me huddled in the fetal position under a heap of blankets with tear-stained cheeks and week-old sweatpants.
She was too good to me and my saving grace until it was clear I was in no hurry to try and get myself together. I couldn’t keep going like this. I was an empty shell mooching off Lisa's kind hospitality. And I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t go on. I didn’t know how to anymore. I hoped over time I could, but I didn't know how to wake up and not think about that night. The semi-conscious state between asleep and awake was the only part of the day I looked forward to. I could escape my nightmares and reality hadn’t quite yet hit. I would wake up and the real nightmare would start over.
I looked down at the half-empty bottle of sleeping pills given to me by a family member who thought she was helping when really she had secretly given me a weapon. I’d swallowed them moments ago, and the effects were taking place. My brain was getting hazy, and the bathroom’s interior colors of oranges and reds started to swirl about me. This is the best way to go, I assured myself for the umpteenth time. The best way to end the hurt still sitting on my chest. Anything else required actual planning on my part, and that part of my brain was no longer functioning quite the same.
No, this was the perfect way to go. The perfect way to see my parents again. My mom's smiling face and my dad's blue eyes, the same color as mine. Everyone always said I was a daddy's girl. A distinct lookalike of him.
"Mom.... Dad... I'm sorry I couldn't be…stronger..." I cried out weakly. The tears overflowed, and my cries grew into louder sobs as I choked on my own breath. This is it, I thought until I heard the front door open and close. Dread filled the gaps between the few seconds of silence in between.
"Fiona? Fiona?"
Lisa? In here, I'm in here! I tried to shout, but my mouth wouldn’t work anymore. I sobbed harder, hoping to lead her to me, my last cry for help as I swung over the ledge of death.
The bathroom door flew open, and there was Lisa with her hands held over her perfectly glossed lips. She always looked her best going to and from work.
"Shit! Fiona! Fuck!" she yelled and scrambled for her phone. I tried my best to smile, to show her I was okay and wanted this, but I no longer had control of my facial muscles. Instead, I slumped further down the wall, my eyes growing heavy and harder to keep open.
"Fiona, stay with me, baby girl. Stay with me. Hello? Hello! Please come now! My friend just took a whole bottle of…"
And then the world was dark. I could have sworn I heard my mother calling me in the distance.
“Fiona…”
Chapter 3
I couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair life was when I saw Fiona for the first time. How unfair it was to see such a beautiful, young woman with an IV drip attached to her arm after having her stomach pumped of all the pills she had swallowed. How her best friend found her practically unconscious, lying on the bathroom floor, and thought she was dead. How a woman with so much potential to do something great attempted to cut short her life with so much time remaining on her clock because she’d lost her parents to something which wasn’t even their fault.
I read over her file repeatedly while we waited for her decision to be admitted. She had arrived at the hospital in the nick of time, and if her friend hadn’t made it home when she did, Fiona would have been a goner. Thanks to the amazing emergency room staff, her stomach was cleaned out successfully and her vitals were returning to normal. Back to living and not on the brink of death. She was a suicide survivor, and a part of me doubted she liked the title. Not all of them wanted to be saved, especially not ones who took half a bottle of sleeping pills.
No, this woman wished to die. She wanted to be with her deceased family. It was the only history I had to go on until I convinced her to get admitted to the psych hospital to evaluate her and help get her life back on track. To save her. Just because her body was saved, didn’t mean she was.
I could see in her icy stare just how badly she didn’t want to be here. Her best friend wasn’t having it, though, and persuaded her to stay. She didn’t have to persuade me. I was ready to sign the orders and escort her to my side of the hospital myself. Rules were rules though and patients had to be willing to be admitted. Even if she was labeled harmful to herself, we couldn’t force her.
Her friend was doing a better job than I was at convincing her. Ms. Sims didn’t seem to even want me in the room, so I stayed by the nurses’ station outside the curtain-drawn room, waiting for my cue, and attempting t
o not make her feel any more uncomfortable. After about twenty minutes or so, her friend whipped out of the room and strutted straight up to me in her coveralls, her hair rustling about her in fiery waves.
“Care to join me for a cig, Doc?” she said, and though I didn’t smoke, I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. This building was a smoke-free institution, but I didn’t reiterate the rules either since she looked like she needed one.
“Sure, right this way,” I replied and led her out to the side of the hospital where we walked a little away from the doors, on my request. In the middle of the employee parking lot, she lit one up. She was jittery until the butt hit her lips, and with one shaky exhale, she calmed down in front of me. She was very pretty in a Barbie kind of way, wearing old coveralls over a navy-blue tee and Converses on her feet. She had one of those tattoo chokers around her neck and an impressive collection of colorful bracelets around her wrists. Her blonde hair went straight down her back, her eyes a pretty green, and her lips full. She was the usual Californian blonde, but something told me her personality didn’t match her look. The way she referred to me as “Doc” might have had something to do with that notion.
“So, I assume you called me out here for a reason?” I enquired. It was too late to beat around the bush.
“Yeah. Exactly what will happen to Fiona if she agrees to be admitted? This isn’t like some movie shit where you guys drug her until she doesn’t know who she is, is it?”
Well, at least both of us are blunt, I thought and reached for the cigarette. She arched an eyebrow at me and handed me the cig nonetheless. I placed it between my lips and inhaled. I coughed harshly after one drag. It had been years since I had a smoke, the temptation of the girl smoking in front of me poking at me. My attempt to even with her was gone, but it was the thought that counted. I handed it back before I cleared my throat.
“Well, once she is admitted, we will take her to the psych ward where she will be assigned to a hospital room. In the morning, a psychological evaluation will be performed, most likely by me since I’m the guy initiating the intake. From there, I diagnose her and watch her for a couple days or more—like you would in a regular hospital. Except we focus on how to treat mental health with private therapy, group therapy, and the necessary medications. Then once she’s deemed mentally sufficient to go back out into the real world, she will be discharged on an outpatient basis. She’d then follow up with a therapist as well as a psychiatrist, depending on the severity of her situation,” I explained calmly. I hoped I did a good job since Lisa was the one I needed to convince in order to get Fiona to stay.
She smoked in silence for a few minutes, then snuffed out the half-butt on the sidewalk. “Doc—”
“Please, Dr. Sullivan—or Joshua is fine, too.”
“Okay, well, here is my concern, Dr. Sullivan. I know the severity of Fiona’s situation like the back of my damn hand. She hasn’t been the same since her parents died, and quite frankly, I’m not sure she will ever be the same. But what I do know is that girl—who I found unconscious on my bathroom floor with a half empty bottle of pills—is not my best friend. My best friend wouldn’t do something so selfish. She’s the most selfless person you will ever meet.”
“Death changes people. It is not uncommon, but go on. I believe you have a point,” I replied calmly.
“I guess my point is that Fiona needs help, but she isn’t a basket case. She just needs to get back on track. Get back to being…Fiona,” she explained, looking me directly in the eye. “She’s afraid of doctors, and I don’t blame her. She hasn’t trusted them since they told her there was nothing they could do for her parents. She hates hospitals too, but I think you could be good for her.”
Me? “Well, I am one of the best at Langley Porter, and as of now, all I can do is give you my word that she will be in good hands,” I assured her, and she shook her head.
“No, she needs to be in your hands, Doc. Trust me. There is something about you she saw when you walked in the room. It was the first time I saw her eyes hold actual emotion in nine months. That’s gotta say something, right?”
“True,” I stated and then held out my hand out for a handshake. “Dr. Joshua Sullivan, and you are?”
She smiled, taking my hand firmly. “Lisa. Lisa Jones. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. My Fifi is gonna get the best care.” Suddenly, my arm was yanked forward and her breath was hot on my ear. “Because if I find out that’s not what’s going on, I will come find you and bring you down. Are we clear, Dr. Sullivan?”
A shiver went down my spine—not one of fear but excitement. I had never been threatened before, and something about it woke me up from the slump I’d been in lately. A smile curled my lips as I pulled away.
“Crystal. I would expect nothing less from her best friend, Lisa Jones.”
“Good. Now stop wasting time. We’ve got a patient to convince,” she said.
We walked back inside with a comfortable silence between us as I wondered how it would all go down with Fiona. Or if she had any idea how concerned her friend truly was about her.
“I thought I was going home.” Her voice was so small. Her earlier irritable mood had lifted, leaving behind a concerned mouse. From her voice alone, I softened my approach at the situation. Lisa, on the other hand, did not.
“Fifi, you gotta let the doc take care of you, okay? Don’t worry, we had a little pep talk outside, and I have no doubt in my mind you are going to be in good hands here. You can’t go on how you are, okay? You know your mom and dad would want better for—”
“You don’t know what they would want for me. How could you even say that?” she hissed at Lisa, who looked at me.
“See what I mean? She was never a back-talker either.”
“So I have a backbone now. Is that such a bad thing? Okay, I tried to hurt myself, but I made a mistake. I admitted it, so shouldn’t I be able to go home?” she asked, worry etched across her delicate features. Her long, light-brown hair was in a side bun resting on her shoulder, and something about the way she carried herself made me think she hadn’t always been so fragile. Or so defensive.
“Fiona, you’re not okay. You didn’t try to just hurt yourself. You tried to take your own life. Something you can’t simply dust your knees off and walk away from. You did it for a reason. Whether you truly know the reason or not, here at Langley Porter, we can help you. Give you the tools to use to get yourself better and back up swinging,” I explained, trying to ignore the heat going through my body from her gaze on me—even if it was a suspicious one.
“And what if I don’t get better. Then what? You gonna throw me away? Lock me up for the rest of my life in some nuthouse?” she spat at me.
“Fifi!” Lisa scolded her.
“What? It’s true. I know what they do with the ones who won’t come back. Who can’t function in civilization. I have petitioned for those being kept against their will. I refuse to be one of them—a guinea pig for you to do tests on. Then you’ll tell the public I am mentally incapable of living on my own. I know how it goes,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I liked her more and more. Not only was she beautiful, she had spunk, too.
“Well, Fiona, I’m a renowned psychiatrist who has a high success rate with my cases, and I’d like to keep it that way. My goal is to help you get better, to live the life you were meant to live. I’m here to pick you up because you’ve fallen down. I’m quite certain after a week in our facilities, you’ll be able to go back out into the world. But Fiona…” I sat down in the chair directly opposite her, noticing for the first time how thin her body was. She was malnourished, and her knobby knees showed it. “What you did was serious. And it needs to be treated as a serious situation. You cannot walk this one off, I’m afraid. So, what do you say? How about you let me help ya out?” I spoke soothingly as if I was speaking to a child. I didn’t want to spook her.
She glanced between me and Lisa and back to me for a few moments, truly considering her situa
tion. “And if I hate it? If I refuse treatment? What will happen?”
They all asked this. I sighed and rose to stand over her. “Depending on the treatment, I will try my best to work with you. Yet if it is in your best interest, I will see that we remain on planned course of treatment. If not, I will waive whatever you are uncomfortable with. My job is to make sure you’re treated with the utmost care.”
She glanced at Lisa before hopping off the bed to stand in front of me, immediately at the center of my chest. The perfect height to hold her, I thought. She put her hand out for a handshake.
“Fine. I’ll do it, but fair warning—my father taught me how to negotiate, and I will not be the easiest egg to crack,” she said firmly.
I smiled and shook her hand, already seeing the fire in those eyes sparking back to life. Determination, I labeled it.
“Your father was a good man then, Fiona. Now, let’s get those papers signed so we can get you on your way, shall we?”
She flashed me a smile for the first time, and as much as I hated to admit it, she made me weak at the knees—a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to with a patient. Her smile was radiant, and I knew I would be in trouble if I didn’t control my loose thoughts. Especially with her in close proximity to me on a daily basis.
When I’d asked for a solution to my empathic problem, I hadn’t expected a distraction. The universe had another plan for me in the form of Ms. Fiona Sims, and I had already taken the bait.
Chapter 4
I kept having to remind myself why I was there, though it got harder by the hour. Especially when they poked at me with a needle at six in the morning, and when I demanded to know why, the nurse blatantly ignored me and struck my vein with the needle anyways. I didn’t yelp, though, like most. I was a regular blood donor and was used to the feeling by now, but still, I narrowed my eyes at her.