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I was a whore.
Then it happened. Following a long scene with a co-star I hated, the empty shell I’d been carrying around finely shattered.
I flipped my wrists up to show Tension the scars. He didn’t say anything but he knew what they were. So I continued.
“I didn’t do it right. Even whores have friends and one of mine ended up saving my life when she stopped by for some business advice and to have a few drinks. She found me in a pool of blood. I woke up in the hospital. Alone again with only the aggravating beeping of the machines and hoarse breathing of respirators to keep me company. It was the perfect soundtrack for my gloomy mood.
My head pounded and my eyes felt swollen. My arms hurt. It took me a minute to remember what I’d done to land myself there. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how I’d failed at ending my life.
By that time I expected to either be standing in front of St. Peter or in front of Lucifer. Either way I was sure to have some explaining to do. But instead I ended up explaining to a heavyset nurse named Charlene where I rated my pain on a scale of one to ten. I said eight and shortly after I was asleep again.
The next time I woke up to an angel standing over my bed, wearing white, his short hair messy atop his head, and glasses stuck to the tip of his nose. His blue eyes squinted as they grew closer to my face.
“Am I dead?” I asked.
He laughed and as he did a bit of spit flew off his lip and hit my forehead. If he weren’t gorgeous I might’ve been appalled but instead I found it interesting.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to laugh like that. Near death is never this funny.”
“So I’m not dead?”
“Close to it, but no, no you’re not dead.”
I thought he was trying to be humorous but I was still a bit dazed. He sat down on the bed next to me and pulled out a stethoscope. He set it to my chest and listened for a few seconds.
“I think you’ll be okay,” he said.
“You think?”
He brushed a strand of hair from my eyes and tucked it behind my ear.
“If you were trying to get a day off from work, there are better ways to go about it.”
He was making fun of me. I should’ve been mad but he was so pretty. He was the handsomest man I’d seen in a long time.
He was intelligence in a white coat, cleverness in a grin, sexiness in a beautiful package. He wasn’t the cocky, sweaty, chain-smoker I’d gotten so used to working with. If he had tattoos he kept them hidden and the size of his cock wasn’t on display in his loose fitting scrubs.
He was unfamiliar territory and that’s what attracted me most.
I was contemplating all this when I passed out again.”
Chapter 3
“Tension,” I said as I contemplated how to continue with my story. “How do you measure passion?”
He didn’t answer right away. He looked out the window and onto the bright street where two boys tossed a football back and forth.
“Excitement,” he finally said.
I waited for more and when it was clear I wasn’t going to get any elaboration I took it upon myself to create the need.
“And how are you excited?” I asked.
“Is this about me?”
“It is now.”
“Hmm, I am excited by a woman who is able to think for herself, a woman who’s able to fight for what she believes in but can admit when she needs strong arms to hold her tight. I’m excited by the silhouette of her naked in front of a window. Sipping a glass of wine. Her nipples as prevalent as the stem on the glass.”
