Nurse's POV

I went mechanically through my day, until I had to go to his room again. Yesterday he had stared at me, and I accidentally made eye contact. I couldn't look away. Something in his gaze just made me almost feel sorry.

Was that what I was dreading? Was this even dread? It felt familiar, but it wasn't as harsh a feeling as dread. I couldn't remember the feeling, but I couldn't avoid it as I opened his door.

He greeted me with and airplane and a 'what if.' I pushed my glasses further up on my nose before catching the plane and throwing it away. I walked over to his bed to check on things, and he caught me in his gaze again.

"You're bleeding," he said, looking concerned. I reached up to the warm liquid trickling down my cheek instinctively and looked at it. "Did your glasses cut you? Why do you wear them?" he asked, and I turned around for a moment.

"It doesn't matter," I said, still turned the other way.

"The blood might drip down and stain your clothes," he continued to carry on.

"Too late," I said without explanation. I looked up at the door across the room.

All those patients...they had been lied to. I lied to them. I lied to them over, and over, and over. The past was stained red, and it had faded, but not enough. I thought about all of the times I cried, how many times I had to dry my cheeks before I ran out of tears.

Why did I wear the glasses? It was my promise, never to cry again, never to become attached to a patient, never to let them see any emotion. I remember that now. I stared, dazed, at the memories forming themselves in front of me. Time slowed down.

I was brought back to reality by the touch of a hand. I turned around, and he smiled up at me. He brought his hand up to my cheek and wiped off the blood that had continued to drip down my face. I pushed his hand away.

"Don't touch me," I said. There was that dread-like feeling again. "Where are you even going to wipe off your fingers now? Everything in here is white."

"Don't worry," he said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. He licked the blood off his fingers quickly. "Better?"

I rolled my eyes and left. After I was out of his line of sight, I reached up to the cut and felt it. The blood had stopped trickling, but I could still feel the tender line where the skin was broken. I almost wanted to rip the glasses off then and there, but I couldn't.

As much as I wanted to sit down and ponder my choices, I had duties as a nurse. I pushed my troubles aside, that pile of regrets threatening to overtake me. I closed my eyes. Emotional stress wouldn't kill me, would it? Or was I like a patient being lied to, about my feelings, about what would happen. Was I lying to myself?

I tried to set my priorities straight. I tried to tell myself I was doing this job, coming to this place, every day, so that I could earn enough money to support myself. But why? Why this? Why did I stay here for so long, even after so much pain?

I couldn't remember.

I walked past a window, and saw some workers carrying a coffin. I froze in my spot. I usually dismissed them without a second thought, but now it was different. That was somebody's coffin. That somebody had dreams, hopes, and friends. Or did they? By the time they got here, did they care about anything any more?

I rushed back to room 102. Looking through the window, I saw the patient was drawing again. What did he keep drawing?

But it doesn't matter, it's not my business to care, is it?

The day continued to go on for me, just like every day did. I had no fear of the end, I was in perfectly good health. But what happens to the patients, after the sun goes down? Will they still be there in the morning?

I shook my thoughts off, scolding myself for thinking too much. Most of the time, I thought as little as possible. I focused myself on the things I had to do for the patients, to keep them as comfortable as possible physically, yet I didn't help at all emotionally.

I had done that too many times now, and the routine became automatic, leaving way too much time for thinking.

But my routine has been automatic for quite some time now, so why is it that I've been thinking so much in just the past few days?

I guess this job gets boring because I'm so unfeeling and unsympathetic, but that's much better than feeling the world come crashing down around you every time a patient reaches the end of their time.

The sun hid itself underneath the earth, and still I work on. For my patients, time of day is nonexistent. Death waits for no one, after all.

Not even me.

It's not like my patients are going to wait to die until I can be right by their side, doing everything I can. I have to try my best to be there, as is required of this job, but I'd rather not be there. It's terrible of a nurse to say that, but I do have a promise to keep.

It's better to see the aftermath, rather than standing there, watching them suffer through their final breaths. Some of them are afraid, and others die with a silly smile on their face. It seems rather stupid to me, smiling while dying. Smiling doesn't make the pain go away.