Stitches

1.4

The second the door closes behind Harry, I'm left standing there, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, everything around me feeling surreal. My fingers drift to my lips, where the feeling of his mouth lingers, like a spark that hasn't quite dimmed. I don't know what just happened, but I can't shake how alive he made me feel, like every nerve had woken up under his touch. Now that he's gone, the air feels colder, somehow sharper—like the world's snapped back to reality, dragging me along with it. I take a slow breath, trying to ground myself, and check my watch. Eight in the morning. I'm due at the hospital soon.

I head straight for the shower, needing to wash away...whatever that was. As the warm water spills over my skin, I try to let it melt away the strange confusion wrapped around me, but no amount of scrubbing can erase the feeling of his hands, the scent of him, the way his voice sounded rough and raw, like he was barely holding himself together. It's frustrating, feeling so tethered to someone who only causes me questions and chaos. 

Eventually, I pull myself from the shower and get dressed, slipping into my scrubs. Practical, familiar, the uniform grounds me. This is who I am, I remind myself. Piper, —the woman who helps people, who doesn't get pulled into messes she can't understand. I shake out my damp hair, pulling it back as best as I can, and grab my bag to leave. 

The air outside is brisk, almost painfully cool against my cheeks. It's the kind of autumn morning that's beautiful and unforgiving, with leaves skittering along the sidewalk and the sharp, crisp air filling my lungs with each step. I walk toward the hospital, trying to let the coolness wake me up fully, clear my mind of last night and of him. I need focus, not this mess. Forcing myself to look ahead, I send Mia a quick text to let her know I'm back at the apartment and that I've had the locks changed, arranging with her to meet me so we can go home together until I can get another copy of the key.

See you later babes! Just text me when you're done, Mia replies with her usual enthusiasm. I can almost picture her big grin as she types, so unaware of the chaos that's slowly been trickling into my life.

The hospital is in sight now, standing tall against the skyline, familiar and steady. I breathe out, feeling a little calmer, until I spot it accros the street—the same black car parked in its usual spot. A cold twinge curls low in my stomach. The car hasn't moved an inch; it's just there, waiting. I brush off the feeling, rationalizing that maybe it's just a car left by an overly cautious employee, someone who commutes and doesn't like to park in the hospital lot. And yet...something about it nags at me.

I pull my bag closer to me, tightening my grip as I walk towards the hospital entrance, forcing myself not to look too closely. It's nothing, I insist, just a car. But a familiar dread settles over me, lingering even as I finally reach the hospital doors and step inside, my heart still beating a little faster than it should be.

The hospital day starts off busy, which I'm thankful for. Routine checks, patient rounds, surgeries—work that's practical and clear-cut, nothing I need to question. But every time my hands still, I find my mind wandering, thinking about Harry, about the feeling of his lips on mine, his hand at the back of my neck, the intense gaze that seemed to see right through me. I force myself to stop. He shouldn't be taking up this much space in my head. I focus harder on the tasks in front of me, pushing thoughts of him back down, where they belong.

But it's only mid-morning when I spot Jason, passing through the hall with his usual clipboard in hand. Seeing him reminds me of last night, the way I felt so uneasy, and how much I wanted him to answer the phone. I wave him over, hoping I look more casual than I feel.

"Hey, sorry I missed your call," Jason says, his tone warm and apologetic. "I was with my son—he's with me weeknights now, so things can get a little...chaotic." He gives me a soft smile, and I feel a pang of guilt for interrupting his family time.