Chapter 6

Emily glanced at the clock on the microwave. It had been two hours since Carma went to bed. The apartment was too quiet. Carma usually tossed and turned, the floorboards creaking. Tonight, nothing.

A knot formed in Emily's stomach. She walked down the narrow hallway and stopped outside the guest room door. She knocked softly.

"Carma? You asleep?"

No answer.

Emily knocked louder. "Carma? I'm coming in."

She turned the knob. The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Emily flipped the light switch.

Carma was lying on the bed, her body twisted in the sheets. Her face was swollen, covered in angry red hives. Her lips were a terrifying shade of blue. Her chest was heaving, a rattling sound coming from her throat.

"Carma!" Emily screamed. She rushed to the bed, grabbing her friend's shoulders. Carma's eyes were open but unfocused, rolling back in her head.

Emily's eyes darted to the nightstand. The open bottle of Ambien lay on its side, a single white pill resting on the wood beside it. Only one was missing.

Suicide. She was trying to kill herself.

Emily's hands shook so badly she almost dropped her phone. She dialed 911, her voice a ragged shriek. "Help! My friend took some pills-I don't know how many-but she's not breathing!4321 Sunset Boulevard, apartment 2B! Hurry!"

The next fifteen minutes were a blur of sirens and flashing lights. The paramedics burst through the door, lifting Carma onto a stretcher. Emily rode in the back of the ambulance, clutching Carma's limp hand, tears streaming down her face.

The Cedars-Sinai Emergency Room was a chaos of beeping machines and rushing nurses. Carma was wheeled into a trauma bay, the curtains pulled shut around her.

Emily stood outside, her face pressed against the fabric, watching as doctors and nurses swarmed her friend.

"BP is dropping! Sixty over forty!"

"Intubation tray!"

"Push point-five epi!"

A tall man in blue scrubs stepped into the bay. He had dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and cold blue eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He moved with a precise, robotic efficiency, barking orders that the nurses scrambled to obey.

"Get the charcoal ready," the doctor said, his voice devoid of emotion. "And call the psych ward. We have another overdose."

Emily flinched. She pushed through the curtain. "She didn't overdose! It was an accident!"

The doctor turned his cold gaze on her. "Ma'am, you need to step back."

"But she only took one! I think she's having a reaction-an allergy or something!" Emily sobbed. "It's because of her husband! He's leaving her! She wasn't trying to die!"

The doctor-Arvel Hurst, according to his badge-stared at her. His jaw tightened. He looked back at the swollen, blue-lipped woman on the gurney. Another broken heart. Another waste of his time.

"Ma'am, I need you to wait outside," he said, his voice clipped. "Now."

Emily was escorted out by a nurse. She slumped into a plastic chair in the waiting room, burying her face in her hands.

Inside the trauma bay, Arvel worked methodically. He inserted the breathing tube, pumped the woman's stomach, and administered the antidote. It was textbook. It was routine. It was utterly exhausting.

He looked down at the woman's face as the color slowly returned to her cheeks. She was young. Too young to throw her life away over a man.

"Stupid," he muttered under his breath. He pulled off his gloves with a snap and walked out to update the chart.

An hour later, Carma opened her eyes. The world was a blur of white ceiling tiles and harsh fluorescent lights. A tube was jammed down her throat. Her body ached like she had been hit by a truck.

She gagged, and a nurse rushed over, gently removing the breathing tube. Carma coughed, her throat burning.

Emily was at her side in an instant, grabbing her hand. "Oh my god, Carma. You're awake. You scared me to death."

"What... what happened?" Carma croaked, her voice a rasp.

"You had an allergic reaction to the Ambien," Emily said, her eyes red and puffy. "Your throat closed up. I thought... I thought you were..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't mention the pills on the nightstand or what she had told the 911 operator.

Carma lay back against the pillow, her head pounding. She had almost died. Over a sleeping pill. The irony was too bitter to swallow.

The curtain parted, and Dr. Arvel Hurst walked in. He didn't look at her face; he looked at the monitors, checking the numbers. He held a tablet in his hand, tapping the screen with a stylus.

"Miss Forbes," he said, his voice flat. "You're awake."

"Yes," Carma whispered, her throat raw.

Arvel didn't look up. "You're lucky your friend found you when she did. Another ten minutes and you would have been brain dead."

Carma stared at his profile. He was handsome, in a severe kind of way, but his demeanor was arctic. "Thank you for saving me."

Arvel finally looked at her. His blue eyes were hard, devoid of any warmth. "Don't thank me. Thank the paramedics. I just did my job." He tapped the tablet again. "Your friend said you were under significant personal distress. Anaphylactic shock isn't a joke. Next time you're dealing with emotional turmoil, I'd suggest calling a therapist, not reaching for medication you're unfamiliar with. This ER is for people with acute medical emergencies, not for those who are careless with their health."

Carma blinked, the words stinging with their cold, clinical judgment. "What? I didn't-"

"Save it," Arvel cut her off, his lip curling slightly. "The 'my husband doesn't love me' routine is old. You're wasting resources that could be used on patients who are actually fighting to live. Don't do it again."

He turned on his heel and walked out, the curtain swishing shut behind him.

Carma stared at the empty space, too stunned to speak. He thought she was careless. He thought she was pathetic.

Emily squeezed her hand, her face pale. "Carma, I'm so sorry. I told them you took pills because of Kendall... I didn't know it would be that bad. I made a mistake."

Carma didn't respond. She just stared at the ceiling, the humiliation burning hotter than the hives on her skin.