Page 24 of Midnight Between Us
Can I even trust her with that?
Can I tell her how close I am to shattering?
What if I do—and she uses it against me?
People always do.They find the crack and wedge themselves in.But she’s not looking at me like that.Not yet.
I look her again and even though I don’t know exactly who she is, somehow—I trust her.
She takes a breath like she’s bracing for impact.
Then, the nurse enters, moving to my side.Gloves snap on, they work quickly.
Dr.Moreau leans in.Her voice is low, for me and only me.
“You’re doing great.We’re going to take the tube out now.It’ll be fast, but it might hurt.You might cough or gag—that’s normal.Just breathe.”
Like that’s easy.
The nurse starts detaching connections.Simone keeps her gaze on mine.
“You’re safe,” she says again, and this time ...it almost sounds like she means it.
“On three, we pull.Ready?One—two?—”
The tube slides out in a single, smooth motion.Where the fuck is three.My body convulses.Pain lashes through my throat.I cough, gag, and choke on air.My lungs burn.My vision goes white at the edges.
She moves quickly, lifting my head and supporting it with one hand, the other adjusting something behind me.Her touch I so familiar.
“Breathe through your nose.You’ve got this.I’ve got you.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.I suck in a breath.It hurts.
But I breathe.This time, I think maybe I’m still alive.
ChapterSeven
Keir
Breathing hurts.
It fucking hurts.
Even without the tube, my throat feels like someone dragged barbed wire through it.Every inhale burns, and every exhale tastes like blood and rust.I lie still—not because I want to, but because I’ve already learned what happens when I try to move.Pain owns me now, waiting for even the thought of resistance.
The machines around me beep in soft, steady rhythms.One hisses with every breath, a reminder that something artificial still helps me stay here.
My body is beginning to register it all.The fact that I’m alive.That I’m in a bed.That someone’s been trying to keep me that way.
The head of the bed’s been raised higher.I feel an ache in my neck from the angle, the stiffness in my shoulders from lying here too long.There’s no cushion behind my knees—just careful positioning and a dull ache throbbing down my left side where the rest of me starts to remember what it survived.If only my brain could catch up.
My leg is numb in some places, stabbing in others, and unbearably heavy.Braced, maybe.I’m swaddled in surgical dressing and pain that hasn’t even peaked yet.
These adjustments—they weren’t made for comfort.They were done with intention.Someone has been monitoring, watching.Keeping me tethered.
And somehow, that feels more intimate than anything I know.
The door creaks open again, and it’s her.She wears a white coat, with blue scrubs beneath, auburn hair pulled back like she barely had time to care.Not in a stylish way—more like she pulled her hair back while the world was burning around her kind of way.Her eyes are tired.Her mouth has forgotten how to smile.But the difference this time is ...she doesn’t look at me.
