Chapter 43: Natural Born Storyteller

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After what feels like an eternity at Chicago Med, Jay is finally cleared to go home. The doctor hands him a signed paper for a week off work, instructing him to rest and recover. As we walk out of the hospital, I can't help but feel a mixture of relief and anxiety. I'm grateful he's alive, but the bruises on his body and the pain in his eyes remind me of everything he's been through.

"Ready to go home?" I ask, glancing at him as we step into the crisp evening air. The sun is setting, casting a warm golden glow over the city, but I feel the chill of worry settling in my bones.

"More than ready," he replies, managing a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. I want to do everything I can to bring back that spark of joy in him.

Once we arrive at his apartment, I help him inside, the familiar scent of his place washing over me—cooked spices, leather, and a hint of cologne. It's comforting, yet it feels different now. Jay settles down on the couch, his movements slow and careful, and I grab a blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it over him.

"I'm starving," he says, looking at me with an expression that is a mix of exhaustion and need. "Let's order takeout."

"Sounds perfect," I reply, pulling out my phone and scrolling through our usual options. The sound of the keys tapping fills the quiet space as I try to focus on the task at hand, but my mind keeps drifting back to everything that happened.

As we wait for the food to arrive, I can't help but glance at Jay, my heart aching for him. His left eye is still bruised, and the sight of him makes my chest tighten with worry. I take a seat next to him, wanting to be close. "I was so worried about you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he replies, looking down at his hands. "I could hear it in your voice." There's a heaviness in his tone, and I can see the shadows of that night lingering in his eyes.

"You were so brave, Jay. I can't believe you held it together like that," I say, my admiration for him swelling. "I didn't think I could handle seeing you like that. I was terrified."

He lets out a heavy sigh, the sound echoing his exhaustion. "I thought about you the whole time. I kept thinking about how you went through something similar. I didn't want you to feel that again."

I nod, the memories flooding back. I remember the fear, the pain, and the loneliness that consumed me. "I understand now how you felt when it was happening to me. It's like a nightmare you can't wake up from," I say softly, the weight of our shared experiences pressing heavily on us.

"Don't leave me alone tonight, okay?" he asks, his voice vulnerable, almost pleading. "I need someone with me."

My heart swells at his request, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. "I promise, I'm not going anywhere," I assure him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. The warmth of his skin against mine is grounding, a reminder that he's here, alive, and I can help him heal.

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