Chapter One
900 Words
JULIAN'S POV
Glancing up from my paper bag of plumbing supplies, frustration washed over me, evident in the tightened fist and clenched jaw. This wasn't the type of work I imagined myself doing. Fixing toilets or unclogging pipes was far from glamorous, especially when I preferred working in a kitchen where the air was cleaner.
As a guy fresh out of jail, there weren't many decent job options available for me. The label of an ex-convict seemed to be a constant roadblock in my life. The one silver lining was having my own apartment, a small studio in NYC.
Walking towards my apartment on the eleventh floor, my annoyance grew. Life as a free man seemed to be more challenging than my time in jail. Suddenly, I halted in my tracks, noticing a slender figure lying on the floor by my apartment door.
My initial instinct was to kick her aside and enter my apartment. After all, in this world, it felt like everyone had to fend for themselves.
As I approached her, I couldn't help but notice her dark curls cascading around her face, with a few strands bleached to a light brown. It was a subtle touch that not everyone would notice, but it added a unique charm to her appearance.
Part of me wanted to call 911 for help, but as I stared at her soft features, her plump pink lips and long eyelashes, I couldn't help but find her both pitiful and beautiful that I wanted to help.
Without realizing it, I let go of the paper bag of plumbing supplies I was holding, and it fell to the floor with a loud thud. My legs moved on their own accord, bringing me to her side. Gently, I slid my hands under her neck and lifted her onto my lap. I held her right hand, feeling the faint pulse. The scent of bleach lingered in the air, making me wonder what she had ingested.
Toilet bleach? What the hell? I needed to save her. Even if she didn't want to live, I couldn't just stand by and let her die on my doorstep. I cradled her in my arms and carried her, throwing her across my back.
I rushed to the elevator, and it felt like an eternity before I reached the ground floor where my blue spitfire bike was parked. It was a recent purchase, made just before I went to jail.
The guard in the parking lot quickly rushed over and helped me secure the woman on my back. Thankfully, he couldn't speak, so his curiosity remained unsatisfied.
To ensure she wouldn't fall off, I tied us together with my leather jacket and prepared to speed off on my motorbike.
Once at the hospital, I rushed her to the emergency section. I called Thomas and borrowed some money to take care of the immediate expenses. My original plan had been to finish the work I started in Mr. Grayson's apartment on the seventh floor.
Now, my mind was consumed by this strange, beautiful woman whom I knew nothing about. I had never seen her in the neighborhood before. Was she a neighbor, or had someone intentionally dumped her at my doorstep?
I waited in the lobby for what felt like an eternity until I saw a nurse emerge from the emergency section. I quickly got up from the bench and intercepted her.
"How is she?" I asked anxiously.
"Oh, you're the one who brought in the poisoned patient, right?" It wasn't really a question, but I nodded my head to confirm. "She's safe. You saved her life. She should wake up soon."
"Good to know. Can I go in and check on her?"
"The emergency section is restricted, but she'll be transferred to the general ward in a few minutes."
"Okay."
"By the way, what was your name again?"
"Call me Julian. Julian Moyes."
Thirty-two minutes later, the patient was transferred to the general ward, where there were several other patients. I took a seat on a stool, waiting for her to acknowledge me. She had regained consciousness but hadn't said a word to the nurse or me.
I informed the nurse that I would try my luck and see if I could get her to talk.
"So, Miss Ma'am, how would you like your name to appear on the payment receipts?" I asked, hoping to pique her curiosity and get her to look or speak to me.
But this stubborn woman remained silent, a kind of silence that made me wonder what dangerous thoughts might be running through her mind. If she had tried something like this before, drinking bleach or harming herself in some way, it meant she was a danger to herself. Engaging her in conversation wouldn't be easy.
Maybe I needed to try a different approach to get her to open up.
I pulled out my phone from my jacket and pretended to make a call. "Hey, Officer, I need your help here. I'm at the hospital with a woman who doesn't have any identification." I paused as if listening to a response on the other end. "Yes, of course, but I think she's in danger. She needs help, and I—"
"—I don't need any help, young man," she interrupted, turning her face towards me and cutting through my fake phone call. "Drop the phone, please."
- Writer
