𝘿𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 ✓

14.

━━━

Each passing morning since has been the same. Every single day, nurse Bridget will boar her judgemental gaze into my back as I converse with my coworkers, genuinely thriving without her leeching from me. Something else quite interesting, although this may seem small or insignificant, she doesn't wear her bright pink lipsticks anymore. She's moved to red shades, just like my maroon lipstick. 

I don't want to be that type of person, but actions speak louder than words. I don't want to assume she's jealous or insecure about my clear mental growth without her, but it's painted on her face. 

I don't hold hate for her, she's just not a good person. By what I've heard and seen, and I have seen, she does nothing for this facility. I used to feel bad for feeling this way, for wishing she'd just quit. Now, I don't. There is not point feeling pity over what is honestly true, whether that's harsh or not. 

━━━

I slip pill containers and bottles into a locked cabinet, standing in my favourite storage room solemnly. It's the best place to be when it rains, the rain hits the storage room window's open glass slats perfectly. Rain splatters and trickles against the small, jammed window slats as I move around the cramped room. The light dimly flickers, my hands opening and closing different cabinets. It's such a comforting place, eerily quiet but perfect during this weather. My thoughts whirl, but not in an overwhelming sense. Just small snippets of the past months. 

Scratch that.

I'm just thinking of Stanislav. 

I think I try to cover that up mentally, but at the end of the day, I'm just thinking of him. At least I can admit it, just a little. It's just, everything haunts me. He haunts me. His eye's his hair, his face, his lips, his voice, hands, they are burnt into my brain for me to remind myself of. Especially his voice. I think I'm denying it because I used to think of my husband this exact way. Exact, to every, single, detail. But since my marriage is basically to pieces and can never recover, I'm diminishing my mixed feelings for Stanislav. 

I don't want the same thing to happen. I'm not saying I'm going to marry the guy, I never meant it that way. I'm just saying, I don't want to risk falling for a man that will be like my husband. I'm being stupid. Stanislav has a criminal record and is a sociopath, of course he's along the same lines. But what's odd is, out of all the men I have ever tested my time with, Stanislav is the only one who has coloured my emotions in such a way. The only one. 

I genuinely don't know how Stanislav makes me feel. It's so hard to put into words, it's the most complex whirl of emotions anyone has ever conjured within me. Parts of me hate him to his very core, for his undeniable intelligent and just how much he knows, parts of me are deathly terrified of what he can do and the lack of care he would have for it,

And parts of me want him to treat me in ways my husband wouldn't. 

That's the lowest my thoughts have ever gone when it comes to that. 

The thing is, I know this isn't healthy. I know this isn't safe, this mindset, and the way he interacts with me, but a part of him is constantly in my mind, running in circles to drive me over the edge. Speak of the devil. 

"Hello, Nurse." 

That voice. My hair moves with me, turning and facing his intense stare. He leans against the doorway, the light from the outside hall's seeping in. "You can't be in here," I mumble, averting my gaze and slipping pill bottles and containers away. He doesn't budge, he couldn't care less. That doesn't surprise me, since he didn't listen the last time, I lectured him. 

"I know." His same, repeated answer amuses me, but I keep that behind closed doors. The still, eerie silence never ceases to churn my stomach. This man has more power in a glance then others have with guns. He continues to fixate his attention on me, until I turn my neck and speak. 

"Oh, I wanted to ask, what's your thoughts on... nurse Bridget?" I enquire with curiosity, my hands still lingering in one of the cabinet drawers as I ask. He doesn't respond, nothing follows, and his demeanour doesn't shift. I watch his chest rise quite heavily under his black long-sleeve, then exhale in a deep, rough huff. Meeting his gaze once more, his expression has contorted into a tense, agitated form. 

"I'm guessing you... don't like her...?" I ask with a quiet chuckle of amusement, watching his head turn in almost disgust. "She was like you, she wanted to know of my love life. But unlike you..., she wanted to know more than just that." He almost grimaces, and it makes me crack up to see how expressive his negative emotions are. I know that sounds bad, but it's quite the sight. 

"Oh, but you must be used to that, right?" I ask jokingly, organizing the cabinets as I speak. He hums quietly, deeply, in calculated thought. It takes him a moment to speak once more, his expression flattening bluntly. "No, because my love life is not important." I meet his blunt statement, a little surprised. My jaw unhinges a little to speak, but it also takes a moment for me to actually continue. 

"...why do you think that?" I ask, and he now locks eye's with me, tight and secure. The familiar, cunning smile begins to form on his face. I hate that smile, I always know that whenever it appears, something so specific and carefully curated sentence is going to leave his lips. Worse, I know that sentence will seep into my inner thoughts for what will feel like the end of time. 

"It is not important because I have never had a love life."

Well, I know that will replay in my mind for the rest of eternity. It'll comfort me in the worst way possible. I can only front, I don't want him to know I painfully like what he had just told me. "What do you mean, no love life? you have never been with anyone?" I ask, composing my face into the flattest poker face I can possibly muster. Those intense orbs follow my every breath, the only response I get is a slow, singular nod. 

This man has never been with anyone. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing, and it is awfully hard to believe by his looks, but I take his word and response. "Never? ever? not even a crush?" I continue, and he gives me the exact same slow nod. He's never had a crush either. This is so odd. He is so odd. I ponder at his words, asking one more question.

"But don't you want a relationship? or want to feel that type of love?" I ask once more, and this pause is longer. He stares through the straight, raven locks that lightly overlay his forehead. Tilting his head to view me better, the lock's part and he views me in completeness. 

"If I wanted something, I would have it. I know what I do and do not want.

...And I know what I want."

━━━