Page 15 of The Night Shift
I scoff. It’s perfectly understandable for a child whose brain isn’t fully developed yet to misinterpret casual fascination for a “crush.” I don’t have acrushon Holly. I’m an adult, for fuck’s sake. What I feel for her goes far beyond a fucking crush. I’mintriguedby her. Like how a moth is drawn to a flame. Destructive curiosity. I’m fascinated by the way she moves, the way she talks, the way she kills. There’s just something about her. We’re like two sides of the same coin, Holly and I. Different, but not really. It’s like staring into a mirror. All her fucked-up parts reflect my own. I don’t want to change her. I want to become whatever I have to just to be near her. She’s complex, cold, and lethal. She’s a puzzle I yearn to solve. My fingers unconsciously trace the embroidered initials hidden beneaththe pocket of my lab coat, right over where my heart beats. I want to understand her. I want to give her whatever she wants before she can even think about wanting it. A “crush” sounds like something so soft and vulnerable. Pathetic. Holly Moore is anything but. She is everything I adore. She iseverything, period.
“I think you should tell her,” says Kennedy.
“That I have the most annoying patient in this hospital?”
“That you like her, you fool. Who knows? Maybe she likes you back.”
“That’s adorable, but Holly hates me.” Fuck if I know why. I’m a hoot to be around. But at least hate is better than indifference. Possessing the ability to take a life takes a particular type of person: cold and calculating, unfeeling. And yet, although Holly should be unfeeling, she hatesme. She feels something forme.
“How do you know?” Kennedy asks. “Is she mean to you?”
“All the time. It’s part of her charm.”
“Maybe she’s mean to you because she secretly likes you too. At least that’s what my mom says about the boys in my grade.”
Befriending a thirteen-year-old girl is starting to turn me into one too. Because why else would my stomach do a summersault at those words. Is that why Holly is so mean to me? Does she secretly like me too? No. No, of course, not! Holly only likes two things — saving lives and taking them. Holly does not like me.Shehatesme. There are times when I don’t even have to utter a word to piss her off. My mere existence is a catalyst enough. It’s been that way ever since we started working together, but sometimes, I do wonder…
The woman has killed fourteen men so far. Fourteenstrangers. She has stabbed them, slit their throats, slit their wrists. But all these killings, she’s done them in cold blood and as far as I know, without any good reason. I’ve annoyed her forthree years straight and she hasn’t done a thing to hurt me. Not even a tiny paper cut. She could and I would let her, but that’s beside the point. If she really “hated” me, she would’ve put me in a body bag long ago.
I stand up and readjust the stethoscope around my neck. “You should put that idea in her head. Talk me up a little.”
Kennedy snorts. “I would, if I knew what she looked like.”
“I’ve told you multiple times.”
“No offense, but ‘the prettiest girl on planet Earth’ is not enough information. Give me something more. What’s her hair like? Does she have big eyes? How tall is she?”
“Purple hair, buttons for eyes and about as tall as my thumb.” The last one’s kinda true.
Kennedy rolls her eyes and sinks back into her pillow. “Ugh, just go.”
“Later, kiddo. I’ll ask one of the nurses to bring you that ice cream you absolutely don’t deserve.”
She smiles and flips me off.
I grab her charts and head out the door, making my way to the doctor’s lounge for a cup of tea. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, half expecting another message from Parker, but instead it’s a notification from the spyware software I installed on Holly’s phone a year ago. A text message.
UNKNOWN: Roses are red, violets are blue, aren’t you glad I found you…
My feet come to a slow halt. What the fuck? I tap on the contact card eager to look up the number, only to find that there is no number. It just says ‘UNKNOWN.’
This is odd.
I check the time. It's nearly half-eleven. Who the hell is messaging Holly this late at night — my phone buzzes with an another text.
Although, this one’s for me.
Emily: !!!!!
Theo: ?
Emily: I made it to the finals!
Theo: Isn’t it 3 AM there?
Emily: I figured you’d be busy. Didn’t want to bother you before.
Theo: How considerate.
