One that doesn’t cater to true mental health. It doesn’t treat the real problem. Find a livable solution.
I’m sick as the back doors open and we deliver the woman that’s just scared, confused, and lonely to a group of strangers that prick her the moment they safely can. It still takes every bit of their strength to pry her fingers from mine, even with the sedative. To separate her from the safety she found in the short ambulance ride she probably didn’t even realize she was on.
My stomach rolls when they finally break her free, her dirt-caked nails leaving trails of crimson along my wrist.
I recognize the fight. The fear.
The drive to run as far away as you can before it catches up to you.
The slam of the ambo doors sounds far away.
The same trashcan I desecrated earlier stands stationary next to the entrance she disappears through, and it just feels like we’re right back to where this night started.
The heartbeat in my chest kicks up.
Blond hair.
Too-blue lips.
My chest clenches painfully.
Oh, fuck. Not here. Not now.
Breathing labored, I fist the uniform covering my racing heart and plant a steadying palm over the number painted on the back of the rig.
122.
The emergency entrance blurs.
The concrete feels like its crumbling down over me and all I can do it try to remember how to breathe.
Why does my brain not want me to breathe?
I’m gasping, trying my best to stay steady on feet that don’t want to move.
There are about twenty things inside the rig that could end this right now.
Tight. Everything feels tight until my knees buckle and the weight of the shit in my head sends me straight to the asphalt beneath my boots.
“Ten?Ten!”
Something hot touches my chest and I swing. Growl. Elbow at the blur that’s aiming to hurt me.
Everything is hurting me. Hunting me.
Trying to kill me.
“Ten.”
I snarl and scramble away, slicing my hands, though I don’t feel any pain. My grip becomes slick, my vision darker still. Pulsing. Threatening to go out completely.
“No! Leave him be.”
What?
“Tristen, listen to me. You need to breathe. Focus. Hear me. Or these nice scrubs are gonna fucking take you.”
Hatley?
