𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐈

I pee in a cup, and the lab technician tells me to have a great night as I'm exiting the hospital.

I don't think I could possibly feel any worse about the situation. I had to stay an hour late while Kate and Gabe interrogated Mia, Al, Meredith, and Shelly, each separately and behind the closed door of the office. I insisted I didn't take the medications and Gabe says he believes me, but it doesn't change the fact that they were stolen under my name. I've thought again and again about what could have happened, and the only thing that makes sense is that I forgot to log out when I was getting the Demerol for Mr. Lowery.

Other nurses have forgotten to log out. Cameron forgets all the time, but I always clear his screen if I see it left open on the computer... not that he's setting a great example. It's foolish, and someone obviously forgot to extend the same courtesy to me.

I slide into my car and crank the heat as high as it will go. I have a missed text message from Harry.

Having a drink with Cameron - can I come over tonight? You can meet us if you want. Love you.

I balance the phone in my hand and stare at the tiny screen. It glows brightly and illuminates the dark interior or my car.

As wonderful as getting shit-faced sounds right now, I'm just not in the mood to be around people. Have fun, I text back. See you in a bit.

I want Harry with me - I need a strong shoulder to cry on - but he had a bad night too, and it's not really fair of me to insist he not go out and then worry him all night with my drama. He deserves to let loose, to have a little fun. My sob-fest can wait a few hours. Besides, he'll probably need a few drinks in his system to deal with this shit. Lord knows it would have helped me.

I pull out of the parking lot and drive home slowly. I walk straight to my kitchen and open my freezer. All I have is tequila. I take a shot, then another, before getting ready for bed and willing myself to fall asleep. But I toss and turn for over an hour, flashes of my day replaying through my mind and refusing to let me rest. The regret is thick as it wraps around me, its hold uncomfortable and stifling. I regret not getting Harry to Mr. Lowery's room sooner, not getting his family there in time, and not saying something comforting to the man before he passed. I don't know that he'll wake up; do-overs in life are no guarantee. I also regret not logging out of the Pyxis when I got his Demerol. I regret offering the pain medicine to begin with. What if it was the final straw? What if that dose of Demerol is what pushed him over the edge and killed him?

At the time, I thought Mr. Lowery was anxious. Something was wrong, I knew, but I didn't think he was really going to die. And I regret not believing him.

I take another shot of tequila, then lie on the couch and watch old TV shows. They're no comfort. I ache for Harry; the need would be embarrassing if I wasn't so lonely and dispirited.

I doze around eleven-thirty. At one-forty, I wake up again, feeling unrested. My apartment is empty and it only takes a moment to gather that Harry still hasn't come home.

I check for missed calls on my cell phone, but there are none. When I dial Harry's number, it rings and rings until I suspect it's going to click over to voicemail. But then someone answers. At first, all I can hear is distorted, loud music in the background. And then a voice, but it's all wrong - the tone, the pitch, the femininity.

"Hello?" she says. Her voice is loud as she competes with the music. When I don't immediately respond, she repeats herself. "Hello?"

"Who is this?" I finally force out. I'm surprised, unpleasantly so, and my tone betrays the sudden confusion that constricts my chest.