Bear

Chapter 2: Birdie

Every part of my body aches. After the day I've had, the only thought on my mind is curling up in my bed with a bowl of popcorn the size of my afro and rewatching Jane the Virgin for the thousandth time.

I wave goodbye to one of the nurses as I walk through the automatic door. For the most part I try not to get wrapped up in any conversation because I know it will inevitably lead to 'can you just watch this patient' or something like it. The joy of being in the medical field means that you're never not in the medical field.

Sometimes I wonder why I didn't just become an accountant like my dad wanted me to.

Just like that the fleeting joy I have from being able to go home flickers and dies. Thinking of my dad sends a sour wave of grief through me; I haven't visited him in a while.

I should do that at some point.

The journey home is a short bus ride, and at half past midnight it's always an adventure... However, I'd rather take my chances on the bus than walking home in the dark. As charming as people paint Barnestow to be, I know the place well enough to keep my wits about me.

It stinks like piss and body odour, though considering what I do for a living, I've definitely smelled much worse.

The meth head two seats in front of me keeps staring at me intently; even though it's uncomfortable, I doubt that he could do any real damage.

My keys are between my knuckles when I step off the bus. It's a two minute walk to my house, but with a few of the street lights busted it's pretty dark— in this particular area, that means opportunity for most folks up to no good.

I can only breathe properly when the chain slides over the front door, the sigh that escapes me feeling like pure ecstasy. Home shit home.

The house is small, practically more of an apartment with stairs. The living room and kitchen are squashed practically conjoined, a small bathroom tucked awkwardly under the staircase. Upstairs is just my bedroom and ensuite which with my dead feet sound like absolute heaven.

I make a cup of decaf coffee, wanting the bitter taste without the caffeine; at this point in my career any caffeine would probably do nothing more than give me a light buzz, but I don't want to risk not being able to sleep when I finally have a few hours reprieve.

Whilst the kettle boils, I step into the shower needing to take the battle zone of A&E off me. Today wasn't too bad considering. We did get one case — an overdose — that had left a bitter taste in my mouth that I just couldn't shake. Even though being around death is a part of the job, it never seems to get any easier.

I sigh, letting the warm water wash away the thought and carry it down the drain with all the dissolving soap suds. I stand under the water for a few more minutes, enjoying its warm embrace.

God I'm so touch starved.

I feel a little more human after my shower, and I go about my post shower routine— moisturising, deodorising, and wrapping my hair in a silk wrap— with a little bit more energy.

I curl up on my bed with my mug of coffee in hand, and the promised bowl of popcorn close by. My favourite grey fluffy socks and cotton t-shirt hugs my frame. It's worn out, and it's got a few holes in it but it had once been my dad's so I cling to it fondly.

My laptop serves as well as any TV could, I'm not actually paying too much attention, it's more background noise than anything else.

I try to force myself to focus on anything but work as I put my pager close by knowing that I'm still technically on call for the next 6 hours; I'll probably end up being called in. If I'm lucky, the ER will have a slow night and I'll actually get a few hours of sleep. It's an impossible task but turning the volume up on my laptop helps to drown out my thoughts just a little.