A/N: Thank you for the reviews, I love reading them! I hope you like these updates and that it's up to standard! Enjoy. X
~Mini Peacelet~
After Dark - Part 4
Perched upon one of the stools in the staffroom, I stir the teaspoon vacantly around the mug of steamy coffee that balances on the counter, dissolving the sugar granules and blending the elements that contribute to a decent brew. Hopefully, this strong coffee will relieve the symptoms of my dire hangover; or at least mask them for a while. Because this feeling is just grim.
I extend my slender arm and my fingers fumble with the biscuit packet, seizing another chocolate bourbon into my grasp and dunk it into my beverage - for the correct length of time that I've perfected over my life so the biscuit didn't break and submerge in my coffee. The staffroom door abruptly flies open as I go to bite another chunk off the bourbon and Connie's daughter darted into the room and dived beneath the kitchenette counter, curling up into the foetal position.
Shifting off the stool, I descend to my knees promptly and observe the young girl momentarily; her sobs are muffled and she's evidently distressed and dismayed about something. "Hey, it's okay." My tone is tender and melodious; soothing. I reach out to touch Grace's arm reassuringly as she jumps guardedly at my words. "You don't need to hide from me," I whisper, "Why don't you come out from under here, hey? And then you can tell me why you're so upset." My subtle encouragements eases her tense muscles although her wide eyes are still very cautious.
"Come on, I even have a packet of chocolate biscuits I'll share with you." She smiles weakly and clutches my hand as she emerges from beneath the counter, and we go sit together on the material couch - accompanied by the bourbons, as promised.
She clasps a biscuit from the packet and thanks me politely, beginning to nibble at the edge of the chocolate bourbon. And we bask the muted atmosphere fleetingly.
"What's got you so upset then? Because, a little birdy tells me that you have a lovely smile." I nudge her gently with my elbow and her cheeks flush a delicate scarlet as do the tips of her elf like ears - inherited from her mother - and she stifles a smile before sighing deeply and tugging at a loose thread on the cushion cover.
"Mummy doesn't care about me." The innocence and gloominess laces her words as her rich chocolate orbs divert around the potent coffee bean smelling room anxiously.
A frown succumbs my previously serene features, "Your Mummy does care about you, you're her baby so of course she does!" I try to comfort the girl with reassurance, "What makes you think that, hmm?"
"She doesn't." Grace states with a huff, purely miserable with a hint of anger, "She never has time for me at home, I don't really see her. She's too busy with work, I only asked for the iPad charger and she got annoyed with me."
"Your Mummy is a really good doctor," It was true, Connie was talented at her profession, "But sometimes she gets stressed and being a doctor can be really busy as well. She does love you, sweetheart." I promise because I know deep down that the clinical lead does. But Connie is yet to quite understand or comprehend that it is virtually impossible to mix the role of her career with the role of a mother. She needs to be one or the other at a time, not attempt to be both and fail.
She scowls at me, probably not completely believing what I've just said and shrugs futilely, "I'm bored. What am I supposed to do now until Mummy gets me the charger for my iPad?" She folds her arms across her chest and exhales another sigh.
I regain my equilibrium and tell her to help herself to some more biscuits if she wants, "I guess I'll just have to try and keep you occupied then." I smile as I wander across the staffroom to the cupboard and pull out a new box of the disposable gloves that we use in the ED when treating patients, and grab some marker pens in an assortment of colours.
"What are you doing?" The girl's expression is perplexed as she observes curiously, rising to her feet and taking another biscuit.
"Watch, and then you'll see." I flash her an infectious grin, my pearly-white teeth displayed momentarily. I then tear open the box of gloves and pull one out and blow into it - like I'm blowing up a balloon - and tie the opening closed. Clasping a marker pen, I start to draw a stupid face on the inflated glove - I lack any artistic skills, though - and with a gentle tap, it hovers through the air. Grace grins and comes skipping across to join in and together we mess around with the sterile, rubber gloves.
Connie peers through the glass panel in the staffroom door whilst attempting to locate her daughter and sighs softly, perceiving us for a few minutes before pacing away, Louboutins clicking piercingly against the tacky, linoleum surface. But we don't notice, engulfed in our new game.
\~\~\~\~\
My shift has ended. Finally! It's now time for me to go home. And I couldn't be more ecstatic. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I stroll down the maze of streets to reach my house. As I near my home, I hastily halt as I observe a van parked outside my house, and although it's dark, I squint and can see that a notice has been attached to my front door.
The men in the van are debt collectors.
My breath catches in my throat and accumulates there causing me to splutter uncontrollably. My heart beat is racing. Twice as fast as normal. No, three times quicker at least. I've been late with several payments of my mortgage; well, that's a lie. I haven't been paying my mortgage - I simply can't afford it! And with my husband being so uncooperative in refusing to grant me permission to sell the house, my options have been limited. But now we have lost his - our - home, and I instantly know that he is going to blame me. My stomach churns violently at the thought.
I'm allowed to collect some of my personal possessions, tossing a load of clothes and essentials into a couple of large holdalls. They won't consent to me staying there, though. Not unless I pay a heft percentage of the outstanding debt upfront. Which I obviously cannot.
So I'm equipped with my personal stuff and leisurely trailing back to the emergency department because I have nowhere else to go. I hope that there is a vacant on-call room that I can occupy until I find a more permanent solution. And I hope that no one sees me enter and asks questions.