I turn around, coming face-to-face with the doctor who delivered the news to me yesterday. He stalls when he gets a good look at me, stammering a moment. "You've been here this whole time?"

"Yes."

"You should go home," he tells me. "Get some rest."

I glance down at myself and shake my head. "There's nothing there for me."

"At least get cleaned up," he says. "Let me get you a pair of scrubs. We have showers you can use."

I want to argue, to refuse, but a shower sounds good right about now. I follow the man to the locker room on the next floor. He hands me a pair of dark blue scrubs, telling me to take my time.

I stand under the warm spray for a long time, washing the red tint from my skin, trying to absolve myself of the memories but they haunt me. Every time I close my eyes, I see her ashen face, the stunned look in her eyes, the blood gushing from beneath her skin.

I shut the water off eventually, drying off and pulling on the scrubs. I discard my suit right in the trash before walking out. I stroll around the hospital again and head back to the ICU. I make my way to Karissa's room, pausing outside the doorway.

She's awake.

The machines are still beeping but the ventilator is gone. A nurse stands beside her bed, checking her vitals, as Karissa shifts around a bit. I watch curiously, quietly, waiting until the nurse is done. The lady walks out, flashing me a smile.

Once she's gone, I slowly step inside the room, watching her. Her eyes drift toward me. I'm not sure what to say. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, another fucking apology, but she breaks the silence and speaks first.

"Stealing scrubs again?"

Her voice is scratchy and faint, but she's joking around. It instantly sets me at ease, relieving the tension I've carried in my muscles since yesterday. I stroll closer, encouraged by the fact that she didn't tell me to get the fuck out. "You said we borrow them, remember?"

"I remember."

"So I'm trying out this look again. The black suits just aren't doing it for me anymore."

"I like it," she says, smiling softly. "You look… doctor-y."

"Doctor-y," I repeat, pulling a chair closer to her bed and sitting down. "I'll have to remember that."

Her smile wavers a bit as she stares at me. She reaches her hand out toward me, and it shakes when she tries to hold it there. Sighing, I grasp ahold of it, pressing it between both of my hands. Her skin is ice cold.

"You scared me, sweetheart," I say quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," I say. "Never apologize to me. This isn't your fault… it's mine. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me."

She slowly shakes her head. "The doctor says you saved my life."

"I put you in that situation to begin with," I say. "You shouldn't have been there. You left, and I told you not to come back… I said if you walked out, to keep going, to never come back. Why were you there? What were you thinking?"

Her voice is even quieter now as she answers. "I missed you."

"You missed me," I say, laughing with disbelief. "Seriously… you missed me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She stares at me again. She doesn't answer.

"You should've been rejoicing. I told you I wouldn't come after you, and I didn't. You were free and clear."

"That's the problem," she says. "I knew you weren't coming."

"I thought that's what you wanted, Karissa. You wanted me to let you go, so I let you go."

"I thought that's what I wanted, too, but what I wanted was the option. I wanted to have a choice. I wanted you to ask."

"I did ask."

"No, you didn't. You said you were asking me to stay, but you never asked. You never do."

It makes no sense to me. It's a petty argument. It doesn't matter how I worded it… if she wanted to go, she would go, and she did. She left.

And I don't understand why she would come back.

"I missed you," she says quietly as I stroke her hand. "I didn't expect to miss you as much as I did. I missed talking to you… missed the way you tease me, the way you look at me. I hate the things you do… I hate parts of you, monster you can sometimes be, but I don't hate the man I fell in love with. And he's the one I missed."

"I'm not a good man, Karissa."

"You're not a bad one, either, Ignazio."

It's the same argument all over again.

"I thought you hated the way I look at you."

"I do," she says, "but I love it, too."

Shaking my head, I let out a deep breath and lean down, kissing the back of her hand. "You should run far, far away from me."

"I know I should," she says. "I wish I could."

"You can."

She shakes her head and looks away from me, staring up at the ceiling. Her blinks are slow, heavy.

"I don't know why I came back," she says. "I don't understand any of this, but maybe I'm not supposed to. I shouldn't be here, but I am… I shouldn't love you, but I do. You have problems, Naz. There's something seriously wrong with you. But maybe there's something wrong with me, too, because no matter how much I try to hate you, or how much I want to stay away from you, I can't. I love you, but I don't understand… I don't understand why you'd do it, why you'd do that to me, how you could bring yourself to hurt me when you're supposed to love me, too."