traveling hearts

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ⏯️: sᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴ ʙʏ ᴍᴀʀɪᴀʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴄɪᴇɴᴛɪsᴛ

DECATUR, GEORGIA📍𝓐𝓪𝓵𝓲𝔂𝓪𝓱 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓮 𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓮

The silence of the apartment in Decatur usually felt like peace, but tonight, it felt like a heavy blanket suffocating you. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets—a gift from Aaliyah to celebrate your one-year anniversary—bunched up in your fists. The clock on the bedside table ticked with a rhythmic cruelty, marking every second she was late. Growing up in the adoption center, you learned early on that people only stayed as long as it was convenient, and your internal alarm was screaming that the convenience was running out.

Aaliyah was supposed to be different; she was the one who flew you out to London for your first real vacation, the one who told you that your foster kid baggage didn't scare her. She was a travel nurse, a woman who made a living saving lives and moving from city to city, yet she swore she wanted to plant roots with you in Georgia. You wanted to believe her more than you wanted to breathe. You needed her to be the ending to your lonely story, the family that never came to pick you up when you were a child.

But the math wasn't adding up lately. The extra shifts at the hospital in Atlanta were becoming more frequent, and the way she’d come home smelling of a floral scent that definitely wasn't yours was becoming impossible to ignore. You’d spent eighteen years watching potential parents walk past your room, so you knew how to read the signs of someone looking for an exit. You knew the look of a person who was already gone before they actually left the room.

The sound of the key turning in the lock sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. You didn't move, kept your back to the door as you heard her kick off her sneakers in the hallway. The floorboards creaked under her weight—that familiar, light step that used to bring you so much joy. Now, it just made your stomach turn in knots. You heard her sigh, a long, weary sound that was likely rehearsed in the car ride home.

Aaliyah walked into the bedroom, the dim moonlight catching the vibrant, fiery red of her braids. She looked exhausted, her scrub top slightly wrinkled, but there was a glow in her eyes that didn't match the sixteen-hour shift story she’d texted you earlier. She stopped when she saw you sitting up, her shadow stretching across the rug you’d bought together at the Decatur Farmers Market. For a second, the guilt flickered across her face, quick as a camera flash, before it was replaced by that smooth, British charm.

She moved toward the bed, the scent of the night air and something sweet—like a cheap cocktail—clinging to her skin. You stayed still, your heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break out and run away. You thought about the adoption center, the way you used to pack your small bag every time a couple visited, only to unpack it again in tears that night. You had promised yourself you’d never be that vulnerable again, yet here you were, waiting for a woman who was playing with your life.

Aaliyah sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her petite frame. She reached out, her cool fingers grazing your arm, and you had to fight the urge to flinch. Her touch was a lie, a beautiful, well-practiced lie that kept you trapped in this cycle of doubt and devotion. She was a nurse; she knew exactly where the heart was and how to make it beat faster, even when it was breaking.

The talking stage had been so perfect, a whirlwind of FaceTime calls from different time zones and promises of a forever that you’d never known. She’d convinced you to move in with her, telling you that Decatur was the perfect place for two girls to build a life. You’d put your heart on the line, ignoring the whispers in the back of your head that said someone who travels for a living would never be satisfied with just one destination.

You looked at her phone, which she’d placed face-down on the nightstand. It vibrated—a short, sharp buzz that felt like a gunshot in the quiet room. She didn't reach for it. Instead, she leaned in closer, her red braids brushing against your shoulder, her breath warm against your ear. The contrast between the intimacy she was offering and the secret on that phone was enough to make you feel like you were losing your mind.

You remembered the first time you felt the shift—a month ago when she came home with a hickey she claimed was a bruise from a patient. You wanted to believe her so badly that you actually went out and bought her arnica cream. That was the tragedy of your life; you were so desperate for a home that you were willing to live in a house that was on fire, as long as the person holding the match told you they loved you.

Aaliyah’s accent was thicker when she was tired, the London slang slipping out more freely. It was a sound you used to find intoxicating, but now it just felt like another layer of the mask. She was a chameleon, able to fit into any ward, any city, and any bed she chose. You were just the one who kept the lights on for her, the one who provided the stability she claimed to want but secretly despised.

The vibration happened again. Buzz. Buzz. Someone was being persistent. Someone who didn't care that it was 3:00 AM or that Aaliyah had a partner waiting at home. You felt the tears prickling the back of your eyes, the familiar sting of being unwanted bubbling up from your childhood. You weren't the one they picked at the center, and it felt like you weren't the one she was picking now, either.

You finally turned to look at her, your eyes searching hers for a grain of truth. She looked so beautiful, so innocent in the dark, but you could see the way her pupils dilated when she looked at you—not with love, but with the adrenaline of a successful deception. She was a travel nurse, and she was currently traveling away from you, one lie at a time. The apartment you’d worked so hard to make a home felt like a waiting room again.

Aaliyah noticed the tension in your jaw, the way you were staring at the phone like it was a venomous snake. She didn't panic; she just tilted her head, a soft, mocking smile playing on her lips. She reached up, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, her movements slow and deliberate. She was going to try to talk her way out of it, to use her lilt to soothe the trauma she always blamed your suspicions on.

She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours, the heat of her body a sharp contrast to the coldness in your soul. You could smell the hospital soap now, a desperate attempt to scrub away the evidence of where she’d really been. She let out a low, melodic hum, her hand sliding down to cup your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin in a way that felt like a goodbye.

"You still awake, babes? I told you I was gonna be late, the ward was absolutely mental tonight, swear on my life." She murmured, her voice a smooth, velvety rasp that vibrated through your chest. "Why you lookin’ at me like I’m a stranger? Come here and lay down, yeah? You know you're the only one I'm comin' home to, no matter how long the shift gets... don't start gettin' all in your head again, innit?"