She calls me her savior. She has no idea what I really am.
I’ve saved countless lives as a combat medic and EMT. I’ve taken more than a few as a vigilante. Both require steady hands and no hesitation.
When Morgan Cole collapsed at her office Christmas party, everything changed. One touch, and I knew she was different.
When I told her, “Good girl, now breathe,” and watched her vitals instantly respond to my command, I was lost. I only meant to check on her. Make sure she was safe.
Now I drive by her house every night. I know her schedule, her friends, her fears. I’ve touched the clothes in her laundry when she isn’t home. I tell myself I’m protecting her.
That’s what I do—eliminate threats and save the innocent. My brothers in arms would say I’ve finally cracked. No good can come from my obsession. A man like me leaves bloodstains in his wake.
But I’ve watched Morgan fight to breathe, seen her pulse jump when I call her “princess,” and now I need her like oxygen. She thinks I saved her that night. She has no idea I’m still watching.
Or what I’ve done to anyone who’s ever hurt someone like her. They call me a hero when I wear my EMT uniform. If they knew what I did in the shadows, they’d call me a monster.
Morgan might be the only one who could understand both sides of me. And God help her—I’m done just watching.
