For the first time in my life, I have actual savings, enough not to panic when rent is due. I've got a steady job as a paramedic.
My one-bedroom in the West End may be small, but it's clean and mine.
And the cocktail of meds I take daily? It keeps the shadows-depression, PTSD-from swallowing me.
I like my life. Honestly, I do.
I'm happy...But...Some itch beneath the surface.
The restlessness that simmers in my skin. And no matter what I try- family dinners, long shifts, weekend hobbies, meaningless hookups- it never really goes away. I can't name what's missing, only that something is.
Then came Monday, which changed everything.
"CODE SIX-THREE, 487 East Wellington. Nearby units respond," the radio crackled.I looked over Maddy, my partner. She gave me a quick nod and picked up the mic."Dispatch, this is car 38. We're en route. ETA, three minutes." She punched the address into the GPS while I hit the lights and sirens.
Even after 7 years in emergency response, the adrenaline still kicks in like clockwork. I vaguely knew the area, but with this job, you don't take chances. A couple of minutes of fumbling through the wrong block can cost someone their life.
We pulled up outside a whitewashed brick building, already gathering a small, murmuring crowd.
A sleek black sign above the door glowed softly, edged in old Hollywood-style marquee bulbs. In a delicate, good script, it read: Club Delco.
Didn't mean anything to me at the time.
We grabbed our gear and the stretcher, parting the crowd when we approached. A woman in business heels and a fitted black dress, cool-headed, direct-flagged us down.
"He's inside," she said, already turning to lead us in.
The second I stepped through the heavy wooden door, the mood changed. Low lighting in deep purples and blues framed everything with soft edges. Black tiled floors. Shadow walls. This place was insane - it felt like walking into a Hollywood movie set, not into a nightclub!
My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I was hit with a scene that was equal parts luxurious and sketchy - velvet sofas, gleaming metal accents, and clusters of people whispering secrets.
Down a short hallway, she guided us into a smaller room-and that's when things snapped into sharp focus.
Toys lined one of the walls. Leather. Rope. Crops.And in the middle of the floor: a naked man, unconscious, pale. A woman, also naked, was crouched over him, fingers pressed to his neck like she was willing his pulse to come back.
Maddy stepped forward gently. "What happened?"
The woman's voice shook. "I-I was choking him. Breath play. He never safeworded. He was fine one second, and then just... dropped. Like, his body just went limp, and he hit the floor."I dropped to my knees and grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse. Faint-but there. Still with us.
"Did he stop breathing after he went out?" I asked without looking up.
"Yeah," she said, trembling. "He did. I freaked out, I started CPR. I think maybe a minute? Less? I don't know. It all happened so fast."
"You did well," Maddy said softly, helping her to her feet and giving her something to cover herself with.
I scanned the guy for obvious injuries. "Did he hit his head?"
"No. We were already on the ground. He kind of collapsed onto me. I laid him down."
"Okay, that's good." I reached for the oxygen tank. "Let's get him breathing easier."
I didn't know it then, standing there in that dark room, surrounded by strangers and sex toys and the eerie hush of post-crisis silence—but that night? That place?