-Sloane Pierce:
The hallway outside Roxy Delgado's room smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt coffee. My shoes clicked against the linoleum as I walked away, my clipboard tucked to my chest like armor. The further I put between myself and that room, the easier it became to breathe.
But my mind wouldn't stop replaying every word that woman had thrown at me. When asked her if she feels any dizziness or nausea.
"Only when you leave the room."
She'd said it so casually, her lips curving into that smirk like she owned the world, like I was nothing more than another possession she'd already claimed. My throat had tightened at the words, not because no one had ever hit on me before—God knows hospitals seem to attract desperate flirtations from patients and even family members—but because of the sheer audacity in her tone.
It wasn't shy. It wasn't playful. It wasn't even testing the waters. It was certain. Fearless. As if she were telling me the sky was blue.
