Page 80 of The Night Shift
“I don’t need your fucking help.” Her eyes turn into molten lava, burning with a rage so intense it feels like they can melt me on the spot. “Get.Out.”
“That’s not what we agreed on.”
“And I don’tcare. There’s clearly no one here. I don’t need you anymore. You’ve done your job. Nowgo.”
“Where do you expect me to go with a half-open torso in the middle of the night? The city morgue?” I try my best to sound frustrated with her stubbornness, but the pain is too much. I’m shivering. “You took the Hippocratic oath, Holly…you can’t send me away.”
“It’s barely even acut, Theo. You’re being so fucking dramatic right now.”
“I’m staying over.”
“Why in the unholyfuckwould you want to do that?”
“Because motives can…change.” I shift a little and a dull throb pulses beneath my ribs. “Whoever…fuck…Whoever left a knife on your bed can come back.”
Flinging the photo frame onto her bed, she picks up said knife and points it at my face. “Get out of my apartment or I will slit your throat in your sleep.”
“So, you’re letting me sleep here then?”
“Cockroaches have a better survival instinct than you.”
My mouth quirks. “You won’t kill me.”
“Why not? You have a moderately pretty face. I’m sure you’ll make some nice-looking flowers once your body rots into the earth.”
Prying my hand off my torso, I wrap my bloody fingers around hers, over the hilt of the knife, basking in the warmth of her skin. I tug her towards me. “I appreciate the…candour, love—” I flip the knife around so that it’s pointing at her, then use the tip to lift her face to mine, “—but complimenting me isn’t going to…get you out of this. Not…tonight.”
Her lips are mere inches from mine. So close. They part slightly and a soft exhale escapes her mouth, and brushes against my lips. The effect iscataclysmic.My mindraces, imagining a thousand impossible scenarios, none of which seem likely to happen in the near future. I want to pin her wrists above her head and push her up against the wall. I want to clean theblood from her face, then kiss her lips and bite them. I want to stroke her hair until she falls asleep on my chest. I want to make her dinner and do her laundry. I want to wash her dishes, then fuck her on the sink. I want to wrap her legs around my waist and kiss my way down her jaw. All the way down to the spot between her breasts. I want her to moan my name over and over again, until my brain stops functioning. Until my name is the only thing she’s capable of saying. I want her to tell me — no,orderme to eat her out. I want her to grab my head and make me lick her pussy for hours on end until she comes so hard she can’t breathe.Fuck, yes. Please, Holly.Please,let me make you come.
The heat of her body radiates towards me,intensifying the tension that already crackles in the air. My cock twitches in my pants, begging for release. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. My grip around her fingers tightens and her breath hitches, breaking me out of my trance. Tearing my gaze away from her lips, I meet her eyes.
A second passes. Maybe two. I’m not sure whose turn it is to glance away this time — mine probably. But she beats me to it anyway.
She yanks herself away from me, and runs her fingers through her soft, blonde waves, visibly pissed off. She paces about her room, her gaze glued to the floor. It’s hard not to notice all the gears turning in her head. Her expression is a mask of conflicting emotions. Anger, frustration, perhaps even a hint of regret. “Are you going to say something —”
“Why me, Theo?” Her voice, usually tinged with defiance, cracks like a breaking twig. “What exactly are you getting out of tormentingme?!”
The desperation in her voice wraps around me. Every word, every sharp and hidden edge. I want to run my finger over the tip of her tongue to see if it will make me bleed some more. I wonderif she’ll let me. “Tormenting you? I would like to remind you that it was you who stabbed me and not the other way around.”
“Whine one more time about the stabbing and I’ll do it again.”
“I’m not the bad guy here, Holly.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you bloody stabbed me and I’m still here. Helping you.” The pain in my abdomen suddenly intensifies. A white-hot spike lances through me, followed by a low, burning hum in my gut.Fuck.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Give me that.” She snatches the suture kit from my hand and shoves me back onto the table’s edge with the grace of a decapitated monkey. I brace myself on my hands, watching as she expertly unpacks the tiny metal box, extracting the same pair of forceps and roll of thread as before. She frowns at me, her gaze expectant.
I frown back.
“Take off your shirt, asshole.”
“Say please.”
Her lips press together in a tight, thin line. She turns her back on me. I catch her wrist, pulling her back. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” I say. Her eyes dart to the point where my fingers still linger on her skin, then back to mine. She swallows hard. I release her. “Sorry,” I mutter again. Softer this time.
Holding onto the mattress with one hand, I lean back and slowly begin unbuttoning my shirt. I take my time, watching as Holly returns from the bathroom with a bottle of lidocaine, a syringe, and some cotton. She sets them down on the nightstand beside the gauze, tweezers, needle and thread.
