Orderly || 18+

♥ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ♥

I'm starting to think I need a life outside of scrubs and latex gloves. Another double shift, and I'm right back in the fluorescent-lit chaos of Silvercrest Medical Center, where the beeping monitors and hurried footsteps are more familiar to me than my own bed.

I keep telling myself I'm doing good here, that this is where I belong. But there's this persistent doubt that clings to me like the smell of antiseptic.

When was the last time I saw my best friend, Emersyn, outside of a quick coffee between shifts? Or did something—anything—that didn't involve patching someone else's wounds? I can't even recall the last time I laughed at one of my own jokes instead of just tossing them out to fill the silence. But who has time for a life when the next emergency is always just a call away?

I push the thoughts aside as I stride down the hallway, my sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. There's no room for self-pity here, not when the next patient is just around the corner.

I know this place like the back of my hand. The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the sharp tang of disinfectant, creating an aroma that's all too familiar. The nurses' station is a hive of activity, filled with chatter that never quite masks the underlying tension.

This hospital has become my world, and for better or worse, I've let it consume me.

But today, something feels off. It's not just the usual exhaustion weighing on me, or the nagging feeling that I've forgotten something important—although that's nothing new. There's a heaviness in the air, a subtle shift that I can't quite put my finger on.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of the elevator doors as they open, my green eyes shadowed with fatigue, auburn waves pulled back in a hasty ponytail. I look like a woman in desperate need of a break, but I've never been good at giving myself those.

As the doors close, trapping me in the small, sterile space with my thoughts, I can't help but wonder: when did I start feeling like a visitor in my own life? When did helping others become my excuse for avoiding everything else?

The elevator dings, pulling me from my reverie. I step out, steeling myself for whatever the day will throw at me next. But deep down, I know it's not just about the patients, the long hours, or even the never-ending pressure to be perfect. It's about the creeping realization that somewhere along the way, I've lost sight of who I am outside of this hospital.

And that's a problem I can't fix with a bandage and a smile.

The moment I step into the ward, the noise hits me like a wave. Phones ringing, nurses exchanging rapid-fire updates, patients murmuring in various states of distress—it's the usual chaos, but today it feels louder, sharper, more intense. It's like the world is on edge, and I'm the only one who notices.

I force a smile as I pass by the nurses' station, nodding at familiar faces. It's automatic, really—my go-to mask when I'd rather not deal with questions I don't have the answers to.