Tennis shoes squeak against the linoleum floor as the nurse hurriedly makes her way to the elevator. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a tight but curled ponytail, which bounces with her every movement as she steps inside and spins around. Hugging a clipboard with one hand, she reaches for the rounded button marked with the glowing number three when a voice calls out to her.

"Wait! Hold the elevator!" The man's voice is deep, but still holds a somewhat feminine tone. "Sammy!"

Rolling her eyes as she lets out an exaggerated sigh, Sammy repeatedly presses the button but—just at the last moment—his pudgy body squeezes in between the closing doors.

He looks just like he sounds.

Overly bleached bangs, the result of too much peroxide and not enough common sense, are slicked back over the peak of his head with what she had imagined was probably a handful of dollar store pomade. Frail, toothpick legs somehow manage to hold up his seemingly impregnated torso, which always peeks out from underneath the skin tight shirts he purchases at least two sizes too small. Having seen all the Alien movies, she can't help but fear that any day now a grizzly little creature is bound to rip out of his chest and wreak havoc throughout the building.

A SyFy original series, she thinks, giggling to herself as she pictures the terrible visual effects and the straight-to-DVD cover showcasing their poorly selected cast of long forgotten Disney washouts, when her colleague yet again opens his mouth.

"So, Sammy..."

She stares at him blankly for a moment, waiting for him to continue with his sentence. But he doesn't. "So, Charles..."

"I'm great. Thanks for asking," he spits out as if someone had pressed the fast forward button on a remote. "So about that date. How does Tuesday night sound?"

"Unrealistic."

"Oh come on, Sammy!"

"I already told you." She makes sure to say the following word slowly, as if she worried the single syllable was enough to rattle his adolescent mind, "No."

He cocks an eyebrow, although she can hardly tell because it had been bleached along with his ratty mane. "Hey. We're both two good looking, single adults." He takes a step toward her. "We can be a modern day Romeo and Juliet. What do you say?"

His face suddenly leans in and she quickly, with near cat-like reflexes, blocks his chapped lips with the masonite base of her clipboard. At the same instant, as if the heavens above were looking down on her with pity, the elevator platform lines up with the third floor and the doors slide open.

She smirks at him as she steps out into the lobby and, for a brief moment, a glimmer of hope fills his eyes as he confuses her cunning mien with the many twisted fantasies he had festered up since the very day they met. But his hopes couldn't be any more fallacious.

"No wonder why Juliet killed herself," she replies without the slightest remorse. How she can deliver such a callous statement but make it sound so endearing must be a form of art. Perhaps she should have followed her ambitions of becoming a doctor after all.

A grin widens on her face as a jaw drops on his and, before he could get out another word, the doors close.

"Sammy!" another voice calls out, this time that of a female.

Sighing, Sammy turns around to face a woman slightly younger than her who is wearing similar wine colored scrubs. Oddly enough the dark shade of maroon is the most popular choice of apparel in these parts, probably because it's the easiest to remove blood stains from.

"Here's the paperwork you requested." The woman hands her a thin stack of papers and, after creasing the top right corner of the last page, Sammy adds it to her clipboard.

"Thanks."

The two exchange smiles before parting separate ways.

Despite the hectic conditions and insane hours, Sammy had managed to hold onto her allure over the years. If anything, age has only heightened her beauty more so. The natural highlights in her shoulder-length hair had been gradually tinted by the sun over time, time in which her vibrant skin had somehow seemed to defy, and it makes her eyes now appear that much darker. Almost like staring into a deep sienna photograph, trying to make out every detail of a still that had faded in every aspect except for its unrivaled enigma. Not too long after graduation, her body had begun to develop curves. But by in no means was she overweight, however, more voluptuous in areas supermodels desire.

That's why she always tells people, "Looking for a new fitness plan? Try working as a nurse."

Which is true. She has never been more toned in her life and she owes it all to these long corridors and horrendous back-to-back shifts. Stress looks good on her.

"Claire?" Sammy says as she walks through a doorway to enter one of the many rooms.

Claire Hudson, a woman of similar age, sits attentively at the foot of the hospital bed centered along the left wall. She has mesmerizing emerald eyes and plump lips and, combined with her distinct bone structure, also possesses features that are absolutely breathtaking. Even when she's wearing minimal to no makeup. With one hand she anxiously brushes through her dark brown hair that stops a few inches below her ears and, with her other hand, she rubs nervously at her lower stomach.

"How is—" Claire attempts to ask but is interrupted with good news.

"Everything is fine." Sammy smiles, watching as her friend takes a sigh of relief. "Your baby is fine."

"Oh, thank god!" Claire continues to rub at her stomach but now with a smile on her face. She's not showing, not even the slightest, but swore weeks ago that she could already feel the baby bump forming.

Sammy sets the clipboard down on the nightstand and leans in to give her a hug. "The doctor said it was just a false alarm. Completely normal during the first trimester."

"Thank you. I was really freaking out."

"It's normal to be concerned." Dimples form on Sammy's cheeks as she flashes Claire a reassuring smirk. "After all, they say worry is the best quality of any mother."

"They do?"

Sammy shrugs. "Think I read that in a book somewhere."

As the two women laugh, Claire slides herself off the bed and to her feet. She grabs her purse from the foot of the bed and slings it over her shoulder, and she gives Sammy another hug—this one a bit more lingering—before turning to head out the door.

"Claire?" Sammy says before her friend could step into the hall.

Claire turns to face her, still elated from the news. "Yeah?"

"I know it's none of my business." Sammy glances down at the floor, as if reconsidering her question, but decides to spit out the thought that's been weighing on her mind for some time now. "But did you tell him yet?"

"Soon." Trying not to allow the subject to faze her, Claire adjusts the strap of her purse as she, too, anxiously peers around the room. "I'm just waiting for the right moment. You know?"

Sammy nods, even though she couldn't begin to empathize with the situation, and watches as the door slowly closes behind Claire. It's been a little over four years now since her doctor, or as she would refer to him now as her boss, ran a standard blood test in which she discovered her infertility. She remembers googling the word 'anovulation' for weeks after, reading just about every article and page she stumbled across, just to confirm the fact that her ovaries were on a permanent boycott and there was nothing she could do to get them back to working properly. She didn't even consider having children until the day she was told that she was never likely to.

But, in this moment, what bothers her even more is that she has to continue keeping her mouth shut. And fuck, does she hate lying to those she loves.

♫ ʀᴇᴅʙᴏɴᴇ / ᴄʜɪʟᴅɪsʜ ɢᴀᴍʙɪɴᴏ ♫