OFF THE RECORD (First Person)

3. Arranging

Erica
I was extremely exhausted. To the point I felt my legs were spaghetti, and if I took another step, I might as well just set a camp on the floor. I fought with my eyelids to keep them open. My feet hurt from standing all day long, but aside from everything that bothered my body, the only thing I could notice was the heaviness on my chest.

I had arrived home at three in the morning, after working my twelve-hour shift, which had turned into a sixteen-hour one, due to an emergency. My job was physically—and mentally—draining me.

My heart hurt from the life of a young man, not older than me, that our team couldn't save. I didn't know him, but I knew he had a future, dreams, family, and many things that had to be left behind.

The car accident in which he had been involved had taken his life but left a family of four with a couple of scratches and broken bones. Regardless, nothing hurt them more than the guilt of taking a life. At least to me, it did.

I walked directly into my bathroom. I cried all the pain in my chest out while I showered, like I always did in similar situations. I prayed, using the time I closed my eyes as I washed away my thick hair, to ask to God for the taken life. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last one, either.

I was so sensitive, it was absurd. By now, I should have been used to it. This was the profession I loved, so I endured as much as I could.

I was passionate about helping sick and hurt people. Blood didn't bother me and bones or guts sticking out didn't have any effect on me. I had a strong stomach. But I couldn't contain myself when I lost someone. My job was to save lives, even if I couldn't always do it.

After venting, praying, and showering, I walked to my room. I stopped on my heels when I heard a loud snore coming out from the guest room.

I sighed, knowingly. I wasn't going to try to see him tonight. I knew it was a waste of time.

I went into my room, making sure I locked the door, even levering a chair to the door handle, as I did every time he arrived at my house. He usually never bothered me. He was too drunk and tired to pay any attention to me, but I felt safer when I locked myself up. I even double checked the hiding spot where my loaded 9mm Glock laid.

Before losing myself on sleep, I sent a quick text to Memo.

I'm finally home. My dad is here. I'll see you tomorrow. ILY. I wrote.

I had school early in the morning, like every Monday, Wednesday and Friday of this past semester. Finals were coming up, and I couldn't wait to have my schedule filled with only work hours.

I hadn't slept enough, but I was already used to living off of caffeine. I pulled my dark, thick curly hair into a long side braid, puffing it a bit. My dark doe eyes were accompanied by bags under them, darker than my own olive skin, but I had no time to cover them.

I was almost late for my first class of the day at Del Mar College. I was about to get my associate degree in nursing, but I wouldn't graduate until two more years for my bachelor's degree.

Thereafter, I would have to follow with med school for another four years, and for my last degree, I would have to do my residency, which would take me at the least three more years.

It felt indefinitely long, but that didn't matter. My mind was set on becoming a doctor since I was a kid.

Good morning amor! I work a straight shift today. We'll see each other tomorrow, no excuses, I promise! ILYM! Said the text Memo had replied.

He had been on the clock since the morning before, and his shift wouldn't end til tomorrow afternoon.

I was used to his schedule. His job as a policeman was also very demanding. I was somewhat jealous of how lucky he was to practice his profession and not having to study anymore. Well, not if he wanted to move up ranks, in which he was not interested at the moment.