I couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair life was when I saw Fiona for the first time. How unfair it was to see such a beautiful, young woman with an IV drip attached to her arm after having her stomach pumped of all the pills she had swallowed. How her best friend found her practically unconscious, lying on the bathroom floor, and thought she was dead. How a woman with so much potential to do something great attempted to cut short her life with so much time remaining on her clock because she’d lost her parents to something which wasn’t even their fault.

I read over her file repeatedly while we waited for her decision to be admitted. She had arrived at the hospital in the nick of time, and if her friend hadn’t made it home when she did, Fiona would have been a goner. Thanks to the amazing emergency room staff, her stomach was cleaned out successfully and her vitals were returning to normal. Back to living and not on the brink of death. She was a suicide survivor, and a part of me doubted she liked the title. Not all of them wanted to be saved, especially not ones who took half a bottle of sleeping pills.

No, this woman wished to die. She wanted to be with her deceased family. It was the only history I had to go on until I convinced her to get admitted to the psych hospital to evaluate her and help get her life back on track. To save her. Just because her body was saved, didn’t mean she was.

I could see in her icy stare just how badly she didn’t want to be here. Her best friend wasn’t having it, though, and persuaded her to stay. She didn’t have to persuade me. I was ready to sign the orders and escort her to my side of the hospital myself. Rules were rules though and patients had to be willing to be admitted. Even if she was labeled harmful to herself, we couldn’t force her.

Her friend was doing a better job than I was at convincing her. Ms. Sims didn’t seem to even want me in the room, so I stayed by the nurses’ station outside the curtain-drawn room, waiting for my cue, and attempting to not make her feel any more uncomfortable. After about twenty minutes or so, her friend whipped out of the room and strutted straight up to me in her coveralls, her hair rustling about her in fiery waves.

“Care to join me for a cig, Doc?” she said, and though I didn’t smoke, I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. This building was a smoke-free institution, but I didn’t reiterate the rules either since she looked like she needed one.

“Sure, right this way,” I replied and led her out to the side of the hospital where we walked a little away from the doors, on my request. In the middle of the employee parking lot, she lit one up. She was jittery until the butt hit her lips, and with one shaky exhale, she calmed down in front of me. She was very pretty in a Barbie kind of way, wearing old coveralls over a navy-blue tee and Converses on her feet. She had one of those tattoo chokers around her neck and an impressive collection of colorful bracelets around her wrists. Her blonde hair went straight down her back, her eyes a pretty green, and her lips full. She was the usual Californian blonde, but something told me her personality didn’t match her look. The way she referred to me as “Doc” might have had something to do with that notion.

“So, I assume you called me out here for a reason?” I enquired. It was too late to beat around the bush.

“Yeah. Exactly what will happen to Fiona if she agrees to be admitted? This isn’t like some movie shit where you guys drug her until she doesn’t know who she is, is it?”

Well, at least both of us are blunt, I thought and reached for the cigarette. She arched an eyebrow at me and handed me the cig nonetheless. I placed it between my lips and inhaled. I coughed harshly after one drag. It had been years since I had a smoke, the temptation of the girl smoking in front of me poking at me. My attempt to even with her was gone, but it was the thought that counted. I handed it back before I cleared my throat.

“Well, once she is admitted, we will take her to the psych ward where she will be assigned to a hospital room. In the morning, a psychological evaluation will be performed, most likely by me since I’m the guy initiating the intake. From there, I diagnose her and watch her for a couple days or more—like you would in a regular hospital. Except we focus on how to treat mental health with private therapy, group therapy, and the necessary medications. Then once she’s deemed mentally sufficient to go back out into the real world, she will be discharged on an outpatient basis. She’d then follow up with a therapist as well as a psychiatrist, depending on the severity of her situation,” I explained calmly. I hoped I did a good job since Lisa was the one I needed to convince in order to get Fiona to stay.

She smoked in silence for a few minutes, then snuffed out the half-butt on the sidewalk. “Doc—”

“Please, Dr. Sullivan—or Joshua is fine, too.”

“Okay, well, here is my concern, Dr. Sullivan. I know the severity of Fiona’s situation like the back of my damn hand. She hasn’t been the same since her parents died, and quite frankly, I’m not sure she will ever be the same. But what I do know is that girl—who I found unconscious on my bathroom floor with a half empty bottle of pills—is not my best friend. My best friend wouldn’t do something so selfish. She’s the most selfless person you will ever meet.”

“Death changes people. It is not uncommon, but go on. I believe you have a point,” I replied calmly.

“I guess my point is that Fiona needs help, but she isn’t a basket case. She just needs to get back on track. Get back to being…Fiona,” she explained, looking me directly in the eye. “She’s afraid of doctors, and I don’t blame her. She hasn’t trusted them since they told her there was nothing they could do for her parents. She hates hospitals too, but I think you could be good for her.”

Me? “Well, I am one of the best at Langley Porter, and as of now, all I can do is give you my word that she will be in good hands,” I assured her, and she shook her head.

“No, she needs to be in your hands, Doc. Trust me. There is something about you she saw when you walked in the room. It was the first time I saw her eyes hold actual emotion in nine months. That’s gotta say something, right?”

“True,” I stated and then held out my hand out for a handshake. “Dr. Joshua Sullivan, and you are?”

She smiled, taking my hand firmly. “Lisa. Lisa Jones. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. My Fifi is gonna get the best care.” Suddenly, my arm was yanked forward and her breath was hot on my ear. “Because if I find out that’s not what’s going on, I will come find you and bring you down. Are we clear, Dr. Sullivan?”

A shiver went down my spine—not one of fear but excitement. I had never been threatened before, and something about it woke me up from the slump I’d been in lately. A smile curled my lips as I pulled away.

“Crystal. I would expect nothing less from her best friend, Lisa Jones.”

“Good. Now stop wasting time. We’ve got a patient to convince,” she said.

We walked back inside with a comfortable silence between us as I wondered how it would all go down with Fiona. Or if she had any idea how concerned her friend truly was about her.

* * *

“I thought I was going home.” Her voice was so small. Her earlier irritable mood had lifted, leaving behind a concerned mouse. From her voice alone, I softened my approach at the situation. Lisa, on the other hand, did not.

“Fifi, you gotta let the doc take care of you, okay? Don’t worry, we had a little pep talk outside, and I have no doubt in my mind you are going to be in good hands here. You can’t go on how you are, okay? You know your mom and dad would want better for—”

“You don’t know what they would want for me. How could you even say that?” she hissed at Lisa, who looked at me.

“See what I mean? She was never a back-talker either.”

“So I have a backbone now. Is that such a bad thing? Okay, I tried to hurt myself, but I made a mistake. I admitted it, so shouldn’t I be able to go home?” she asked, worry etched across her delicate features. Her long, light-brown hair was in a side bun resting on her shoulder, and something about the way she carried herself made me think she hadn’t always been so fragile. Or so defensive.

“Fiona, you’re not okay. You didn’t try to just hurt yourself. You tried to take your own life. Something you can’t simply dust your knees off and walk away from. You did it for a reason. Whether you truly know the reason or not, here at Langley Porter, we can help you. Give you the tools to use to get yourself better and back up swinging,” I explained, trying to ignore the heat going through my body from her gaze on me—even if it was a suspicious one.

“And what if I don’t get better. Then what? You gonna throw me away? Lock me up for the rest of my life in some nuthouse?” she spat at me.

“Fifi!” Lisa scolded her.

“What? It’s true. I know what they do with the ones who won’t come back. Who can’t function in civilization. I have petitioned for those being kept against their will. I refuse to be one of them—a guinea pig for you to do tests on. Then you’ll tell the public I am mentally incapable of living on my own. I know how it goes,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I liked her more and more. Not only was she beautiful, she had spunk, too.

“Well, Fiona, I’m a renowned psychiatrist who has a high success rate with my cases, and I’d like to keep it that way. My goal is to help you get better, to live the life you were meant to live. I’m here to pick you up because you’ve fallen down. I’m quite certain after a week in our facilities, you’ll be able to go back out into the world. But Fiona…” I sat down in the chair directly opposite her, noticing for the first time how thin her body was. She was malnourished, and her knobby knees showed it. “What you did was serious. And it needs to be treated as a serious situation. You cannot walk this one off, I’m afraid. So, what do you say? How about you let me help ya out?” I spoke soothingly as if I was speaking to a child. I didn’t want to spook her.

She glanced between me and Lisa and back to me for a few moments, truly considering her situation. “And if I hate it? If I refuse treatment? What will happen?”

They all asked this. I sighed and rose to stand over her. “Depending on the treatment, I will try my best to work with you. Yet if it is in your best interest, I will see that we remain on planned course of treatment. If not, I will waive whatever you are uncomfortable with. My job is to make sure you’re treated with the utmost care.”

She glanced at Lisa before hopping off the bed to stand in front of me, immediately at the center of my chest. The perfect height to hold her, I thought. She put her hand out for a handshake.

“Fine. I’ll do it, but fair warning—my father taught me how to negotiate, and I will not be the easiest egg to crack,” she said firmly.

I smiled and shook her hand, already seeing the fire in those eyes sparking back to life. Determination, I labeled it.

“Your father was a good man then, Fiona. Now, let’s get those papers signed so we can get you on your way, shall we?”

She flashed me a smile for the first time, and as much as I hated to admit it, she made me weak at the knees—a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to with a patient. Her smile was radiant, and I knew I would be in trouble if I didn’t control my loose thoughts. Especially with her in close proximity to me on a daily basis.

When I’d asked for a solution to my empathic problem, I hadn’t expected a distraction. The universe had another plan for me in the form of Ms. Fiona Sims, and I had already taken the bait.