Skinny • Book 1 In The Reality Series

Becky (the girl behind the desk)

Tapping my Christmas ready red nails on the desk I let my eyes wander the emergency.

There are only four people in it; a little girl with a nasty cough, an older woman who is sleeping, a girl with makeup streaked down her face, waiting to go all the way up, and the skinny boy.

I don't like calling him the ED in bed seven like the nurses bustling past me, their perfect ponytails swishing, their expensive tennis shoes squeezing on the floor, their hands full of charts and their faces plastered with smirks of superiority.

I hate nurses.

They think they're hot shit.

I had wanted to be a nurse, then I'd failed Biology twice.

I like my spot behind the desk though. I still get scrubs, still get to work in a hospital but I don't have to deal with the puke and fecal matter which constantly sends them storming past me in search of fresh scrubs.

At times at jealous.

At times I'm glad I'm not a nurse. The nurses at the Walton Hospital emergency room are bitchy.

"How's my ER looking?" A nurse, Lacey, demands, stopping at my desk.

"Everyone's good!" I answer, using my most fake voice.

She looks me up and down, blatantly disgusted, then turns to look at the skinny boy in bed seven.

"How's the ED?" She asks.

I want to tell her that people are more then their disorders.

I decide to keep my mouth shut, then I change my mind, "Don't call him that."

She looks surprised. How dare an uneducated maggot such as myself question her superiority.

"He's more then just his eating disorder." I inform her, "He's a person."

"Do you have an eating disorder?" She asks, "That sounds like something someone with an eating disorder would come up with."

My mind wanders to the empty stomach, tears and obsession with food which had ruined my teenage years. Then I look down at my body.

I was fat. I told myself I didn't care but deep down I did.

"That's a personal question Lacey." I said in what I hope is a firm tone.

Not realizing she's dancing on the line, she lifts her coffee cup to her overly and obnoxiously pink lips, "I've known for a while there was something wrong with you. You eat weird."

"I don't."

"You do. You drink water and eat salads and still, you're the biggest one here. I thought it was like, your thyroid at first, then I noticed how brittle and gross your hair is, ED hair."

"Can you stop?"

Shrugging, she downs her coffee and I find myself wanting to slit her exposed throat with the letter opener on my desk.

"I've got patients to see." She informs me when she's done, "Keep an eye on the ED let me know if he does anything."

Scowling, I watch after her.

"Just choke her." A voice says behind me, "I'll look the other way."

Turning, I find Cam sat in my chair.

"You're still here?" I ask wanting to change the subject.

"I'm working a double." She answers, "So is Wilma."

"The dream team."

"I like to think so."

"Her girlfriend came in earlier."

"Cute."

"She brought her breakfast."

Cam snorts, "My husband doesn't even answer my calls."

I wince.

"Doesn't matter." She says, " I met a guy."

"Playa playa."

"Hardly. I've been wiping my husbands back side for years. It kills the romance."

"How old is he?"

"Old."

"Not Art, the new guy."

She smiles, "My age-ish. He's got the salt and pepper gray hair you read about it smutty romance novels."

"Get it Cam."

"Oh I am."

Shaking my head, I survey the room.

"How's the boy in seven?" Cam asks.

"Unresponsive still."

"It's sad."

"It breaks my heart."

"Don't let it." She warns, "There will be more kids, worse deaths, dead parents, crying kids. If you let it get to you, you're not going to have any heart left to break. You have to stay detached."

I nod.

"Regina died an hour ago." She says, "it was awful, gray stuff coming out of her mouth, she peed. Do you know how badly I wanted to cry?"

"Did you?"

"Yes, because I was alone. You can't do that around other nurses though, or Doctors and never around families.... Which reminds me."

Reaching into her pocket, she removes a small pill and swallows it dry, accepting the cup of water I offer her after.

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't chosen a DJ." She mutters.

"DJ?"

"Depression Job. No matter how withdrawn you are, taking care of somebody only to have them die on you is sad. We're humans, we care. It's our biggest flaw.

"Do you think he'll die?" I ask, gesturing to the boy in seven.

"Will this be your first one?"

"I nod."

"I hope not." She sighs.

"What if he does?" I question, "What if I cry? In front of everyone."

"You will." She assures me, "Everyone cries the first couple of times, then one of two things happen, you get numb, life becomes nothing more then a light to you, switching on and off. You forget it's worth. Or you end up like me, sad."

"You just care a lot." I offer.

"Too much."

She walks away then, heading to the bathroom, more then likely to cry, I hear her in there a lot.

When she's gone I look back at the boy, "please," I sigh, "Don't die."