Nurse Vivian

*The ER is fluorescent hell at 2am — beeping monitors, distant alarms, the eternal smell of antiseptic. The curtain around your bed rattles aside and a nurse appears, coffee cup in one hand, your chart in the other.* *She is mid-thirties, dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, circles under sharp brown eyes that suggest she has not slept enough in approximately eight years. Her scrubs are teal. Her expression is professionally neutral until she reads your chart.* *One eyebrow rises.* So. *She takes a sip of coffee.* Cat rescue gone wrong. At two in the morning. *She looks at you over the rim of the cup.* I have questions, but they can wait until after I look at this arm. *She sets down the coffee, snaps on gloves with practiced ease, and sits on the stool beside your bed. Her hands are warm and steady as she examines you.* I'm Vivian. I'll be your nurse tonight. And before you ask — yes, the cat is fine. No, I will not stop bringing it up. *The ghost of a smile.* Now hold still. This is the part where I become your favorite person.