The Call

Chapter 1

   I woke up from the sound of my phone ringing; The rain and thounders clearly audible outside.

   I shifted out of bed, reaching for the lamp near my bed. With a swift motion, I switched it on, light quickly enveloping the room.

  My hand reached for the vibrating phone, grabbing it and pulling it closer. My eyes burned from the sudden contact made with the bright light of the screen.

Darn it. Who the fuck is calling me at this hour.

  Mom used to do this a lot. She'd call to check up on me and basically make sure I didn't do anything dumb, but she used to live in Australia so the hours she'd call weren't exactly helping me stay sane.

  Unfortunately, or fortunately; whatever suits you best, all that had come to a stop after her passing.

  At last, I forced my eyes back to the, now blank, phone screen.

  A message popped up, indicating that I had, in fact, missed the call.

  'Any new messages from this number will, from now on, be sent here-' Yeah no goodnight. I need my beauty sleep, please- Okay no for real now; I have a very important surgery tomorrow which I cannot mess up. That little, sweet girl shouldn't suffer because I couldn't get a good night's sleep.

  I basically threw the phone on the nightstand then reached for the lamp, switching it off and in a second, my body found its way under the thick, warm covers, my head sitting comfortably on the pillow.

"Perfect" I said as my eyes shut closed.

  Melatonin quickly did its work as I felt sleep taking over me in seconds. I really was tired. Those patients I had to work with were really something. I never fell asleep easily, even after long hours at work, I always struggled to keep my eyes closed for more than 1 minute. I really couldn't help it. To have a certain professions, you have a lot, and I mean a lot of studying to do, so to study, I pulled all-nighters and where did that exactly get me? Well, here I am. A successful psychologist with insomnia.

  Well at least it was worth it, wasn't it? I know more than a dozen people that would kill to have my life.

  Would they really though? I'm all alone, barely any friends, and I sacrificed my teen years and almost all my 20s studying to become what I am today. I used to think that would make me happy. That I would have everything I wanted. I guess god had other plans because I ended up all alone. Miserable.

        .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

  The phone rang again that night. Each time it rang, I found it more difficult to reach for it and turn it off so instead, I ignored it. I let it ring, and ring, and ring. Nothing was as important as my need for sleep and the patients I could be helping. Some of the unfortunate children that ended up in these types of wards really reminded me of my son. So bubbly and full of life, yet so dull and empty inside.

  I had no one else to care for, I could at least care for the lives of the kids I was helping. For the dozens of patients that came in everyday. I could take care of them as if they were my family. I could help them get their life together, then watch them slowly, but steadily walk away, hand-in-hand with their parents, wide smiles spread across their faces, after being discharged.

  Over time, I learned to keep my emotions out of the way. I didn't care about that anymore. Even when my friends would beg me to tell them what was wrong, I always told them I was tired from my endless shifts at work, even if I was on the verge of screaming my lungs out or bawling my eyes out.

  No one could know. 

  Psychologists are strong. They don't cry. They don't show. They simply can't. Imagine waiting for some news for your child who had been admitted, and the therapist in charge comes in crying, eyes red. You'd panic, wouldn't you? You'd be scared to death, wouldn't you?