𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 | 𝟏𝟖+

5 | The Storm

Men. A complication in the universe that causes me more headaches than I ask for.

In the last week since Cato's visit to my bedroom, my mind has been occupied with fantasies of the esteemed astronaut. When I lay in bed, I reminisce about his kisses against my skin, his soft lips grazing my exposed neck. I fantasize about fingertips trailing up my breastbone, crossing my fingers that the next time they touch me they aren't blocked by the fabric of my clothes.

Cato Leveque weakens me, and I fear that the next time our paths cross, I won't be able to resist his charms.

"Maureen."

The abhorrent sound of Madame Newmister snaps me away from my daydreams.

Her hounding has been a constant as I scrub down one on of the operating rooms. Someone bled out on the table earlier this morning, and the gory mess was everywhere. Every nook, every cranny, every crevasse—blood. Even I have never seen a room so grotesque. When Madame Newmister excused herself after assigning me this task, I vomited into the trash can.

I lift my eyes from scrubbing between the tiles. "Yes, madame?"

"Do you know the time?"

I search for a clock, finding none.

"It's well past six at night." She crosses her arm across her chest. "Go home. I do not want to see your face again tonight, and I'm not paying you for the extra hour."

My cheeks redden like raspberries. How long had I been thinking about Cato? I've never been one to zone out before, but Cato's kisses bring me to a whole other universe. I need to get that boy out of my head. Erase him. Forget him. Delete him from my memories.

Yet, it's not like I can avoid him when his childhood photos strewn in picture frames across the Leveque's estate. He's a forever presence in my life, a staple in the Leveque household.

I weave through the corridors and drape my shawl around me. Even from inside, the rain rushes through the hospital gutters and pounds against the rooftop like tiny hammers. The trip back to the Leveque estate isn't one that I'm thrilled about taking this evening.

The walk from the hospital to the Leveque Estate takes around twenty minutes or so, give or take the amount of traffic I need to get by.

I step outside and begin to rush down the hospital's steps, only to have my shoes fill with murky street water from the large puddles. I hike up my maid's dress, but the edges are already brown from the constant splashing.

Curse this damn weather. My clothes will certainly need a good wash.

I barrel down the hospital steps, the rain saturating my hair and shawl. The faster I run, the quicker I can seek out the warmth of my quilts back at the estate.

A car horn honks from in front of me, and I see a man get out, waving his arm. A cigarette sticks between his lips.

Thomas.

He points for me to get into the passenger seat.

If it weren't pouring rain, I wouldn't dare get into his vehicle, but the bastard knows how to play his cards right. I find myself crawling into the passenger's side.

He tosses his cigarette out the window as I crawl inside.

"Took you long enough, daffodil. I was beginning to think you actually quit your fucking job."

"How'd you find me here?"

"You told me you worked at the hospital."

I scowl, then catch a glimpse of myself in his side mirror. My long blonde hair remains in a sopping chaotic braid. Lost strands plaster themselves against my skin and caked to my blushing cool cheeks. I must look like an old hag—er, more like a witch—with my drenched dress and soggy footwear.