Page 2 of Lights Out

“You did so well,” I heard her say. “And I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass to make you feel better. I’ve seen other nurses with more experience freeze up during nights like this, but you kept your shit together and did what you had to.” She turned to me. “Back me up, Aly.”

I slung Brinley’s bag over my shoulder and joined them. “She’s not lying,” I said. “You crushed it, from what I saw. And it’s totally normal to break down a little afterward. All that adrenaline built up too high, and your cortisol levels probably went bananas. There’s no shame in disappearing into a miniature stress coma. I still do it, too, on really bad nights.”

Brinley paled. “I thought tonight was really bad.”

Whoops. Time to backtrack.

“It was,” I said. “I just meant I didn’t see the worst this time. I think you and Mallory did.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Oh. Okay.”

Tanya turned back to her. “Now, Aly’s gonna give you a ride home. Her shift is over, too.”

Brinley looked between us. “But my car is here.”

Tanya nodded. “Yes, but we don’t think you should drive right now.”

Brinley seemed to see the wisdom in that. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I checked your schedule. We’re both on shift at the same time tomorrow, so I’ll give you a lift back. You parked in the employee lot?”

She nodded.

“Your car should be fine there. Do you need to get anything out of it?”

She frowned. “I don’t think so?”

Tanya plucked the tea from her hands. “Then you two should get out of here while you can.”

“Thank you,”I mouthed at her.

She nodded.

It wasn’t uncommon to get roped into a few more hours of work if you loitered too long after your shift ended because someone always needed an extra set of hands or more people were required to help stabilize a patient. Brinley wasn’t in any shape for that, and I’d been here four extra hours already. It was time to go.

I steered Brinley toward the exit, and we took the back way out to avoid running into anyone else. She was quiet as we walked but looked much better than when I first saw her, so I took that as a good sign.

“Do you live with anyone?” I asked her.

“My boyfriend,” she said.

“Is he home right now?” I didn’t love the idea of leaving her alone if he wasn’t.

She nodded. “He is. I texted him at the end of my shift before I sat down, and, well. You saw.”

“Talking about it helps,” I told her. “I’m not sure if your boyfriend is squeamish, but telling him about what you went through tonight could get some of it out of your head.”

“I’m not sure,” she said, her voice laced with indecision.

“You don’t have to go into detail. Just the basics. And I put my number in your phone along with the therapist line, so you can always call me too.”

She shot me a relieved look. “Thank you. I don’t think he’d get it. You know?”

I nodded. I did know. Unlike Brinley, I was single…ish, but even when I had partners, I didn’t talk shop with them. I never dated seriously – I was too career-focused for that right now – and talking about a bad day or how sad it was when I lost a patient felt like the kind of thing you saved for a significant other. Mostly, I spilled my guts to therapists or other nurses, and from the look on Brinley’s face, I could tell she would be the same. Civilians, as we called non-healthcare or emergency workers, didn’t get it a lot of the time.

We chatted more on the way home about safer topics like the latest TV show everyone was watching to distract ourselves from the night we’d had. By the time I dropped Brinley off at her townhouse, the sun was starting to rise over the city, glinting off the distant high-rises and painting the clouds a macabre ombre that ranged from the deep purple of new bruises to the arterial red of freshly spilled blood.

God, I’m morbid this morning,I thought, pulling my eyes from the sky.

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