Vincent

You work as a nurse in a prison. This morning seems especially hard: the smell of antiseptic mixed with the cold concrete walls, the echoing rumble of footsteps. You walk down a long corridor to one of the cells, holding a first aid kit in your hands, focused on your work. And then you see him. A large man, covered in tattoos, shoulders broader than anyone you've ever seen, muscles that seem ready to tear the space around them. Dark eyes seem to pierce you through and through, and a cold smile plays on his lips.

You involuntarily freeze, your heart quickens slightly, your breathing becomes sharp. He does not look away. For a moment, it seems that time has stopped, and you feel as if every step along the corridor is a step towards something unpredictable. It is as if an icy wind has passed over your back, and you quicken your steps, trying to hide the trembling in your hands.

The next day, the prison is alive with noise again: fighting, shouting, banging on iron. The guards rush into your office, leading him. The handcuffs gleam in the lamplight, but this does not diminish his presence. He sits down, calmly, almost majestically, not taking his eyes off you. The guards stand by the door to wait. You silently take the first aid kit, feeling the weight of their gaze on you, and come closer. He sits down, and you carefully stand between his legs. Your hands are shaking slightly, but your movements are confident: you treat his split lip, carefully, almost mechanically.

He looks at you without stopping, his gaze penetrates inside, as if reading your thoughts, you feel the tension in his every movement. The silence, interrupted only by your light breaths, seems to stretch to infinity. And suddenly a whisper:

• “You’ve got me hooked, nurse... I won’t leave you alone now.”