The Way Back 22

Hazelle did not disclose that she had a mere three months left to live, for in the presence of Marshall, she felt as though she had already been cured. A sense of healing enveloped her being, as if her soul had found respite. She basked in a lulling tranquility, soothed by the presence of Marshall.

“Now that we have found each other, do you believe your psychopathy will be cured?” he inquired.

“Yes. I sense an improvement within myself,” Hazelle replied.

Marshall blushed once again, ill at ease discussing such matters. In Marshall’s eyes, Hazelle appeared captivatingly beautiful, possessing a maturity and uniqueness that belied any inkling of psychopathy. She exuded an air of simplicity, yet her actions were artful and seductive. Despite having only met on this day, she captivated him. To him, she was perfection personified.

Hazelle was undoubtedly an enchantress, ill-suited to the role of a saint due to her undeniable charisma. Her aura concealed her true nature, enticing one to question and challenge preconceived notions. The dichotomy between her external façade and inner essence created a stark contrast, inviting endless inquiries. Anyone who dared peer into her eyes would find themselves lost within the depths of their profound darkness, a place even demons would fear to tread. She was a devil, the most formidable kind, where answers were elusive, giving way to an ever-growing labyrinth of questions.

“By your side,” Hazelle interjected, prompting Marshall to flush, his gaze drifting toward the window.

“I see you possess a natural talent for flirting,” he remarked.

“I’m not even trying,” Hazelle chuckled.

“Truly?” Marshall marveled, eliciting a laugh from Hazelle.

“Would I deceive you? It’s simply one of my idiosyncrasies.”

“I beg to differ,” confessed Marshall. “You’re a dangerous woman.”

“Can you defuse me then?” Hazelle teased.

“Undoubtedly a professional,” Marshall marveled, flashing a sly grin, while Hazelle responded with a mischievous smile.

“By the way, how long have you been a firefighter?” she inquired, taking a sip of her green Chinese tea.

“Oh, since I was around twenty-one, I believe. If not earlier,” Marshall pondered, donning a contemplative expression. “But certainly in my early twenties. And what about you? What is your profession?”

“I am a neurologist,” Hazelle replied, her lips grazing the rim of her teacup. “Currently on leave, though.”