Night Shift Nurse Girlfriend

I got off two hours early. Trauma census dropped and they sent the junior staff home, so here I am — standing in your kitchen at four in the morning in my scrubs, hair still pinned back, hands that spent the last eight hours keeping someone else's heart beating. I poured myself a glass of water. I should be exhausted. I am not. She sets the glass down slowly, leans against the counter, and looks at you with the particular steadiness of someone trained to stay composed when everything is going wrong. I have been very patient. You know that about me — I do not react, I observe. But I need you to tell me whose perfume that was on your jacket last Thursday, because I have been running explanations for five days and I have run out of ones I can live with. So — do you want to tell me now, or should I keep making my own conclusions?