A/N: Sorry for taking ages to update, I decided to concentrate on the advent calendar type fic I was writing in December but never properly finished xD Thank you so much for the reviews! and to those of you who have read! I shall now continue with this fic and try and update regularly. Sorry this update is short, and not the best, but I hope you like it! Debating rewriting this in third person because I am hopeless at writing first person..

Anyway, Happy New Year to you all! Hope you have a great, healthy 2015!

~Mini Peacelet~

After Dark - Part 3

Tedious, brown, paper envelopes are assembling in a stack on my cluttered coffee table. Bills. And more bills. Shoddily overdue. I have discarded them to one side, as if they are insignificant. Government and society are prying for my precious capital that I own very little quantities off. Debt. I am undoubtedly immersed in huge cash demands that I am immaturely ignoring in the hope they will just magically fade away, despite comprehending that my desires will never happen.

Bills are all I ever receive in the post now, than and repeated handwritten letters from my husband. I ignore them as well, tossing them into a differing, accumulating pile.

A sensible choice would be to open all the letters, focus properly and carefully read through their contents whilst trying to decipher a plan of how I am going to escape this hole I am now trapped in. But no. My washing is mounting into precarious heaps of crumbled attires - that also needs organising and completing. The dirty dishes are piling on my kitchen counter, awaiting for me to tend to them.

There are a hundred and one things I should be doing right now.

Yet instead of accomplishing something more constructive, I'm perched on the edge of my threadbare sofa clutching a bag of frozen peas enveloped in a tea towel to the side of my head and consuming a large - straight - vodka.

She had a good punch. A very good punch. Better than I had anticipated. Resigning should never be accompanied with an act of violence. But it did. Obviously, had I been expecting the rage of violence then I would have ducked; self defence. But her fist contacted with my face before I had the chance to even blink.

The vodka is to numb everything. It is the best painkiller; ever. It fixes everything. Well, temporarily. An invisible mask. The colourless beverage had originally burned my throat with every single drop that trickled continuously into my mouth and all the way to my stomach, but the feeling it provided was truly fantastic and worth any pain.

\~\~\~\~\~

I'm grouchy this morning. Acutely grumpy. This hangover is a pure curse. Absolute torture. The satisfying impacts of the neat vodka have been exchanged and replaced with a pounding headache and dull, constant aches throughout my limbs from falling asleep on the sofa in an obtuse position.

I scuff my feet along the frosty ground, fists inserted into the pockets of my NHS hoodie as I lethargically amble to the hospital, enthusiasm for the day ahead absent. "Oi! Watch where you're going!" I hiss irritably - spitefully - as a young girl has just come rushing into me, colliding with potency. I am exceptionally petulant this morning, and so not in the mood for some wild, rebellious child, "You should be with your parents! The hospital is no place for a kid to run..."

"Grace! Will you come here! Don't you ever - ever - run off like that again!" I'm interrupted and don't get the opportunity to finish my reprimanding as Connie appears, dashing in her Louboutins and grasps hold of her daughter's hand firmly. The clinical lead tilts her head upwards and perceives me as she learns who her child ran into, "Nurse Freeman, I'm sorry that Grace bumped into you, and she's sorry to aren't you?" With a nudge from her mother, the girl nodded feebly, "But it's my place to put her in line, not yours." Her words are laced with disdain, a subtle warning.

Nodding, I clarify that I understand. I don't have the energy to disagree or argue right now. As I go to continue on my way and enter the ED, I pause in my tracks as the brunette speaks again, "What happened to your face?" Pirouetting around, I shrug futilely.

She extends her slender arm promptly, cautiously inspecting the injury I've sustained. No amounts of foundation and make-up was sufficient enough to conceal the red swelling and faint shapes of pale purples, greens and yellows that are gradually forming. "How did this happen?" She questions professionally, tenderly prodding at my cheek with her fingertips in examination.

"It's nothing," I swat her hand away, defence and reluctant to confess any great details, "I quit the job - just like you wanted." Narrowing my orbs, I emphasis the final section of my sentence to hint that she was partially to blame for my injury, "I'm fine, so just drop it please. I have to go, otherwise I am going to be late for my shift." And with that, I dash into the hospital and into the staffroom to quickly change into scrubs before my shift starts. I desperately need to begin impressing as I need this promotion as soon as possible. Now, because of being delayed, I don't even have time to satisfy my strong craving for coffee; guess I'll have to wait until my break. Tick tock, tick tock.