TAMING HARRISON COLE

She saw him first by the frozen foods, pushing a cart like he’d never walked out of her life. “Please,” the words came out raw, stripped of everything but panicked. “Don’t leave me. Not now. We can build this, we’ve been building it. You said you’d always be by my side. Didn’t you say that?” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. The man who’d promised her forever shifted his weight, muttered something about being late, and walked past her. She watched him drive off through the supermarket parking lot, taillights bleeding red into the dusk. And then there was no sound. Just the hollow ringing in her chest. The man who’d sworn to stay was gone. And with him went the part of her that never believed again. Never again, she thought. Not any man. Not love. Not trust. Her eyes snapped open, the room was black. It had all been a dream. The power hadn’t gone out, it had been cut. Jasmine Carter knew before she even opened her eyes. The silence gave it away. The kind that settled too neatly and completely. No low hum from the refrigerator, no faint buzz from the hallway light outside her door, just stillness then the sounds returned. Distant sirens cutting through the early morning air, a car alarm going off somewhere down the block, heavy footsteps in the apartment above hers, someone already awake and moving. She fully opened her eyes and everywhere was dark. Not complete darkness because New York never allowed that but dim enough to remind her of what she hadn’t paid. Her gaze shifted toward the corner where the small digital meter sat mounted beside the door. The meter was off. Not blinking, no warning, but off. Jasmine exhaled slowly and sat up with no reaction or frustration but acknowledgment, believing everything would get better. She reached for her phone and the screen lit up the room briefly at 4:12 AM. Her alarm hadn’t even gone off yet. It didn't matter because sleep had already left. She swung her legs off the bed, her feet meeting the cold floor, and for a moment, she stayed there still, grounded and already calculating: Rent. Utilities. Transportation. The pharmacy balance. Her jaw tightened slightly as she stood up. The small apartment in the Bronx didn’t take long to cross. Every step had a purpose. She moved through it like she did everything else; efficient, controlled, quiet enough not to disturb neighbors who were probably already awake anyway. Her uniform hung neatly by the closet door, pressed and prepared the night before. Jasmine quickly changed into her casual wear. Opening her bag, she put the scrubs first, then her shoes. She pulled back her hair and secured it tightly with a hair clip, making sure no strand was left out of place. Control started here. Before anything else, her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. A message: Pharmacy: Payment Reminder—Balance Due. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then she locked it. “Not now,” she muttered to herself, then picked up her bag and stepped out. The street was already alive. Not gently or gradually, but all at once. A bodega in the corner had its lights on, the glass glowing under the early morning haze. A man stood outside, arguing into his phone. Someone dragged a trash bin across the sidewalk with a scraping sound that got everyone looking at him. Jasmine adjusted the strap of her bag and kept walking without hesitation or distraction. The subway entrance loomed ahead, stairs descending into movement and noise. She tapped her MetroCard and passed through without breaking stride. Down below, the air was warmer. Everywhere was crowded in a way that never really emptied, no matter the hour. The train roared past on the opposite track while people stood waiting. Some were half-asleep, some were already irritated, some were moving like the day had already started hours ago. Jasmine stood among them, still, focused and untouched by the rest. When the train arrived, she stepped in without rushing, finding space where there was barely any. A shoulder brushed against hers. Someone’s bag pressed into her side. She didn’t react, didn’t shift or complained. Energy was currency, and she didn’t want to waste it. By the time she surfaced in Manhattan, the city had sharpened. Buildings are taller, streets cleaner, movement is more controlled. Different world, same morning. Jasmine walked the remaining distance without slowing down. Then she saw it:”Reddington Medical Center." Glass, Steel, Order. The doors slid open as she approached, cool air meeting her instantly. The noise of the city softened behind her, replaced by something quieter and more controlled. This was where things made sense, where accuracy mattered, where mistakes had consequences. She signed in at the front desk. “Morning,” a voice said. Jasmine didn’t look up immediately. “Morning.” Sharon Bennet leaned against the counter, arms folded, expression casual in a way that wasn’t really casual. “You’re early,” Sharon said. “I’m on time.” “That’s what you always say,” Sharon replied. Jasmine didn’t respond. She finished signing in and moved to pass, but Sharon’s voice followed. “You know you don’t have to act like the management is watching all the time.” Jasmine stopped briefly then turned and said, “I don’t act.” Her tone was even and flat. Sharon’s smile thinned slightly. “Relax. It’s not that serious.” Jasmine held her gaze. “It is.” Then she turned and walked away. Behind her, Sharon exhaled quietly. The locker room was quiet. Jasmine adjusted her badge, checked her reflection once. Ensuring nothing was out of place, she stepped out onto the ward floor. Everything shifted. "Another day to ensure a life isn't lost, she muttered within herself and immediately stepped out. The ward was unusually busy that morning. Nurses moved quickly between beds, attending to patients, checking medications, and responding to calls. Amid the chaos was Jasmine, a young nurse known for her discipline and unwavering respect for hospital ethics. She carefully checked every medication before administering it, maintained patient confidentiality, and spoke to every patient with patience and dignity. Even when another nurse suggested skipping a minor procedure because they were tired, Jasmine shook her head. “We may be tired, but our patients still deserve the best care,” she said calmly. By the end of the shift, everyone looked exhausted. In the nurses’ station, they gathered briefly to hand over their duties. Some complained about difficult patients and the workload, while Jasmine listened quietly before contributing her own observations. She made sure every important detail was properly handed over before leaving. “Another long day,” one of her colleagues sighed. Jasmine smiled. “At least we know we did what we were supposed to do.” She changed out of her uniform and said goodbye to her colleagues. She stopped at the mall to get the little things she needed and after that walked home under the quiet evening sky. When she finally reached her small apartment, she dropped her bag beside the door, took a warm shower, and collapsed onto her bed. Within minutes, she was asleep, preparing herself for another demanding day.