Page 1 of Sweet Heart

Chapter 01

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.