Chapter 17 #2
Holly is standing in front of me with her back facing my chest, and her hair smells like fucking strawberries.
Sweet, fruity, tangy. My hand twitches with the urge to touch it, to bury my face in that mess.
I imagine combing it through my fingers, braiding it, maybe even yanking on a stray strand, letting it brush against my lips while she tells me about all the ways she’s fantasized killing me.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the scent exploding in my nose, tightening something hedonistic in my core, sending all the blood rushing to my cock —
“Dr. Carter?” A voice lances through my fog of unclean thoughts. All of which begin and end with Holly on top of me.
My eyes snap open. Dr. Corbin. Shit. Right. I clear my throat, feeling a blush creep up my neck, and straighten up. I step beside Holly, careful not to touch her — the last thing I need is a hard-on in front of our boss. She shoots me a quick glare before looking away, frowning deeply.
“Absolutely, sir,” I assure him, trying to sound sincere despite the hundreds of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “We'll get right on that.”
Corbin nods, still skeptical, then shakes his head slowly and walks off, muttering something about “unprofessionalism” and “workplace conduct” under his breath. The second he's out of sight, I turn to Holly with a triumphant grin. “You’re welcome.”
She doesn’t smile back. Instead, she has this blank look in her eyes. A look a child might have before pulling the wings off a butterfly. It’s kind of spooky, actually.
“Dr. Moore…” Holly’s intern approaches us. “Do we um, do we…wait for you here or —”
“Trauma room six,” she cuts her off, her gaze still fixed on me. “There’s a blunt-force trauma case with suspected intracranial hemorrhage. I need you to assess the patient immediately and report back to me with vitals and a preliminary examination.”
The intern nods, her eyes lingering on us for a beat, then glances at me.
I offer her a polite smile. The second she and the other interns are out of sight, Holly wastes no time.
She grabs my arm, yanks me towards a nearby storage closet, slamming the door shut behind her.
The fluorescent light overhead flickers, casting long, distorted shadows across the cramped space.
The faint smell of disinfectants and starchy linens hangs in the air.
Cramped metal shelves line the walls, jam packed with cardboard boxes overflowing with medical supplies: gauze pads, syringes, IV bags.
“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?!” She takes an empty IV bag and whacks my arm four times.
“Ow, ow, ow! Okay, okay, I get it,” I grimace, rubbing the sore spot.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Judging by my taste in women, a lot. But could you be more specific?”
“You lied to the cops.”
“Is that where we’re drawing the line of morality? Lying?”
She’s not amused.
A despondent sigh leaves my mouth. “It was hardly a lie, Holly. I was just trying to help you. And pardon my bluntness, but I think a ‘thank you’ might be more appropriate than a smack on my arm. If you need a reminder, I’m still recovering from your messy sutures.”
“Oh, my bad! I must be completely blanking out on the exact moment I asked for your help.”
“That’s the beauty of our relationship. You never have to ask for help. You think, I do.”
“Oh, yeah? What am I thinking right now, then?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If I answer incorrectly, will you hit me again?”
There’s a small pause. She stares at me like she wants to hit me again. A frustrated groan leaves her mouth, like an upset puppy, and then she does hit me again. A hard punch on my arm.
Ow. A groan leaves my mouth, a dull ache pulsing through my crusted stab wound.
“I really don’t understand why you’re so mad at me.
All I did was make sure you don’t spend the night, or quite possibly the rest of your life, in prison.
There are gangs in prison, Holly. You are not a social person.
What if you don’t fit in with the other convicts?
I know you don’t care what people think of you, neither do I, but prison might be the one place I’d like you to have at least one nice friendly face around.
You don’t even know how to make a shiv.”
“That’s your concern right now? My inability to make a shiv? You just told the police and everyone at this hospital that we’re in a relationship. I’d much rather go to jail.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.” And hurtful.
“Do you even realize how much shit the both of us could get into once they find out I wasn’t with you that night?”
“No one’s going to find anything out.” The both of us. Her words go on echoing in my heart. She’s worried about me.
“What if they find a loophole in your stupid fucking story?”
“They won’t.”
“Yes, because us being in a relationship is obviously so believable. Never mind the fact that I have fantasized about driving my scalpel through your skull every night for the past three years.”
I hold up a finger. “One, no one is going to find out what goes on inside your pretty little head. And two,” I pause, holding up a second finger. “Really? Every night?”
Her third smack doesn’t hurt as much as the first two, but I wince regardless to make her feel like it did.
“Is everything a fucking joke to you? Do you ever think before opening your mouth or does your brain just spew out nonsense when there’s more than half a coherent thought in there?”
A soft laugh leaves my mouth. “That’s actually funny, Hollister. I could learn to like that one.”
She glares daggers. “You had no right to insert yourself in my situation, to…to butt in like that —”
“I beg your pardon? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in the back of a squad car right now. You needed me and I saved you —”
“I didn’t need any saving!” Chest heaving, her voice drops to a frustrated whisper. “What if they decide to actually question the person working the bar that night? What then?”
I frown, not understanding the problem with that. “Camille? If she’s comfortable burying bodies for you, I’m sure she’d have no qualms about a little white lie.”
“I don’t want her to lie for me. I don’t want her to incriminate herself. Don’t you get it? If this whole thing goes south…” She shakes her head. “If something happens to her because of this fucking lie you just told, I will never ever forgive you.”
Her words feel like bricks, hitting me one by one. Somehow this is worse than her threatening to kill me or stab me or pluck out both my eyeballs. This actually hurts. “Nothing’s going to happen to her.”
“And how do you know that?”
I don’t.
“Exactly,” she says. “You never fucking think before speaking. You have no regard for the consequences your actions might have on others. You just do whatever the fuck serves your purpose.”
My jaw tightens, the muscles flexing as I clench my teeth hard enough to hear the faint grind.
She pushes past me, heading for the door, and I pull her back.
“You’re right,” I say, forcing myself to keep my voice level.
“I didn’t think of the consequences. And to be very transparent, I don’t give a fuck if anything happens to your friend if it means you stay safe and out of fucking prison.
If it means you stay with me. You wanna know why? ”
She blinks, her breath hitching slightly, and I catch the faintest flicker of something in her eyes.
A familiar heat. It’s not anger — it’s something even darker, something that ignites when my voice hardens.
Something far less controlled. My grip around her arm tightens.
She shifts on her feet, as if the tension in the air is something she feels as much as I do.
“Because you’re right. Everything I do is to serve my own purpose.
You. I didn’t care about lying to those cops because in that moment all I wanted was for them to get the hell away from my girl.
I wanted them to stop questioning you, stop looking at you, stop breathing the same air as you, I wanted them the fuck gone.
” I pull her closer. “Whether you like it or not, Holly, you needed my help. And I’ll be damned if I let your fucking pride come in the way of your well-being. ”
Her eyes lock onto mine, wide at first, like she’s caught completely off guard by my tone and honesty.
But then they narrow slightly, softening.
Her lips part, not to speak but to take a shaky breath, and I can see the struggle playing out in her expression.
That flicker of indignation giving way to something else entirely.
Her throat moves as she swallows, and her eyes flicker, just for a second, to my mouth before meeting my gaze again.
The flush on her cheeks deepens, betraying her, and it’s that betrayal that makes my own pulse quicken.
She should be furious. She should be shoving me away or spitting venom like she always does. But she’s not.
I notice her hands. They’re no longer clenched into fists but hovering, unsure of where to go. It’s like she’s fighting her instincts, the way she always does, but this time…she doesn’t seem to mind losing.
“You like this, don’t you?”
Her pupils dilate just for a second before she reacts, smacking my hand away, her fingers feeling like fire against my skin. “I am not your girl.”
The shit-eating grin on my face is inevitable. “Debatable —”
“And just so we’re clear, my well-being is none of your business. I don’t need you to worry about me. I don’t need you, period.” The harshness in her tone has reduced tenfold. “You think you might know me, but you don’t.”
“You could be reduced to ashes, and I’d still recognize your bones, Holly.”