My Protector

Chapter 1

Coming off of a thirty-six-hour shift in the hospital is always brutal; no matter what position you work. Add the fact that an adequate night's rest is rare nowadays. It doesn't make good bedfellows for the insanely long shifts. I leave the patient's room and close the door before I make my way to the receptionist's desk. With an exhausted smile, I pass their charts off to Dorothy, our receptionist for the night. "All good in there, Angel?" With a nod, I lean against the desk and rub my temples with a sigh.

The woman in question has had a long day. She first arrived with complaints of a sprained wrist, after that was taken care of; she went on with her day. That was until she was brought in by ambulance; her teenage son was behind the wheel. They believe he was under the influence of whip-its; it's a shame. Their vehicle drifted into the other lane, head on collision with a truck. Her son was DOA; the other driver was spared, mostly. It's astonishing she survived the crash; she'll have a lot of consultation visits with specialists before her fate is sealed.

I wish her the best of luck; losing your son is never easy. Pair that with the fact she could face paralysis. It isn't her best day, not by a long shot; she really can't catch a break, their daughter miscarried last year. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if her husband turned to the bottle. Judging by how he smelled; I'd say he's already a few bottles deep. Some people just get some hard blows in life, some hard and unfair blows; I give my head a shake as I answer Dorothy.

"Yeah, she was doing fine. Needs rest, not a surprise given circumstances." I love my job, but to listen to the screams and pleas of loved ones and then they ignore offered advice, aggravates me. Especially when I'm this fatigued; with emotions that run charged, you never know what events will play out. Footsteps approach, I lift my head to find the student nurse who has been assigned to me, Derrick.

"Hey Dr. Smith; are you ready to go home? I know you've been working a double again." He says with a sympathetic smile. He mirrors my pose and quickly becomes distracted by a girl his age as she walks past us towards the hospital's recovery rooms. I chuckle quietly; I have a good inclination how he wants to 'help' her. I watch as the girl glances our way; her eyes widen a little. A blush rises to her cheeks as she stumbles over herself.

She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and gives a nervous, tentative smile. The pair's timid flirting is adorable. I'm not sure if they know they are flirting just yet; it's entertainment at the least. The glances of longing towards one another, it's probably more of lust. This reminds of a baby deer as they learn to walk. They stumble their way around to fall and bounce back quickly. When you're young, the art of flirting isn't natural to most; it's comical to watch when you are older. It's less cringe worthy.

Keeps things refreshing for us old folk. While I feel old, being thirty-one doesn't make me old, not even close. My mind is a different story, it feels like it belongs to an eighty-year-old woman. Someone who has been around the block, done and seen shit. With all I've seen and been through; I think I've seen enough to last a lifetime, hell maybe three. And then I became a trauma surgeon; figure that shit out. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment; who knows at this rate? My true reason keeps the passion alive, the fire ablaze.

I'm sure someone can analyze that and make me some psychology student's graduate paper. That would make one hell of a paper. I'd feel bad for anyone who had to read over that sucker. My eyes scan over the quiet halls. Few staff and even fewer visitors roam. Most have already seen their loved ones and headed back to their homes. No one really wants to spend their night curled up on the uncomfortable hospital bed chairs. I pity the ones to undertake that sleepover.

I glance at Derrick and envision him through the eyes of my colleagues. He's a sweet kid, cute enough to make most of my colleagues swoon; even if he's a decade younger than most. With his dirty blond hair cropped short with extra on top. Mossy green eyes that make most women want to get lost in them for hours. Add the dimples; I'm sure that has helped him drop some panties. While he isn't my type; I don't doubt that he'll make some woman ecstatic. At twenty-five; he's got a bright future with a lot of wild to get out first.