Choices

1:

"I used to pray when I was 16,
If I didn't make it then I'd probably make my wrists bleed.
-snowchild."

Madison:

I've always had a thing for hospitals, I was often the first to volunteer when my grandmother had her monthly check-ups at the hospital. I don't remember at exactly what age it occured to me that medicine is my passion, but I do remember my uncle Craig visiting from London for a month. He is married to my mom's younger sister and he also happens to be a really good Neurosurgeon.
I was in my sophmore year when Stacy Howard, a senior at the time, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Come to think of it, I don't think Stacy and I were friends before her diagnosis. It was during my last few months of sophmore year when my mother recommended my uncle Craig for a second opinion. Doctors thought it would be safer to not remove the tumor, that was the complete opposite of what Mrs Howard wanted. To this day I will truly never know what Stacy wanted for herself at the time.
Uncle Craig was in the country two weeks after him and Mrs Howard got in touch and before I knew it, I had been seeing more of my uncle at sixteen than I had before. Before his stay in California, I had seen him and my aunt only a handful of times and most of those times included funerals.
I remember taking a bus down to the hospital, everyday for a month, after school just to work with him on Stacy's case. I didn't do much, I sat around and watched him as he worked and often wandered through the hallways. That's when Stacy and I found stuff in common and became somewhat friends. We spent a good month together and I had been at the hospital every weekend. I fell in love with the worse career at sixteen, one that includes endless sleepless nights and forming bonds with people who just end up dying in the end.
I am pulled out of my daydream by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. I immediately close my eyes and pray to God that whoever is in such a rush isn't looking for me. I've been here for 48 hours, that means 48 hours of not seeing anything or anyone beyond this building.
I slowly open my eyes at the same time a body throws itself against the doorway of the locker room. James Lawson's worried blue eyes find mine from across the room and I have to mentally remind myself to breathe. My God, he's gorgeous. Piercing blue eyes, blonde hair and a killer smile.
"Evans." He heaves out my last name and I snap back into reality. Again. "Peterson needs you in the E.R." Well fuck me. Out of all the things I wanted him to say to me after a 48 hour shift, that wasn't it. Before he can even get a reply out of me he vanishes and it isn't long before I am making my way towards the doorway with my lab coat in hand.
The joys of working at St. Ann Hospital. I think about my life choices and my obsession with hospitals as I race down the hallway behind James Lawson. Thank you mom for making me join the track team. The second we reach the entrace of the E.R. my footsteps come to an abrupt halt.
The smell of bleach and blood stops me, I can't decide which one overpowers the other. However, the scent isn't the only thing that has me in shock. It's the sleek black Mercedes Benz that has smashed through the double doors of the hospital and crashed into the nurses station. There's glass everywhere and a faint scent of smoke lingers in the air but I don't see evidence of it.
"Evans!" James calls out, ahead of me, pulling my gaze away from the scene. "The driver ran off with a bullet in his shoulder, but there's a guy in bed seven who needs stitches and we need all hands on deck." He rushes off towards the direction of bed three and leaves me to take another second to glance at the sight in front of me. God, I love St. Ann Hospital.
Adrenaline is pumping through my veins as I pull my gaze away from the car crash and race towards the direction of bed seven. The second I round the car the adrenaline vanishes. A cold chill washes over me as I stare at the familiar face under the wheel of the car. Gary from the waist down is trapped under the wheel, he lays there with wide eyes and the blood all around him is enough proof that he isn't alive. A gasp escapes my lips before I can comprehend what's going on.
Someone covers Gary with a white sheet before my eyes and I can't do anything beside my job. I make my way over to bed seven and try to forget all about the dead maintenance man. I manage to do a rubbish job at forgetting about Gary.
By the time I am done stitching up William, a guy who claims he knows nothing about the car crash but was found in the backseat with a massive stab wound on his thigh, it's already way past nine and I have officially pulled fifty hours at this hospital. Stitching him up wasn't the hard part, it was getting his name out of him and some sort of answer as to who the driver was. He's loyal, I'll give him that, he refused to talk so that lead to him being handcuffed to the bars of the hospital bed. Withholding information is one thing but finding a boot full of cocaine and still withholding information is something else. Something tells me that there's more to the story than what meets the eye, but that's isn't my problem the second I change out of my scrubs and leave the hospital. Fifty hours later and I am ready for a hot shower and finding comfort in my bed.