Chapter Three
Devoured by Eden
CHAPTER THREE Chloe
8:00 AM – 9:00 AM
“S o, how did this happen again?” I ask, flushing the scratches on her chest with saline and dabbing them with gauze.
“We were doing a TikTok dance, and Mikala just went nuts and started scratching me. Crazy bitch.”
I pause mid-dab and glance at the deep welts raked across her chest, then up at her face.“Wait. Your friend did this?”
“Mikala’s my cat.”
“You were dancing with your cat ? Before 8am?” I drawl.
“You haven’t seen the Tabby TikTok Challenge?”
“Can’t say I have.” I barely have time to scratch my own ass, let alone doom-scroll through viral cat videos.
“Everyone’s doing it. I don’t know why she freaked out like that.”
I can hazard a guess—maybe forcing a cat into human nonsense for likes isn’t her idea of a good time. But sure, blame the cat.
“Well, the good news is, the scratches are deep but don’t need stitches. I’m going to apply some steri-strips to hold the skin together. Then use scar treatment or vitamin E cream for the next couple of weeks—it should heal up fine.” I toss the bloody gauze and the empty saline vial into the trash on my cart. “The one on your forehead’s a bit deeper, but I think we can use glue instead of stitches.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Head wounds bleed a lot—looks worse than it is.”
“Thank God,” she breathes. “I’ll be back in a minute with the dressing and glue. Then you’re free to go.”
I peel off my gloves and dump them in the bin, heading toward the central station. I need a fucking minute. The anti-nausea meds are holding—for now—but I’m one hour into a fifteen-hour shift, and I’ve already spent the night throwing up. I collapse into a chair at one of the desks and start charting the patient, scanning the room to make sure no one’s watching. I twist off my water bottle lid, dump in a stolen electrolyte sachet from the staff first aid kit, and give it a shake.
I’d kill to guzzle the whole thing. My mouth is dry, my body’s running on fumes. But if I drink too fast, I’ll just throw it all back up again.
“How’s the chop shop treating you so far?” Olivia walks up behind me.
“Can’t complain. Only an hour in, though.” I manage a weak smile. “By the way, why do you call it the chop shop?”
“Because sometimes it feels like all we do is patch people up and send them back out, only for the next one to roll in. Never ends.”
Yeah. Figured.
“You’re doing good, kid. Keep it up.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” I take a cautious sip. The liquid is heaven—cool, slightly salty, and exactly what my wrecked body needs. I let it sit on my tongue, savoring the moment of bliss, before swallowing it down my sandpaper throat.
“Dr. Monroe. How’s it going?” Dr. Clarke appears beside me as I finish logging the notes.
“Perfect timing. I was just about to hunt you down.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Twenty-two-year-old female. Scratches across her chest and one on her forehead along the hairline.” I hand her the chart.
“How’d she get them?”
“Her cat. During a TikTok.”
Her raised eyebrow says it all.
She signs off and passes the chart back. “Good work. Move on to the next one.”
“On it.”
I load my cart with what I need to finish TikTok girl’s glue-up, then spot Dr. Zac exiting one of the trauma rooms, stripping off his gown and safety glasses. I duck my head and hustle toward bed two.
“Here’s a sample of silicone scar cream—you can pick it up at any chemist. After two weeks, start using it on your chest.”
I snap on a fresh pair of gloves, apply the steri-strips to her chest, then clean the forehead cut again. I squeeze a line of glue onto the wound and press the skin together.
The curtain rustles—and we both turn as Zac strides in, every inch of him a walking distraction in forest-green scrubs that cling to a body clearly built for more than just medicine. His dark hair, touched with silver at the temples, somehow makes him look even more infuriatingly hot, and those dark eyes sweep over me.
“God damn,” TikTok girl mutters, not even trying to be subtle.
Same, girl. Same.
“Dr. Monroe, can I have a moment?”
“Of course. I’m almost done here.” I swallow hard, fingers suddenly clumsy.
“Shit. Can I come too? I want a moment with him ,” she whispers, smirking.
I let out a breathless laugh.
“All set. See the nurse on your way out.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
She slides off the bed and grabs her purse. I smile—but it slips the moment I look up and see Zac still standing there, arms crossed, gaze locked on me like he’s trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing here.
To be continued….