Page 42 of Falling for the Bosshole

“I-I know,” Killian stammered, caught in a lie. “But I got a text message just now from my supervisor telling me to be at the hospital, or else…” She grimaced to get her point across.

“Oh, okay then. So I’ll see you when you get home tonight,” he persisted.

“I don’t know what time I can get away from work,” Killian denied quickly.

“You have my number. Call me,” Jean-Paul suggested. It was difficult to ignore the optimism in his voice.

This was getting harder and more complicated. Jean-Paul seemed like a genuine guy. Most men would scramble for the door the moment they woke up, and she wouldn’t see or hear from them again.

She felt torn. A part of her wanted to say she would be happy to see him again, wanted to believe he actually liked her enough to want to stay longer. A lump that resembled fear inside her gut warned her not to. In the end, she went with her gut even if she knew it was the cowardly thing to do. Years of therapy hadn’t been enough to exorcise the ghosts of her past.

“We’ll see,” she replied vaguely.

Jean-Paul stood still. “You are trying to get rid of me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Killian found it hard to meet his eyes.

“I thought we had something going,” Jean-Paul added with a tinge of regret in his voice. “Thanks for the sex,” he added coldly, then left.

Killian felt a surge of various emotions. Guilt, shame, remorse, regret for what could have been. It was all so confusing.

“Get over it,” she chastised herself.

She didn’t like this sense of loss like she’d missed out on a chance to be happy. The men in her life had only brought her pain and regret precisely because she had always been in search of that elusive happiness. It just wasn’t worth it, she decided.

“Oh,thank God you’re here, Killian. I was afraid you’d call in sick. That was some eye candy you left with last night,” Linda simpered.

Linda was charge nurse for Geriatric Care and it was her responsibility to make sure there were enough nurses staffing all the stations on every floor, a task that became challenging after a particularly wild party like what they had the night before.

“What’s up?” Killian grinned, avoiding any topic related to Jean-Paul and surprised at the sound of desperation in Linda’s voice.

“Mrs. Gladys Florence from Room 405 is having a meltdown. She refuses to take her medication and threw her slipper at the nurse. Called the nurse a witch who wants to poison her. She insists on locking her door from the inside. We have called maintenance three times since this morning just to open that goddamn door. We decided to just remove the doorknob to keep her from locking it again. Now she is screaming that people are trying to get inside her room and steal the gold in her false teeth,” Linda informed her.

Killian knew exactly who the charge nurse was talking about. Gilly, as she fondly called the 92-yr-old patient, had chronic hypertension, which had led to the onset of dementia and Alzheimer’s. The mood swings were expected and understandable. The hospital needed to keep her on medication primarily to slow down the progress of mental deterioration.

Killian was on night duty when she first encountered Gladys Florence weeks ago in Room 405. Gladys had trouble sleeping. Killian studied her chart and decided against dispensing a sedative. These elderly patients were mostly alone, with grown children either living far away or with families of their own. Oftentimes, just talking about the past comforted them somehow.

As Killian sat on that bed back then and chatted with the old woman, she gathered from the old lady’s rambling stories that her dead husband used to give her a back rub when he was still alive. Killian, who had a certificate in acupressure and massage techniques, decided to give Gilly a backrub. She hoped that the touch of her fingers would bring the elderly woman comfort. It seemed to work, because Gilly gave sighs of contentment that was soon followed by shallow breathing indicating deep sleep.

The next morning, Gilly came looking for her at the nurse’s station, eyes shining, barefoot, and with her gown flapping in her wake. Gilly claimed she had never slept better in her entire life and it was all thanks to the massage Killian had given her. She begged the nurse to do it again that night. Killian humored the sweet old lady and agreed.

Before Killian realized what was happening, Gilly spread the word to the entire geriatric unit. Soon every elderly patient clamored for a massage from Nurse Killian Church. Eventually, Killian earned the moniker “the angel with the golden fingers.” She became very popular among the elderly, giving them massages during her free time. It was tiring and equally fulfilling because it hit a cord about what she wanted to do with her life.

In her mind, it was a clear sign that her childhood dream of setting up a nursing home for old folks was the right path to follow. This dream stemmed from when she was a young girl of twelve who’d spent one summer taking care of her ailing grandma. She didn’t resent having to spend her days indoors. She found her grandmother’s stories about life in the '30s fascinating and how women were only supposed to know how to cook and clean the house. Grandma had defied all conventions and learned how to be an engineer. She’d built her own home and headed the team that constructed the first church in their city. Her name was on a plaque hanging outside the doors of that very church.

Before the old woman passed away, she gave Killian a nursing cap. That gift became her most priceless possession and fueled her desire to become a nurse, realizing that her ultimate dream was a facility where she could have old folks stay while she took care of them.

Killian was immediately worried about Gilly as soon as she heard the report from Linda. “I’ll go see Mrs. Florence. I’ll take care of it,” Killian assured the charge nurse and headed up the stairs.

The nurse on duty was only too glad to see her. She handed the old lady’s chart to Killian like it was biohazard material. The floor nurse’s patience had run its course.

“Be careful when you enter her room,” she warned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she used her urine bag as a water bomb.”

Killian approached the door to Room 405 and knocked softly.

“Go away, witch, or I’m going to pelt you with my used diaper,” an angry voice replied from inside.

“Gilly, this is Killian. May I come in?” Killian waited a few seconds before the door was pulled open.