“You’re quiet,” she says, almost to herself.
“Mm.”
She looks at me again. I can tell she’s the kind of person who expects people to fill the silence, to make small talk, but I’m not one for small talk. I’ve never been…
Her throat moves as she swallows. She’s trying so hard to seem unaffected, but I see everything. The way her breathing changes when I look at her. The way her fingers tremble slightly as she threads the needle.
She licks her lips.
I follow the motion.
Her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, and she quickly refocuses on her work. I almost laugh. Almost.
Instead, I sit still as she leans in, one hand steadying my jaw while the other brings the needle to my skin. The sting is sharp, the pull of the thread tight as she closes the wound. I barely feel it. Pain is nothing new to me.
But the feeling of her hands? That’s different.
It’s been five years since anyone has touched me without fear. Five years since I’ve felt someone’s hands on me without violence, pain, or some kind of cost.
She’s careful. Gentle.
I don’t like it.
I like it too much.
She exhales softly, finishing the last stitch before knotting the thread. “There,” she says, sitting back slightly. “That should hold.”
She looks at me, waiting for some kind of response. Maybe a thank-you.
She won’t get one.
Instead, I tilt my head, studying her the way I study everyone. “Why are you here?”
A flicker of surprise crosses her face.
“I—” She hesitates, like she wasn’t expecting me to ask. “I work here.”
I give her a look. She knows that’s not what I meant.
She exhales, her gaze dropping for half a second before she squares her shoulders. “It was the first job that called me back.”
A lie. Or at least, not the full truth.
A girl like her doesn’t belong in a place like this. She’s soft. Too soft. She should be anywhere but here, treating men like me.
I lean forward slightly, just enough to make her inhale sharply. “Coming here might not have been a very smart choice, Eleanor.”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, I think she’s going to shrink back. But she doesn’t. Instead, she swallows and lifts her chin a fraction of an inch. “Maybe,” she admits. “But I’m here now.”
I grin. A slow, dangerous thing.
She’s braver than she looks.
Interesting.
Before she can say anything else, Jones opens the door and clears his throat. “You done, nurse?”
She blinks, like she just remembered where she is, who she’s with.
