Where was she? Her vision was blurry, her head ached, her throat felt raw and dry. She couldn't focus and blinked several times. She tried to sit up, but found she couldn't. A rushing sound filled her ears, and she retched. Someone handled her a basin, but she had nothing to throw up – only a trickle of bile. She realised someone was holding her hand – crushing it, more exactly. Someone who was talking, but she couldn't make out the words. She tried to open her eyes properly but the harsh glare of the neon lights hurt. So she tried to move her fingers into the other person's hand. This must have worked, because that other person burst into tears. And Bernie began to make out the words interspersed by sobs : "You're okay…thank God …You're going to be okay…"
At first she thought it was a dream – she was at work, but somehow she'd ended up in the bed instead of over it… As she surfaced slowly, she remembered what she'd done. Or tried to do, because apparently, she'd failed. It would have been too easy otherwise.
When Serena saw Bernie's eyelashes flutter and felt her fingers move, she just couldn't hold it together anymore. She broke down in tears – the last twenty-four hours had been horrendous – all the more since flashbacks from Elinor's death kept inviting themselves in her brain. Sitting by a hospital bed, waiting, not knowing whether the person would wake up. This had the bitter taste of dejà vu …Her mother …Fletcher…Elinor …And now …
Bernie hadn't answered any of the four texts she had sent, and she'd been worried. It wasn't the first time Bernie had ignored her messages, but somehow something felt different. People speak of a sixth sense, of ESP, of premonitions, of intuition, and maybe some of it did make sense after all. Anyway, around 10pm, Serena had felt compelled to drive to Bernie's. Maybe she was guided by guilt….
She'd rung and rung, but had gotten no answer. She still didn't have the keys, and of course it was possible Bernie was simply not in, but …
That feeling had made Serena ring the caretaker's bell. Luckily, he hadn't been asleep, and although he didn't have a key either, he had seen Bernie come in that evening, and he hadn't seen her go out again. Serena would have called a locksmith, but she'd remembered a trick she'd learnt when she was in med school. She'd lived in students' halls, and as she'd been in a permanent state of stress and exhaustion, she'd kept locking herself out of her own room. One of her friend, tired of being disturbed to let Serena in, had shown her how if the door had just been slammed and wasn't locked, you could open it with a stiff piece of cardboard or a credit card. She'd tried her AmEx on Bernie's door, and it had worked. The flat was in darkness, but when she'd switched on the lights, she'd seen...
Serena'd stifled a scream - she'd had not idea of what Bernie had taken, or for how long she'd been unconscious – her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow and her pulse very weak. She'd called 999. While Serena was waiting for the paramedics, she heard a laboured sound coming from Bernie's throat, and knew she had to perform CPR – she couldn't wait.. The ambulance took ages to arrive – at least in Serena's mind. Once at the hospital, she'd directed the paramedics to an individual room in AAU, making sure no one noticed who was on the stretcher. Then she'd paged Essie, who luckily was on duty that night – Essie would understand the need for discretion.
Then, in breach of all hospitals rules, she'd taken a chance on the type of pills Bernie could have taken, and after a stomach pumping, she'd administered activated charcoal and Natran. After she and Essie had done the necessary ECG and installed an IV and a heart monitor, she'd sat down and waited for Bernie to wake up – if she did. There was no given in those situations – any organ could fail at any time.
When she saw Bernie open her eyes, Serena was both relieved and furiously angry – she wanted to take Bernie by the shoulders and shake her till her teeth rattled. Instead, she just about managed to hiss through her tears: "Don't ever do that again! Ever! Swear it!" She knew Bernie was not yet able to answer, but she had to say it.
Bernie blinked as the room came into focus – she cast an anguished look around her – not only had she failed, but everyone in Holby would know she'd tried to end it. Serena understood the desperation in the eyes: "Don't worry – no one knows you're why you're here – only Essie, and she won't say anything. If anyone else inquires, you had a bad bout of food poisoning." Then she held a beaker of water to Bernie and the latter sipped gratefully.
Serena ached for her, and she knew it wasn't the time for questions, but she couldn't help herself: "Why did you do it, Bernie? Why? Was it my fault? Was it because of me?" Bernie tried to roll on her side to turn towards the wall, but the IV tubes prevented any movement, so she closed her eyes again instead. She couldn't answer that. She didn't know how to. She didn't know anymore why she'd taken the pills. The one thing she wanted right then was to be left alone.
Serena sighed – she glanced at the screen to check Bernie's vitals, and reluctantly got up – if she didn't go to work as usual, people would wonder. Having one's partner in hospital when one's a consultant was not a good enough reason to skip surgery. Explanations would have to wait.
Left alone, Bernie tried to understand what had happened. She remembered the evening – sort of, deciding to take the pills, preparing them …Serena must have arrived less than an hour after, for otherwise she would be dead. Her body didn't really feel alive – the drugs made her feel weak and limp – she would have welcome numbness, but this just felt uncomfortable, like if she was in limbo. Once again, she'd chosen the coward's way – and now the universe was teaching her a lesson – giving her a life of eternal guilt. Because if she'd succeeded, what about Cameron? Charlotte? Serena? What would it have done to them? She'd wanted a way out, she'd wanted to stop hurting, but she hadn't given a thought to her nearest and dearest. Suicide was selfish. What kind of person was she?
