Page 44 of Kept in the Dark
“Working in emergency rooms has put me in a unique position to help work around some of the systems I hate, like the quality of health care depending on the income of the person who needs it. But at the end of the day, I’m still part of a for-profit hospital, and I still take my paycheck and use it to buy stupid shit made in China on the internet.
“I enjoy being a nurse and helping people. I’m not romantic enough to think I’m changing the world one person at a time, but I’d like to think that the majority of the people whose lives I touch are better for it. That’s enough for me.”
“Even if it’s as part of a corrupt system that takes from the majority in order to serve a few?”
I blow out a heavy breath. “Geez, are you going to ask me if I’ve read the Communist Manifesto next?”
“Have you?” he challenges.
This took a heavy turn. I’m not sure exactly how we got here—politics, morality, society and social order... But now that we are, a deep, usually dormant part of me thrills in it.
“No,” I chuckle. “And I’m not arguing that the system isn’t corrupt, but… it’s not all bad, either. And I think if I let myself feel like it wasmyresponsibility to correct the world’s sins, or fight the man, I’d never getanything done. I do what I can—what I think is right—and I live my life in pursuit of my own happiness. Just like most people do.”
There’s a beat of silence following that, and I want to suck the words back in. The familiar jeers and criticisms echo like a lost memory too prickly to be forgotten.
You’re so serious, Nicole. Lighten up.
I meant what I said—I almost always do—but I have a tendency to get too introspective and let it leak out into a conversation where someone actually wanted a lighthearted answer or was making a joke. But his lips quirk up, and I have the distinct impression that, despite the somewhat unsatisfying conclusion, I gave him what he was looking for.
“You are very serious and thoughtful, Nicole. And well-spoken as well.”
A very unserious response nearly springs to my lips.Back atcha, big guy.
“Thank you.”
Warmth blooms on my face and deep in my soul. Whether or not I’d meant to, I’d bared something to him. I showed him the real me—the one who thrives in deep conversation and answers questions seriously, thoughtfully—and he’s not turning away. He complimented me for it. He leaned in.
I move my king backwards, seeing his queen is closing in.
“Someone tried to kill me,” he says, gesturing to the scar on his face as he puts my king in check. It takes me a second to realize he’sansweringmy earlier question instead of asking another. “And they were very bad at it.”
It should probably freak me out. And it’s not funny—it really isn’t—but a laugh bursts out of my mouth that I can’t help because his delivery was just as dry as it was when he told me he didn’t want a birthday party.
His eyebrows shoot up, but he’s otherwise unmoved by my inappropriate reaction. I settle, tipping my king over to signal my defeat. “I’m sorry; it’s not funny. It’s just… I’m glad they were bad at it.”
He smiles, and for a second, I can’t breathe. I’m completely caught off guard by how it transforms his face. It’s not an altogether happy, light look—the smile deepens the pull of the scar bisecting his cheek, giving him an even more sinister appearance—but it suits him almost as much as the serious stoicism.
“I am glad you think so.”
13
Dimitri
I do not save things; I break them.
Damn leak. Damn bilge pump. Damn houseboat.
It is very late when I finish repairing the hole, and Nicole is already deeply asleep in the bed. On her back, in the middle.
Instead of trying to fit into the space next to her, I hover and watch. Her breasts strain against the tightly pulled shirt. Her stomach expands underneath the hand resting there. Her eyelashes flutter against golden skin as her eyes rapidly move back and forth beneath the lids.
Exhausted as I am, I believe I could watch her for the rest of the night. Watch over her. The idea stirs me, gripping me tightly and refusing to be shaken away—a fantasy where I am her protector, where the blunt instrument of my size and skill is sharpened with a single purpose. A better purpose.
The temptation to stand watch or to lie down next to her is becoming too great. I turn away, moving towards the stairs, when a high-pitched whimper freezes my blood. “No.”
I spin, heart thumping hard, and see her shifting restlessly. Her brow is furrowed, and her head thrashes. A broken breath chokes her, nearly waking her, but it shudders out of her lungs with a fearful cry.
A nightmare.
