Ruthless Obsession

Chapter thirteen

✧ regnum bona possidet ✧

✧ An honest heart is a kingdom in and of itself ✧

✧✧✧✧✧

The doctor lays his hand on Ruth's forehead and shakes his head in dismay. He motions for me to step aside, when I do, he pulls out a pen-like thermometer, parting Ruth's cracked lips, no longer filled with the pink color they once had.

She stirs at the touch for a moment, but she's too tired to open her eyes or push the doctor away—like she probably wants too.

I stand in the corner, nervously picking at my nails and ruffling my jubilant curls with my other hand.

I'm sure if the doctor looked behind him right now he would see a resigned calm, slightly on-edge man, but I'm not calm or resigned at all. I'm freaking out and also angry that I'm freaking out, because I don't care for Ruth at all, not even a little bit.

She may spark my protective instinct, but I lack any sort of emotion for her, I'm sure of it.

So that begs the question, why am I freaking out? Why do I always freak out when I'm around her? Why does her mere presence frighten me to death?

One thing I'm sure of is that she annoys me to no end. She makes me angry and hateful and she makes me feel every bad emotion in the book, but also, sometimes, she makes me indecisive and on edge and protective when i'm around her. Like I'm suddenly looking for a threat where there isn't one.

She makes me want to comfort her when she's upset, even when it's by my hand.

I admit this terrifies me, not only does she annoy me and press all my buttons, but she also makes me vulnerable. She makes it impossible for me to be untouchable.

She makes me scared and I hate it and I hate her for it.

"We need to get her warm, her body's going into shock." He pulls out his stethoscope from his briefcase and pulls down her shirt placing it on her heart. "Turn the temperature up and get as many blankets as you can."

After I've turned the temperature up as far as it can go, I grab blankets from the linen closet.

Ruth shakes and whimpers like a puppy under the sheets. Her hair is a birds nest around the matcha tea colored pillows and sheets. Her bony pale hands grip the green blankets pulling them over her head, resisting the doctors attempts to tend to her. She's completely restless and tired at the same time. Like a deer that's been hit by a car, but struggles to get away nonetheless.

When I walk into the room, I wrap Ruth's shivering body up in the layers of blankets I found in the closet and step back to let the doctor continue.

The doctor is wearing casual clothes—due to my calling at a moment's notice. He's average height and his Italian features are unmistakable.

He's currently retired, but my family is close with his family and I was able to call in a favor.

I never really liked the man. He's very regal and serious—too stuffy and pretentious for my taste.

I know i'm a hypocrite because I, Myself, am stuffy and pretentious, but something about him just makes it impossible to genuinely get to know him.

He pulls out a shot from his briefcase quickly. His hands move around in the briefcase like he's on a time crunch.

He sticks the needle into a tiny glass bottle of liquid, pumping it up from the cap. He applies disinfectant to the spot of skin, before pushing the needle in. Ruth groans from the prick and continues shivering, grabbing at the blankets like there's not enough.