***Trigger Warning***

My finger inches towards the trigger. I zone in on my target. I pretend the bullseye is my boyfriend's face.

Our relationship is complicated. I love him but I don't like him, you know? Let's just say he considers us to be in an open relationship and I do not. If he wasn't so attractive and so powerful, I'd have dumped him a long time ago. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with him. Right as I'm about to pull the trigger, I hear my phone ringing.

I swear under my breath as I rummage through my backpack-sized purse. When I finally find my phone, I see it's my work. "Hello?"

"Hey Lyra, how are you doing?" I roll my eyes. Jessica Fowler's condescending voice should never call me.

"What's up?" I am in no mood for small talk, especially with Jessica, my coworker who makes my work life intolerable.

She huffs, returning my attitude. "We're short staffed. Can you come in?"

I mute the phone and scream, earning worried glances from everyone else at the shooting range. I'm supposed to be per diem yet I'm working like I'm full time. I unmute the phone and clear my throat. "Did you ask anyone else?"

"Of course." She says like I've offended her. "We just really need help with this new patient, he's a handful."Ugh. They always give me the handfuls.

I'm about to tell her to screw off but then I spot my empty wallet. I did need the money. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Thank you sweetie." She chirps and hangs up.

I grab my gun and shoot Jessica's face (I mean the target) three times in a row. Then I throw my large purse over my shoulder and head home.

I purposely take the longest shower I've ever taken. I don't think Jessica would want to see me until I've relaxed myself. I'll let you in on a little secret about us psych nurses, we're all crazy. That's how we deal with these kinds of patients, we kind of get it. The way I was feeling right now, I should be in an isolation room wearing a yellow jacket.

I call my boyfriend, letting him know I have to cancel our plans.

"Babe, I really wanted to take you to the movies." He whines.

If he were here, I'd slap him. Does he honestly think I wouldn't rather go to the movies too? "I want that too, but they really need me. Apparently there's a worrisome client that nobody else can handle."

He sighs. "Fine. Do you want to do something when you come home? I was thinking about going to the zoo or something. I haven't done that since I was a kid."

The words sound strange coming from someone as dangerous as he is. "Yeah, I want to sleep. I'm working nightshift and that's like two hours away Jeremiah!"

I feel bad for snapping at him. "I'm sorry. How about the next day?"

"Yeah, maybe. Try not to get killed at work, okay?"

I chuckle. "Most of them aren't murderers." Jeremiah had no sympathy for people in the psych ward I work in, which sort to bugs me but I'm not in the mood to argue about it again. "I'll see you tomorrow." With that, I hang up and finish getting ready for work.

I adjust my sleek, high ponytail and do just enough makeup to look alive. I stare at my reflection. How did I end up here? My gray-green eyes look dead, my brown hair looks darker than usual and I don't have time to cover up the freckles that I hate for making me look too innocent. I'm not innocent. My slight sunburn also annoys me. Maybe I'm just negative, I don't know.

I throw on the black scrubs we're contracted to wear and head to my funeral.

I'm greeted by Jessica's angry red hair. "Lyra, you made it!"

I bite back the one million comebacks that come to mind. I'm nothing if not professional. "Don't I always?"

I plaster on a fake smile and sit down next to her. "Tell me about my patient."

She looks panicked. "His name is Brexton McGomery, he's in room 209. He came in last night, in the midst of a psychotic breakdown. He is in an isolation room, with four-point restraints and three security guards. Any questions?"

Dang, three guards? That's the maximum. I scan the nurses station. "Yeah, why are none of the like twenty nurses here assigned to him? And why does he have so many security guards? What's his diagnosis?"

She stands up, so I copy her. She towers over me, but I'm no longer intimated by it, she's clearly a coward. "It's all in his chart. I'm sorry, I have to pass meds on my patients."

I slowly sit back down, seeing red. She really screwed me over. What kind of report was that? I guess what do I expect from Jessica. I use my badge to access his chart. What I find sends chills down my spine. He's a suspected serial killer. He's thought to have brutally raped and murdered 9 people and he's only 27 years old. I swallow down my nerves, I've trained for this inside and outside of work.

I take the necessary precautions before going into his room, like taking out things that could be use to kill me, such as pencils (to stab me) and my badge (to wrap around my neck). These are the fun things you get to think about once you're a psych nurse, all the ways you can be killed by the people you're taking care of.

"Hey Ly! How are classes going?" Susie, another coworker of mine asks.

None of your business is what I want to say but I don't. "Good, they haven't started yet. I start early next week." I'm going to nurse practitioner school so I can work as a psych nurse practitioner instead of a floor RN, which is rough. That's why I moved to per diem rather than full time. I can't work as much while taking these super hard classes. Jessica found out and told every other nurse and now they all think it's their business to know if I'm making it or not.

She gives me a once over. "Well good luck, I hear the success rate is super low."

I turn away from her. I hate work. I don't fit in with these highschool mean girls. "Thanks but I don't need luck, I'll have money."

She laughs as we push our med carts in the opposite direction.

I stand outside Brexton's room, preparing myself not be judgmental or afraid. I remind myself that this is my job. I knock softly on his door and when I don't hear a response I knock louder.

A security guard cracks the door open. "Sorry, no visitors."

I cross my arms. "I'm his nurse."

The security guard stares at me in disbelief. "How old are you? You look so young!"

"Old enough to work here, which is your only concern."

He adjusts his shirt. "He's asleep."

"Looks like you were too." I push my way into the room. Two other security guards are slumped over in their chairs, snoring. Great so this guy who looks like he's 70 years old is my only protection from a healthy 27 year old killer. Some security.

When I see him, I do a double take. How could someone who looks like an angel be so evil? He has curly black hair, long lashes and a really nicely sculpted face. I look at his sleeve tattoo popping out of his hospital gown. He's asleep in what looks like an awkward and painful position due to his four-point restraints.

I grab his injectable medications, believing I'm skilled enough to administer them without waking him up, even though I'm not technically allowed to.

I prep my needle and clean the skin right where I need it. As soon as I am a millimeter away from injecting the needle, huge light green eyes open, causing me to drop the needle.

His dark eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"I'm sorry, I figured you'd like some sleep. I'm your nurse, Lyra."

He nods. "I'm still not recovered from the drugs they gave me earlier. I've been sleeping for hours." He lets out a deep breath. "Do you have to give me those Lyra?"

The way he says my name makes me feel shy. I clear my throat. "Unfortunately, they're force meds which means for your safety I need to make sure you get them."

He laughs. "You mean for other people's safety."

I didn't but I should've. I remind myself he's dangerous and I have a boyfriend. "We care about your safety too Mr. McGomery."

He shifts and I see how raw and blistered his wrists are. "Mr. McGomery? I'd say you can call me Brexton but I like the way that sounds."

I eye his wrist and make an executive decision to take them off. I reach for his wrist and gently remove the restraints. His eyes never leave mine.

"What are you doing?" The elderly security guard yells at me.