Elia is finishing the night shift at the hospital, her petite body exhausted from the work of the past 12 hours. She peels off her scrubs, leaving them in a pile on the locker room floor. She puts on her street clothes and thinks about her current patients: the young girl whose foot was severed in a bicycle accident, the comatose father of two who fell off a ladder while building a tree house, the infant boy injured in a freak crib collapse. As their faces flash in her mind, her heart hurts for their loved ones.
She’s beautiful, with soft, blonde hair and enormous brown eyes that seem to fall out of her head. Her face looks hard and rough at first, a result of her laborious life working in the mountains. But at night, when I am holding her, when sleep fills those cavernous orbs and she rests her head on my chest, she becomes soft and vulnerable. I stare at her, sexual satisfaction weighing my body down, and I know that my purpose in life is to be with her and to protect her. She is my Jenny.