“Everyone told me it was a shit job with terrible conditions.”
He sits back, annoyed by my answer. “Looking after sick people is the highest form of social service. Probably the most rewarding job of all. Whoever doesn’t see that is a fucking idiot.”
“The pay is terrible.”
“Money means jack shit, Zoe,” he snaps. “Do you think I’m a cop for money?”
I stare at him, confused. I’ve never met anyone quite like him. “Whydidyou pick that job?” I ask.
“Because if I could help just one person feel safe then it would be worth it.”
Oh…..
“Did you feel safe when you were a child?” I ask.
He concentrates on folding a napkin on the table as he avoids my gaze.
Did he grow up in an abusive home?
“Did you…..”
“Can we change the subject?” he cuts me off.
My heart constricts as I watch him. I take his hand over the table, “Well, you make me feel safe.”
He leans onto his hand and gives me that I’m-going-to-fuck-you-hard look, again, “I’m the last person you should feel safe with.”
I smile, “Probably.”
Hedoesn’t feel safe.
I lift his hand and kiss his fingertips; his eyes rise to meet mine. “We can keep each other safe.” He turns his hand and cups my face.
What the hell is going on here?
This is something, something big. I’m not imagining it.
“So, are you going to work the rest of your life in a job that you hate?” He changes the subject.
My shoulders slump, the thought is depressing, “I’ll get over it.”
“Maybe you should start being honest with yourself.”
Why are we talking about this? “I’m ready to order,” I announce.
“Don’t change the subject, Zoe. If you’re unhappy, do something about it.”
“Look, it’s not that easy,” I snap, annoyed. “You know nothing about the situation.”
He holds his two hands up in a surrender symbol.
Deep down I know he’s right. It’s my turn to change the subject now. “Tell me about your past girlfriends.”
He chuckles, “Nice deflection.”
“You like that?” I smile.
“Not really.” He smiles back, “What do you want to know?”
