It's nearly been a day.

21 hours...

1260 minutes...

75,600 seconds…

It wasn't like you were counting anyways; at least you didn't want to admit that to yourself because deep down you knew it was pathetic.

Math, calculations, and meticulous details were always your kind of thing. You graduated at the top of your medical school class-amongst all the other higher achieving doctors who strived to work with the living while you decided on the somber side with the deceased-it was safe to say you were textbook smart with an addition of random worldly facts that you could go off on tangents about.

But you were never good with formulating words that related to emotions or feelings. You had this bad habit of getting antsy, fumbling with your glasses that were already perfectly placed on the bridge of your nose, and rambling on. Those were the times you were rudely interrupted by soft lips that tasted sweet despite the usual harsh words that filtered out from them. You had to admit, it was pathetic, but it was her. She was the only exception.

Today was your off day from work. You particularly liked your off days, there was always so much to do. It was the perfect time to catch up on the reality TV shows you shamelessly watched, and secretly loved. You weren't raised to be ill-mannered, not at all with the uptight helicopter parents you had, but it was callously fun and relieving to judge the idiocy of the celebrities. Their antics were bizarre and never normal per se, but it was always about the numbers for them. The amount of viewers, the money, the fame.

It was all so fake, and you weirdly enjoyed that because life was never a fantasy world with everything magically working out in the end. The good in life was always so addictive, to the point where you and everyone in the world always strove to reach for it and assuage that uncomfortable ache in your throat, even for the briefest of moments. The good always seemed so fleeting, passing by in seconds even if it lasted for years, but the bad always came. The bad, it loved to brutally fuck you over at the times when you least expected it too. And when it did happen, usually falling perfectly on your off days, you cleaned.

You were usually OCD about the cleanliness of your loft when things like this happened. It took your mind away from the difficulties that were constantly in existence. You always started off in the kitchen, scrubbing the already pristine plates, loving how the suds bubbled up in the sink creating a puffy cloud. You saved the floor for last.

The floor was the hardest part because you had a procedural way of doing things, down to every inch and corner. You would start with a rough skim of sweeping the crumbs into the corner, even going as far as the crumbs under the stove that your girlfriend, well complicated sort-of ex-girlfriend, kicked under when you weren't looking. But you knew. You always had a sixth sense when it came to her.

Then, you would vacuum up the crumbs and save the bigger ones for the sweeping pan. You vacuumed for 5 minutes on the dot until your timer rang. The final step was to started from the far left corner and worked your way back. There was a methodology for mopping, well in your head that is. You started from the center of the tile and slowly circled around it in a clockwise motion, getting all the dirt and grime off, even though there wasn't really much to begin with. You gauged that mopping was supposed to take 10 minutes, but it always took you longer because you were deep in thought. You questioned life, and reflected on how much it loved to throw shit at you all the time. You hated it, you hated dealing with things, and you hated being in bad positions, but you were always in them.

On the better off days you had, it was a time where you could peacefully continue on the medical articles that needed to be finished, well at least start on, for the National Forensic Pathologist magazine that you've been putting off. It was a growing pile, and you were always the type to put more than enough on your plate with paperwork. You had to admit, you needed to at least attempt to do something about them, they were getting dusty in the jampacked corner of your desk.

But today was different, you didn't do any of that. You didn't watch your shows, you didn't clean, and you definitely did not start on any of those articles. You shamelessly sat still as if you were in a straightjacket. You weren't diagnosed with catatonia, but that could've been heavily debated on right now. You only got up to go to the bathroom, refill the coffee to keep up with the not-groveling, and eat some sort of sustenance so you wouldn't drop dead and end up on your own autopsy table. That would've been ironic, and amusingly insensitive on your end.

The coffee was getting cold, you debated on whether or not you wanted to get up and reheat it. You loved the warmth it had on your hands, warmth that you sorely wished were replaced with the woman with pale arms and blue eyes. But you weren't hoping or anything. You pulled yourself up from the couch you had been sitting on for the greater part of the day, and walked over to the kitchen. You carefully placed the coffee mug into the microwave, trying not to tip over the liquid because you hated cleaning the microwave. You had a bad experience with it, but that would be saved for another day. You pressed the touch pad and clicked start, watching the cup move around in an orbital motion. You were mesmerized for a few seconds. It was weird. You were weird, especially today. You were in a daze most of the time thinking about things, well a specific person, as you sat on her side of your couch.

The microwave beeped and you pulled the coffee mug out, cursing at yourself as some of the scalding liquid tipped over and burned the knuckles of your hand. You shook your head and pushed aside the pain, it was petty compared to injuries officers had to go through. Especially her.

You remembered that one day when you happened to look over her file and read over the abduction. You hated your photographic memory then and when it decided to present itself at this moment. You read the words written about how she was drugged and beaten. It was explicitly written in detail with every action and reaction. You read a quote that was bolded "I could hear the sound of his tap shoes coming for me." You flinched at the thought. It probably still haunted Gail to this day, but she always hid herself behind a beautiful glare. To you, she was always beautiful in your eyes even when she was broken.

It scared you then, and it scared you now, your hands barely grasped onto the file because they were trembling that day. That was the moment you realized you were in it deep. You loved her, and you were willingly going to fight with her to the ends of the earth to try and prevent her from going out on the field. That day you waltzed in the station in a frenzy and cornered her. You didn't want her hurt after you heard about her getting shot at earlier that day. And then, she kissed you. It was unexpected. That kiss, it wiped all the worry away, making you feel anesthetized from the horrors you had heard and read about. For you, love took time to build, but since Gail graced her unique presence in your life, everything blew over. Shit didn't hit the fan, it just smacked you right in the face. To this day, you were slowly starting to accept that the woman was an officer and that it was her job to go into dangerous situations like that, but it never meant that you would ever stop worrying for second. You were definitely in it deep.

Your feet pattered softly on the floor as you walked back to your couch and planted yourself on her side once again.

The digital clock blared into your eyes.

22 hours.

1320 minutes…

79,200 seconds...

You looked away quickly, you were not counting and you were not waiting. You sigh to yourself and watch as the puff of hot air dispersed from the coffee mug that was held to your lips.

The phone rings.

That straightjacket thing? You've lost all restraints at this point. You set your coffee down haphazardly and you pick up the phone in a frenzy wiping the liquid off your fingers and onto your cardigan without a second thought. You clear your voice in attempt to conceal the anxiety and subtle excitement.

You answer with the familiar "Holly Stewart speaking," it was the polite thing to do since you were raised well. But you frowned-a little too quickly for your liking-it was only a solicitor. With that, you rudely hung up before they could ask for money. Solicitors loved calling you, because they knew you were a doctor and that you made 6 figures, but you were never in it for the money.

You were in it for the people. You were a detective in your own rights: you questioned, you identified, and you discovered. The work of the officers and detectives were merely puzzle pieces while you had the control to fit everything back together, and make it whole. A stereotypical doctor saved people's lives, which was great and all, but you gave people closure. It was something that everyone needed after a loved one passed on.

You picked up your coffee once again and took a sip this time. You let the liquid sit on your tongue as you tasted the caramel flavour. This was always your favourite, and you made sure to

hoard these small keurig cups for your bad days. Coffee was your second love though because you enjoyed the taste of Earl Grey tea.

Although, those tea bags were always saved for the good days. The times where you sat back with the woman sleeping restfully on your lap as you read a good book or the times where you woke up at the early hours of the morning. You were bare on those mornings and you would just slip on her shirt that was flung to the floor after a sensual night of making love. You were fine being nude, but you hated the morning draft from the window that brought goosebumps on your chest. After tidying up the clothes around your room, you would head to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of Earl Grey Tea. You would let the back of your nude lower half lean against the cabinet as you drank your morning tea. It was nearly silent those mornings because your then-blonde girlfriend was still sleeping soundly, soft snores and all. You would let yourself reminisce of the previous night, the kisses, longing touches and all. It stimulated you and heated you to the core at the mere thought that you had someone like her in your life. After you finished your cup of tea, you would slither in the sheets and fall back asleep. Although, on the good days though, your ex-lover would wake up and then you both would enjoy another intense morning of hot kisses and sultry moans fill the air in a beautiful melody that covered the undertones of the morning chirps.

23 hours.

1380 minutes…

82800 seconds.

Time was on the brink to reset itself soon. You hated time. It was laborious, especially if you were waiting for someone. Hours felt like days and minutes felt like months. But seconds, when you actually took the time to watch the clock on the wall, seconds were years to you. There was no use in denying it anymore. You were waiting for her call all day. There were a million other things you could have been doing today, but no. You were sitting, cautiously doing nothing, and waiting. Waiting for the world to end from the apocalypse that would never come. You knew too well that it was too good to be true.

You wanted to give in and call her. But you decided against it. You were the initiator, and you wanted her to want you and to tell you that she loved you first this time.

Yesterday, you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, not in anger, but to explain all the words that were bombarding your head every second of the day since the complications arose. They needed to get out, even if they were incoherent. You wanted to use the courier was sick again excuse, but you needed something new. The file aspect was still the same, but you used the 'your files are inconsistent' nonsense. Gail caught on fast, and that was expected because you knew that she was surprisingly diligent with her work at hand. You both entered the interrogation room as Gail called you out on your lie. It only took one good look at her. Words were meaningless and ceased to exist as you let your eyes get lost in hers. There were no excuses anymore, and you were overcome with all the emotions that were pushed to the backburner for the last few weeks. That room, it brought back both beautiful and horrifying memories, and all you could do was shove the file away and press your lips against her soft ones. It was impulsive, and you knew that.

You were surprised she pulled back, not once, but twice in the barely two-minutes of the long-awaited reunion. You could remember the confusion plastered on her face at the sudden turn of events. You tried to brush it off with asking her if the man in the room could see you both, and she responded with he wished that he could. Who wouldn't want to see two women passionately kissing? You briefly explained that your 'fake' girlfriend broke up with you before you were forcefully pulled back in for another kiss.

For a moment, you remember you were still sitting on the couch waiting. You pressed a finger to your bottom lip, thelip that Gail would tug on ever so slightly, to try and feel the remaining remnants of the kiss. It was slightly discouraging to hear Gail say that she had something to do that night, but you understood. You understood very well that things couldn't really be discussed after the crazy action you just pulled. Thinking about it now, the possibility of the night with the promise of dinner and alcohol probably would not have ended the way you wanted it to.

It was a smart decision, Gail being the rational one this time. Although, she gave you hope. She promised you she would call tomorrow, which was now today. You gave her a curt nod and probably wore one of the dorkiest smiles to her before you walked out of the interrogation room. You remembered straightening up your coat as you walked out. Oliver was walking toward your direction and his lips curled up into a smile, he had caught you this time.

You wanted to say something to him, but you were on cloud nine, your mouth hanging slightly agape as your lips were swollen from the kiss. He shook his head and told you to not give up on her before he rounded the corner.

You instinctively looked at the clock once again. Time was already closing in as you stared at the black phone. You could hear the taunt of a ring in your ears, but there were no visible vibrations. A soft knock was barely heard in the background. It took another few knocks in rapid succession before you got up in a near zombie-like state to open the door. Your fingers hesitantly shifted the lock, pulling open the entrance ever so slightly. You stared at the ground, looking at the stranger's feet before trailing your eyes up to meet theirs. You couldn't fathom this moment at all. There she was in front of your eyes, in all her glory. Here.

You were stupefied as your eyes bore at her in disbelief. You were expecting a call, but here your lover was, changing the game plan. You wanted to smile, but at this moment tears were already welling up. It wasn't because you were happy, but it was because you were proud. She made a leap towards you, not a hesitant step. You looked at the woman, clad in a black, leather jacket and weathered jeans, not a scent of alcohol in the air. You weren't expecting this at all.

She asked you if she could come in, and you apologized for no reason and stepped back opening the door. You were happy and not a second later you were confused. A small head popped out from behind the woman. It was a little girl. You watched as the girl avoided your questioning gaze as she clung tightly to the end of Gail's leather jacket. You could hear faint whispers of reassurance coming from the blonde's lips that were directed towards the small stranger. The two figures walked into your living room and sat down as you locked and closed the door behind you.

" I'm sorry it's late. Waking up Sophie in the car took awhile."

You questioned yourself for a second, were you supposed to know who Sophie was? You stood there for a few seconds before sitting on your side of the couch. Your arms folded over your chest in confusion, but you said nothing. The kid curled up tiredly on the blonde woman's chest.

" Let me explain Holly."

Author's Note: The weird shit that binaural beats can do when I'm writing.