Nikita

Most people usually ȧssume that money gets you happiness, but here I am, rich as fuċk and with estates to my name, but I have nothing. I feel so empty, like I need to reset and start over.

The alarms in my head are constantly ringing, telling me it's time to run away and leave it all behind, and frankly, the number of times I have almost listened is not even countable. I guess that is what happens when you lose everyone in a crash.

I wouldn't say I like it here. This place is supposed to feel like home, but it feels like some fuċkėd up prison. I want to think about the good memories, but I can't even do that.

The following day I wake up feeling better, well that is until the doorbell rings, and I'm met with a parcel carefully wrapped with nothing but a memory card inside. I feel angry at the person who sent this, even though I don't know them.

This could just be another prank that the neighbors like pulling on each other, but the thing is, I live in this whole estate alone., and the neighbors are a few ranches away, which is how I know the person who brought this is still within the premises.

I call my maid, Angeline, to go check if there's another person in the estate, and she doesn't see anyone. My exhaustion doesn't give me the patience and strength to go after someone who brought the darn memory chip. In all honesty, I don't really care what the memory card holds.

It can be a Christmas carol or whatever.

I don't really care.

I dump the parcel along with its contents in the dustbin and head back to sleep, ignoring my maid's pleas to check whatever content the memory card holds. Today I might just call in late, and they should understand, considering how long I've been exhausted.

Apparently, I sleep longer than planned because I hear the house phone ringing, but I still ignore it. I changed everything when my family died, meaning that the only person who can call the house is the hospital.

I cover my head, determined to ignore the calls, but after the third ring, my ever so diligent housemaid transfers the call to the line in my room, and I can't ignore it anymore.

Picking up the darn thing, I hear Maggie's voice hysterically shouting that they need me in the hospital. I tell her a new surgeon can handle the whole thing, but she doesn't listen to me. Instead, she tells me that they have sent me an ambulance to pick me up; that way, I can beat the fuċken traffic.

Honestly, I'm pissed, and I'm not going to take a shower or even clean up. Still, in my pajamas, I wait for the ambulance to come to pick me up.

The EMTs look at me like I'm crazy, but I ignore them and sleep on the stretcher in the van. I don't need anything right now other than the sleep I've worked so hard to earn. The siren blares off, and that's how I know we're headed off to the hospital.

I wouldn't say I like the noise this thing is making, and I grab one of the blankets and cover my head with it, but it's useless because there's no change.

Giving up, I close my eyes and pretend I'm in my bed and with my sister's teddy bear. I guess I fell asleep because I could feel one of the EMTs lightly tapping me. I roll off my bed to ignore the tap, but then I find myself on the floor of the van with the guys trying not to laugh at me.

I'm still in my pink pajamas, and the slippers Maggie gave me when I got to the hospital. I still have my bed hair and if this were any normal situation, I would accept the ŀusty looks that the young girls had been giving me in the hospital. It might be weird that a bulky man like me is in pink pajamas, but what can I say?

You get you a sibling like my sister and everything in your life is thrown away and replaced with pink, but then again you cant object because she's so cute and it's illegal to make my siblings cry. I guess it became a habit to wear the pink things she would put in my closet. I'm only thankful she knew a doctor never wears pink to work.

The chief surgeon reporting for duty in nothing but pajamas is a sight to behold. What a great day. With everything unfolding, I kinda feel better about submitting my resignation letter because it's obvious I can't even focus on myself at the moment.

Still, I angrily get to Maggie, telling her to explain why in all the fuċks that I couldn't give at the moment did she wake me up, but instead of talking, she points to the benches, and I feel like laughing at her and knocking some senses into her.

Instead of looking at the benches, I look at the television, and nothing is interesting as usual. Since I lost my family, nothing is interesting anymore. I look back at Maggie with the most disappointed face I can pull, but she's not smiling. She smacks my head and forces me to look at the patient benches, and more specifically, the last row of the benches, and suddenly I feel sick.

Of all the reactions I could pull of seeing my brother sick was not part of the plan. I find myself bending down on the dustbin, emptying the nothings I hate, and I think I see ghosts.

I tell Maggie I'm sleepy, and if this is another nightmare, that I'm leaving.

I feel myself leaving, but my feet are glued to the ground, and when they move, they are not going to the exit. Instead, they are taking me to the brother I lost six months ago in the worst crash my memory can ever pin down. I have so many questions and concerns, wat too many. Maybe that's why Maggie called me in today.

I'm so close to the last bench, and I still want to leave and go back to my bed. I ignore the faces looking at me; that's all I've been doing lately anyway—ignoring anyone and everyone except my team in the operating room.

The guy I'm headed to looks dirty as he crawled out of a dustbin, which makes me question the guards. This is a hospital, and there are several patients in here, and the least they could do was get the guy to clean up, says the doctor in pajamas and bȧrėfooted. I didn't ask for my pain, just like I won't ask for anyone's opinion.

Even my best friend is a doctor...was a doctor.