It's one of those days that pass by slowly.

You look out the window and see large industrial buildings blocking the path of the setting sun. Nearby you is a hospital, and a few windows are beginning to light up. You see shadows busting about – a figure paces closer to the window, but it's curtained, so all you see is a vague silhouette. But it curves like a woman. She approaches a bed, stooping over to whisper something into a patient's ear, you think, as she leans in real close-like and places one hand delicately on a trembling shoulder. The patient turns his head, and the nurse firmly grabs him by the jaw and directs his face back towards hers. One second passes. Another. For a moment the two shadows merge, moving as one in the dusky bedroom light. The nurse straightens and marches off as though nothing had even occurred.

You rub your eyes. You can feel a migraine coming on. Where is it even that you're sitting? Ah yes, the library. You glance around you and notice the receptionist sitting at her desk. You're seated at such an angle that you can see her ankles crossed beneath her skirt, stiletto heels driving into the dark green carpet as she fidgets her feet. Your glance travels upward, past the slit of her pencil skirt, and see her hand lightly graze against the nipple just barely showing through her bright sweater vest. With her other hand she holds a book, and from the looks of the cover, it's most likely a smutty harlequin romance. You see her bite her lip, her glasses fog with heat, and once again, her hand ever so diligently grazes against her hardened nipple. She drops her head ever so slightly, just enough to allow her chestnut brown hair to billow forward and cover the visible colour on her cheeks. She fidgets some more and stands abruptly, her chair screaming against the carpet, her sharp heels beckoning followers, as she scurries with as much dignity as she can assume to the women's washroom. She's reached her limit.

It's not that you wanted to watch. It's just that you didn't have anything better to do.

Seeing the declining pace of the day, you begin to pack your bag. And in the sudden rush of realizing that you have ten minutes or less to catch the last bus – because you don't want to be walking through downtown at this hour – you pack your belongings faster than your hands are capable. And so you watch with a sick sense of pleasure as your pencil begins to roll away. You follow it to the feet of a stranger. He has a nice smile. He offers you a ride, or a coffee, you're too mesmerized by that smile to know which it was.

You say sure.

He helps you pack and you follow him, forgetting simple reasoning, because all you can think about is that smile.

It's been a slow day.

Even slower when you got raped and left for dead in the downtown alleyway.

A/N: For those of you who may not find the concept of a library set beside a hospital believable, I assure you, I am sitting in one right now.