Orange is the New Way

Chapter 5- Brianna

I was truly exasperated. Every body part of mine had ached, ached like it would've never, I hope, ache again.

It was a busy day, too; at least at the front desk.

Too many explanations I had to inform of, that the doctor was busy, and couldn't take a patient at the moment. Or that it wasn't my fault; oh, and it wasn't.

At one point in the day I was falling apart, into a complete utter mess. A nauseous one too. A pit, a swelling atrocious pit, kept pulling me downwards closer into my core. I felt like my knees were about to buckle, my throat close up; right in front of one of the patient's. They'd probably be happy too.

At the peak of my suffering, I couldn't even quite talk. Of course, right about then- people started to pile in, in desperate mobs, compelling my very existence. They all needed, no not even that; demanded something. Either, to see the doctor, move up in the line that was waiting to see him, or the time they would see him. To admit, to anything, I would say that the doctor was a pretty popular guy.

This one man, about 25 in age, was one of the most memorable people I remembered in that mob. Contorted midway to his stomach, he had sought help from me, on various levels of opportunity; I could see it in his scrutinized glance. He had pleaded, begged to get medical attention, before his rightful turn; but when I has asked Ms. Jackson- the one who ruled us all, employees, in other words "head staff manager"; she had declared me to obey to common rules of the hospital and dismiss the "idiotic" questions. Which meant a straight forward, hard wired, no.

That's what I told him. I told him the same exact word- two letters, one syllable; so simple in its existence. Yet, with such destroying, aggravating effects.

Well, I can tell you one thing, we'll never be friends.

His eyes just broke. Shattered right in front of me, piece by piece. Little by little.

The worst thing was, nevertheless, in the whole mess predominately called a situation, was that I, sitting behind my little cubical, didn't feel not one single ounce of guilt. I definitely should've.

I didn't have the time, the energy to try to explain to this man, that by law- by law, I could not allow him to have entered the doctors room. He wasn't dying. And he wasn't having an emergency, even if he had stated so.If anything, he had probably come down with a spasm of some sort; since his breathing was normal, and besides his stomach, he was in great physical shape.

But all that, a logical explanation, wasn't the thing I wanted to tell him. I just wanted to yell, scream, at this man- that had done, technically nothing but ask, I wanted to scream at him, to blame Ms.Jackson, for everything. I wanted to explain to him that I wasn't the betrayer, but felt as if I physically couldn't. I just kind of gave up.

It got worse. Just spiraled, in a very fearful direction. I practically felt like I was bleeding out terribly; with one catch: on the very insides of my stomach. And there was no "out" in the insides of my stomach.

Pleading to this day, to anyone; god, my mother, my boss, never has worked. But, it's like a hopeful habit, something I do, when two ends, just barely, but still don't meet.

I guess miracles, sometimes in this world appear, since my cry for help, had been actually answered on this mortifyingly painful day. Ms. Jackson announced, that the intern, we mutually had earlier decided had passed up the offer, showed up.

It was like the hallelujah song met heaven.

And yea, I guess Samantha was alright. She was fun. I really enjoyed a fresh start with someone that worked here. It felt... Refreshing. Using great description here.