A Brand New Ending

Chapter 2

Braeden



Pulling myself away from the shower wall I finish rinsing the soap out of my hair and shut the warm water off. Stepping out, I realize how freezing my apartment is, already missing the warm spray of the shower against my body. Grabbing my towel off the hanger, I run it through my hair before wrapping it tightly around my waist. I look at myself in the mirror, stroking my chin, feeling the scruffiness. It's going to have to wait.

Putting on my glasses, I can clearly see how worn-down I look, a result of too much overtime. I pick up my phone off the counter, hitting the home screen to check the time. It's just after five thirty.

I yawn loudly, my body wanting nothing more than to head back to bed. It's Tuesday night, my seventh straight day of working the night shift. I'm exhausted, to say the least. I quickly put on deodorant and a few sprays of cologne before turning off the light and heading to my bedroom. I open up my closet, pulling out my uniform. Pale green scrubs.

Pulling them on, I run my fingers through my hair, trying - yet failing - to tame the longer locks on top. Grabbing my messenger bag from the floor, I swing it around my chest and head out to the living room. I go over to the fridge and pull it open to grab a bottle of water and an apple, tossing both into my bag. I picked up the milk carton and noticed that it's incredibly light. It was full this morning.

Moments later I hear the front door swing open. Peeking around the fridge door, I stare at the figure coming through the entry.

"Hey," I say, turning my attention back to the nonexistent food in the fridge.

"What's up?" he says, dropping his belongings in the middle of the walk way.

I shut the fridge.

"Can you not leave your shit in the middle of the hallway? Other people do live here besides you," I explain slightly irritated.

"Whatever, man," he says, plopping down on the couch.

I toss the carton into the sink.

"By the way, I need your half of the rent. It was due five days ago," I mutter.

He says nothing in return, his attention preoccupied with something on his phone, the light from it illuminating his face. A sly grin is plastered on his face.

"Bret!" I yell.

"Jesus Christ, man, when did you turn into my f*cking mother?" he says back.

I stare at him in silence, now thoroughly pissed off.

"Rent, got it," he says, his attention back on the phone.

"I'll be back in the morning," I say as I pull open the front door, not waiting to hear a response.

When I reach the outside of my apartment building, the cold air instantly hits me, making me realize that I forgotten to grab my coat. Most days are cold in San Francisco, but winters are the worst. Tonight is especially chilly and the heavy fog was starting to roll in. My walk to work is long, but having a car in the city doesn't work out so well and you'd have to sell one of your kidneys to pay for a parking spot. Some days I ride my bike, but I don't feel like fighting with the idiotic drivers in this city today.

After walking a few blocks, I come upon my favorite coffee shop and step inside. Pulling my bag off, I set it in the chair I always sit in. My routine. I walk up to the counter, all the girls smiling and giggling.

"Evening, Braeden," the tall blonde at the cash register says, her chest pointed out.

I can't seem to hold back my smirk.

"Evening, Lacey," I say, pulling out my wallet.

"Large coffee?" the brunette barista asks over the coffee machine.

"Yeah, can you add a shot to it?" I ask.

"Rough night?" Lacey asks.

I look back over at her.

"My night hasn't even begun," I mutter.

I give her some cash, hoping that finishing up this transaction will end this awkward conversation. When she hands me my change, I give her a polite smile before walking back over to the chair. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out a book, opening it to where I bookmarked it last.

After a few minutes of reading, I am pulled out of my concentration when I hear the commotion coming from behind the counter. I glance up from behind the pages, both girls arguing over who is going to bring me my drink.

I shake my head slightly, trying to divert my attention back to my book. To be honest, I have no interest in any of them. Moments later, I feel a presence before me. Looking up again, I see Lacey standing in front of me, my drink held outward.

"Thank you," I say, taking the glass from her.

I take a sip, the hot coffee filtering through my cold body.

"Do you want any crème or sugar?" she asks.

"No thanks, I like it black."

"Ok."

Things fall silent again and I resume reading my book. After a chapter or so, I can see that she is still hanging around, pretending to wipe tables but her eyes are still clearly on me.

"So what book are you reading?" she asks, now looking over my shoulder.

I put my finger into the book to act as a bookmark before showing her the cover.

"Oh, what's it about?" she asks, her voice elevated.

"It's about neuroplasticity," I tell her.

Her face instantly tightens, a confused look appearing. How the hell am I going to explain this?

"It's just boring medical stuff," I quickly say, hoping she will leave me alone.

"Oh ok." She smiles.

Her eyes start to shift from me to the counter. I turn around in my chair, seeing now that there is a semi-long line of people.

"Do you need to go?" I ask, praying she will say yes.

"I guess," she sighs. "It was nice talking to you, Braeden."

"You too," I say, giving her a quick nod.

She walks back behind the counter and I breathe a sigh relief. Finally getting back into my book, I sip my coffee, which is now lukewarm from the stellar conversation I just had. Pulling out my phone I check the time. Six Forty.

I bring the glass up to my lips, drinking the rest of my coffee in one gulp. Putting the book back in my bag, I stand up and throw my bag back across my chest. Walking towards the door quickly, I slip out, hoping to leave unnoticed. The walk to work is just a few blocks from the coffee shop and before I know it, I reach the front steps of the hospital.

Walking around the back, I go in through the employee entrance, immediately entering the staff room. I'm happy to see that it's empty. Getting over to my locker, I unlatch it, throwing my backpack in. I hear the click of the door open behind me. Shutting my locker, I turn around to see Donovan walking over to me, rubbing his arm.

"Rough night?" I ask, already knowing the answer. I can see it in his face.

"She bit me," he responds, a light laughter accompanying his tone.

"Did she break the skin?"

"Yeah, but luckily I'm not a p-ssy like you."

I roll my eyes. "Sorry I don't spend my entire time at the gym," I retort. "Was it Celia?"

"Yeah, she is strong for such a small woman," he says, rubbing it some more.

He walks over to his locker which happens to be next to mine.

"Hey, you know you're wearing your glasses right?"

I turn around to look at myself in the sink mirrors.

"Shit," I utter. "I forgot to put my contacts in."

"You should probably take them off," he suggests.

"Yeah, that will make my night a whole hell of a lot better," I say rolling my eyes. Being blind won't help my workday.

Shrugging, I look at the clock on the wall.

"All right, my shift started, I'll catch you later."

"Sounds good. Hey, bar tomorrow night. You're off, right?"

"Yup, see ya then," I say as I enter the main hallway.

Working at a psychiatric hospital definitely has its moments. I work in the North hall, which is exclusively for younger patients but the hospital has been full for so long that it has turned into a mixture of all ages. The hospital is quiet at the moment, something that is very rare. Night times are always rough for patients and their conditions.

Passing by the nurses' desk, I say hello. The rest of my night I am in auto mode. When I reach my station, I pull out the charts and read the reports from the day. I make my way to each room, checking on who is asleep and who is not. Another routine. Before I know it, it's eleven o'clock and time for my lunch break. Walking back to the staff room, I pull open my locker and grab the apple and water out of my bag. I also decide to get my book, hoping to get some more reading done since I didn't get very far at the coffee shop.

Setting myself down in the chair, I put the book in my lap, opening it up to where I last left off, while taking a bite of my apple. A few minutes in, I hear the click of the door and I curse under my breath. I continue to stare down at my book, trying everything in my power to not see her. I can feel her presence in front of me, her shoes in my line of sight. Shutting my book a little more abruptly than I should have, I look up, seeing her standing in front of me.

"Hi, Braeden," she says, trying to give me her most seductive voice.

"Hello, Lucy," I respond.

She sits down in the chair next to me, her upper body leaning in towards me.

"Something I can help you with?" I ask, getting annoyed.

"Actually there is," she says, winking.

"No," I respond.

She huffs.

"Come on, Braeden," she pleads. "It's not like it would be the first time."

I sigh.

"You know that was a one-time thing, Lucy," I explain. "And this is a place of business."

She crosses her arms, pouting like a small child. Not wanting to deal with this at the moment, I get up, needing to get away from her. Lucy and I did sleep together once, but it was quite some time ago and let's say I wasn't in the right state of mind when I made that decision. I regret it every time I see her and, much to my dismay, she constantly reminds me of it. Heading into the linen closet, I check to make sure everything is stocked. When I go to make my rounds on the patients again, I notice that one of my favorite patients is awake.

"Hey, Liam," I say.

"Braeden," he says smiling.

"What are you doing awake? It's two in the morning."

"Couldn't sleep…" he states.

"Voices?" I ask.

"Yeah…" he says, a nervous look on his face.

I look at him, my heart in agony. Liam was admitted to the hospital after a nervous breakdown that led him to claim someone or something was trying to kill him. His parents never come to visit and no other family members seemed willing to care for him. He could get violent at times, identifying some of the other aides or doctors as demons that are here to hurt him, but for some reason he was always good for me.

"I'll be right back," I say, leaving his bedroom.

Making my way to the kitchen, I grab a small carton of milk and a chocolate chip cookie. Walking back quickly, the sounds of shouting and screaming reach my ears. Pushing the door open, the other patient who rooms with Liam has him pinned to his bed, both of them screaming in each other's faces.

"I need backup!" I shout out into the hallway.

Setting the cookie and milk on top of the counter, I rush over and get my arms around the patient on top. He's strong - easily three times the size of Liam. As soon as I touch him, he turns around and tries to punch me in the face. I duck at his every swing and we finally get them apart. Liam is breathing heavily, tears running down his face, his pajama top ripped. Sometimes I forget that he is still a child. The other patient continues to scream at the top of his lungs, another aide has a firm grasp on him.

"He stole it from me!" the man yells, his finger pointed out at Liam.

"What did he steal from you?" the other aide asks.

"My M16!" he yells. "I need it..."

"Why do you need it?" I ask.

"To kill those motherf*cking ragheads!" he continues to screams.

"But you're not in Iraq right now," the other aide explains.

"The hell I'm not! I have direct orders from my sergeant to clear out all suspicious buildings," he shouts, his voice a mixture of pure terror and agony.

He continues to try and squirm out of the aides hold.

"Why don't you take him to the day area, he probably just needs a moment to calm down. If he gets worse, restrain him," I order.

Shifting my attention back to Liam, I walk over, grabbing the cookie and milk off the table. I hold it out to him. A large smile comes across his face. I know that our cookies are his favorite.

"Thank you, Braeden," he says, taking it lightly after wiping the tears on his pajamas.

Sitting down at the foot of his bed, I watch him eat it. After a few nibbles, he speaks.

"You know I didn't take his gun right?" he asks concerned.

I laugh lightly.

"I know, Liam," I respond.

"So, what's wrong with him?"

I look over at the empty bed. "He was in the military. He suffers from PTSD."

"What's that?" he asks.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," I explain.

He looks at me confused.

"Well, let's just say he hears voices like you too."

"Oh."

Liam finishes up the cookie and milk, wiping the tears from his face.

"Finished?" I ask.

He nods. Holding out my hand, I take the milk carton from him.

"Do you want to try to go back to sleep?"

"Yeah," he says yawning.

I walk over to the bedside, tucking the sheets in around him.

"If he gives you any more trouble, I want you to tell me…ok?"

To be honest, he should be moved but the reality of it was we didn't have to space. He nods again.

"Good night, Braeden," he says softly.

"Good night, Liam," I respond.

Slipping out of the room, I throw away the carton and head into the day area.

"Is he alright?" I ask the other aide.

"Yeah, got him to calm down, but I had to give him an injection," he says.

"Great," I say. "I think the situation has subsided, he can go back to his bed now but we'll monitor them closely."

When I walk back past the nurse's station again, one of them stops me.

"Are all of your beds full?" she asks me.

I stop to think for a minute, knowing that the hospital has been at max occupancy for quite some time.

"I might I have one spot open, in Rain's room. Is it a female?"

"Yes," she says, looking at a piece of paper. "She'll be coming in soon from the general hospital. Suicide attempt."

I become instantly nauseous, memories flooding my mind.

"How?" I ask, while swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Jumper, from the Golden Gate."

My eyes widen. We've never had a jumper before. How did she even survive?

"How old is she?" I ask.

"Nineteen," she says, continuing to read from her paper.

"Your father was her attending physician in the emergency room."

A strange chill runs down the length of my body, the sensation scaring me a little. The nurse notices.

"Are you all right?" she asks me.

I nod, saying nothing.

"Well, she should be here around four," she says.

"Ok," I say, heading to get the bedroom ready.