Chapter Text
You tilted down your book to look at the alarm clock on your nightstand.
2:08 am
It was like it was mocking you.
You slotted your bookmark in to save your spot and sat your book down on your bed. You flipped over to your back and stared at the ceiling. You had work at 7 pm the next day. You were a nurse working night shifts. And you loved it. Please note the sarcasm. After you physically shut down a month ago, you had been prescribed a therapist. She said you had been “running on fumes” and “neglecting your physical well-being”. You know she was a hundred percent right with that but didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. You couldn’t grapple with the fact that you were failing. Plenty of people worked night shifts, why was it so hard for you. All you wanted since high school, and specifically because of a falling out with a couple of friends, was to show people you could do it. Not that you were just succeeding, but that you were doing it better than them. That you were better than them.
What a god-awful mind set to have.
And you weren’t even benefiting from it. You had such a great superhero backstory but look how you ended up. Burnt out because you had been living on microwavable meals and the worst sleep schedule known to man. It didn’t help that you had the habit of forgetting meals. And you had what felt like an overwhelming physical need for human connection. During the day while you should be sleeping, you would hang out with friends and family like you didn’t have a twelve-hour shift in two hours. You would party all night, take a shower, spend the day with family or friends, whoever it might be that day, and then, after all that, work your twelve-hour. You had been up for at least twenty-four hours, and sometimes up to thirty-six. It was so much fun while it lasted though. And at the end of all that, it was so easy to fall asleep, your insomnia was no more.
But your therapist had shut that down instantly.
Thanks Cynthia.
You were a nurse. Obviously, you knew this wasn’t healthy. You just kind of had the mindset that you were different. That you could handle it. And you could. Or well, you did. Until you passed out while talking to a patient. You had been in the middle of a sentence and then
boom
you had woken up in a room that you had treated patients in so regularly. Your therapist (Cynthia? Is that appropriate?... Sure, let’s go with that), Cynthia, said it was a wake-up call. And it sure as hell was one. Although very strongly suggested by management, you would’ve found a therapist anyways. Even just talking to someone about all this would be nice. You hated burdening your friends with nurse talk and even just normal venting too. You were the therapist friend. It never was the reverse.
So all this leads you back to your 2 am reading session. Cynthia suggested taking up reading again, something you brought up in a session when prompted about childhood hobbies. The time you are reading though, that was all on Cynthia. She called it her “super duper sleep schedule for night nursesᵗᵐ”, and yes she did say the “tm” outloud. Everytime. You love her though; she’s endearing in her own way.
Her schedule consisted of going to bed around 4 am and then sleeping in to about noon or one. It was a pretty standard night nurse sleep schedule, but you let Cynthia continue to think it was revolutionary. Tonight wasn’t your first night on this schedule, but it was definitely the roughest. You were just exhausted.
You picked up your book only to put it down again without opening it. You flipped on your side again and looked out the window. You had a third-floor apartment, in a random apartment building, in a random neighborhood, in your little town of New York City. You had grown up here and could never imagine moving away. It felt like you knew every street, every alley, every building personally. You could never be bored in this sleepless city.
You had a thought and stood up.
After quietly exiting your room and crossing the apartment, careful not to wake up your two roommates, you reach the hallway door. You slid your docs on, tucking in your plaid pajama pants as you went along. You grabbed your coat and pulled it on over your tank top. It was decently appropriate attire for the season. It was early October, and the chill was just starting to really settle in. You pulled your hair into a ponytail just to get it out of your face and grabbed your tote from off the coat rack. Slowly you turned the doorknob and exited the apartment. Down the hall, down the stairs, and out the lobby.
You walked into the crisp night air.