Wearing My Patient's Scrubs Underneath Mine Was A Dark Secret

I'm thirty-five and a nurse at a small community hospital. I've always been intrigued by the idea of being cared for, and sometimes I slip into this submissive roleplay even when I'm not in a relationship that supports it. One night, after a particularly draining shift where my patient was unresponsive but stable, I found myself drawn to her discarded scrubs on her bed. She had just turned eighteen, old enough by any standard but still young and innocent. I slipped them underneath mine before heading home, feeling both exhilarated and guilty as the fabric touched me like a silent reminder of someone else's responsibility and care. The weight of it felt heavy in more ways than one, like I was carrying my patient's burdens when I had enough of my own. That night, I couldn't sleep for thinking about her eyes following me with an unspoken question every time I passed by her room, and how wearing those scrubs made me feel like she was there with me.