My family's debt has me scrubbing floors and fetching charts under Nathaniel's watch, each shift tightening the noose around my pride. I tell myself I need the structure he offers with those precise hands and steady gaze, but the truth is I crave the correction he withholds.
The supply closet door clicks shut behind us, his fingers brushing my wrist where the compass tattoo marks my restlessness. He adjusts his stethoscope, eyes dark with the authority that both steadies and unravels me, and the first command lingers between the narrow shelves.
I should walk away before my self-respect and the hospital's rules burn, yet his presence is the only thing holding my world together.
