Miranda Cook looked around her sparse apartment. There was nothing giving her any joy. The things that once sustained her, no longer did. It was lowering to see that all she had to show in her life; all that she had were lifeless, useless things that did nothing but take up space and collect dust.
With her decision made she wrote out her note and carefully placed it on the counter next to her bathroom sink. Then she turned on the water and got it as hot as she could stand.
She turned to her mirror and undressed. She examined her body for the last time. She was not a super model shape, if anything she was exactly the opposite. All she saw was her tits hanging down, her fat legs, her ass that seemed to her to be falling and flat. Her long sable hair to her was lifeless and a pain to deal with. Her skin wasn't even a creamy white or a delicate tan like she wished it was, instead she was just a plain old white woman with no imagination on how to get it to be anything like those scenarios. Her feelings about herself spiraled downward over the last few months; making her bitchy and moody one minute, and a weepy crying fool another.
She believed she hid it from her co-workers fairly well. She laughed at their jokes; answered when they asked her questions, or responded when she was needed for anything on the job.
Rationally she knew she was in a depression, but she didn't know what to do about it. How could she willing go into one of those offices, sit on a couch, and spill out her feelings to someone who got paid to write her off as another crazy woman who just wasn't getting any at night.
She had no friends, no family; no one would care if she was gone anyway. Just another number in a file they probably put somewhere and didn't care anymore.
The water had filled the tub as far as she needed it, so she turned off the taps. She turned back to the sink and picked up the knife that she had set there a few minutes earlier. She placed it onto the edge of the tub as she slipped into the water. As she settled back she found it odd that she was so relaxed at this moment. She thought she should at least be nervous, but she wasn't.
She let her arms stay under the water, soaking her skin, knowing it would only help what she needed to do. After a while, possibly twenty minutes she reached for the knife. She thought it was interesting that she had chosen such a simple knife. It was one from her kitchen set. Not the big blade that is typical of some who have not thought through to what they were doing, but the smaller more deadly of the set. The bread knife had the needed serration to do the job right.
She had taken the only drug she was willing to take, the bottle of ibuprofen still sat by the sink, downing at least ten pills before starting this. Feeling no pain, even that of the hot water that should have been stinging her skin, she raised the knife to her wrist. In a quick moved she sliced through her skin twice across the vein. Then repeated it on her other wrist.
She put the knife on the floor by the tub then let herself slide down under the water further.
Right away she could feel herself draining away, her head becoming lighter. She closed her eyes and settled back. Belatedly she heard the music still on in the living room and laughed as she had forgotten to turn it down and that the neighbor would be mad, and call the supper again. She didn't care.
The darkness came first, then she wasn't feeling anything and she knew it was happening. She said goodbye to no one and to everyone and let it take her. The tub water changing to a bright red as her blood mixed with it.
Leland Fairgate was walking in for his shift as the night trauma nurse's assistant. He was in school to finish getting his license as a full nurse. As he walked onto the main e. r. floor a woman was being brought in on a gurney. Her hair wet, her arms bandaged and an air bag being pumped over her face. As the e.m.t.'s past him with her he caught her scent and nearly fell to his knees.
He dropped is clipboard and rushed after them. As he moved into the e. r. he watched as they were unwrapping her arms and the obvious suicide attempt. Without a thought he stepped up to her and began to do his job and helped the nurse on duty with her injuries. Her scent rising to him nearly distracted him, but he pushed through it and continued to help. He repeatedly would look up to her face; he wanted to know every plain; every angle that was uniquely her.
He wondered what it was that pushed her to do this to herself, what would bring someone down so far that she felt the only way to stop it was to try and end her life? She was his and he would find out everything he needed to know. When they had finished the nurse shooed him away and pulled down her gown to see if there were more wounds to attend to. She heard a low growl from behind her and she turned. But she saw that the new assistant was already leaving the room. Forgetting the strange noise she went back to examining her patient.
Leland moved to the window in the door and watched. He almost lost his control when the nurse went to expose the woman's body. But his human mind knew she was just doing her job. He turned and headed to where the e.m.t.'s where chatting. He caught their eye as he stepped up to them.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Her building super found her after a complaint from a neighbor over her music playing too loud," one answered.
"She left a note," the other said. "The police took it with them."
"Did you get a look at it?" Leland asked.
"Only a quick one," the first one said, "She was saying something like she was too alone, or that was what I caught of it before they bagged it up and took it."
Leland glanced back at the e. r. and he felt his chest heaving, his heart pounding. He only found her now because he was too distracted by his ambitions to have found her sooner. He knew from the ancient lore that a mate could be driven to such acts when their life has never been fulfilled by finding their mate and completing that part of themselves.
He heard the e.m.t.'s leave; but didn't bother to look at them. He moved back to the window in the door and the nurse had already covered the woman back up. He turned to find any information on her that he could. His first thought was to get her name.
Miranda slowly understood as she awoke that she wasn't dead. She opened her eyes and saw what she already knew, she was in a hospital, could she do nothing right? She looked down at her arms and saw the bandages. What was she going to do now? She could take the stitches out while there was no one here. Maybe it would finish the job before someone did walk in.
"I wouldn't do that," a deep male voice said from the doorway.
Miranda turned her head quickly to see a dark haired man standing in the doorway, wearing a medical uniform. How'd he know what she was thinking?
"It wasn't hard to see what you are thinking Miranda," he said and stepped into the room.
She watched him closely as he brought over a chair and pulled it up next to her bed and sat. His eyes bore into hers, and she squirmed as his caramel eyes held hers.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Leland. I was here when they brought you in. I'm a nursing assistant and helped with your injuries."
"Why are you here now?"
"I wanted to get some answers," he said and leaned in closer. His voice gentled, "I wanted to know what would make you go to those extremes."
"What do you care? You did your job, now go away." She turned in the bed so that she was facing the window.
"I can't do that Miranda," Leland answered.
"What," she asked as she turned back, "Are you in training for psychology or something?"
Leland smiled a little at her tone. She did snide comments very well, "No, but there is more to me than you see."
"What do you want?" Miranda asked tiredly. She can't even get someone to leave her alone. There really was nothing she could do right. It proved her life was useless, that she was useless.
A low dangerous sound came from Leland's throat, "Don't think that."
