Being in a hospital is never fun, period. But there's one thing in this case that seems to make things better; the doctor who visits to check on you more frequently than others. Dr. Kim Namjoon is a totally swoon-worthy cardiac doctor who just happe...
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ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴛᴡᴏ | "ᴀɴɢᴇʟꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰɪʟᴛʜʏ ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ"
-You- "Mmph." I let out, as a rough gag gets yanked out of my mouth. "Ow!" I say, to let Namjoon know that that fucking hurt. I see restraints cover my wrists, and this time, Namjoon is sitting over to the side of me, arranging an array of tools. An array of tools to torture me with?!?
"Sorry." He apologizes.
"Sorry? You're sorry?" I question. "Sorry doesn't even begin to cut it. You drugged me!" I cry, "You were going to kill me! I fell into your stupid pool because of you."
"I'm sorry my love, really. I just needed you to calm down. It wasn't my intent for you to fall in, but honestly, that was your fault. I tried to warn you, but it was too late."
"You FUCKING chloroformed me!" I scream back. "Did you really think that would calm me down?!?" My eyes well with tears when I think about the fact that he tried to poison me. "You hurt me. You almost killed me."
"Oh, and you didn't hurt me?!? In case you've forgotten, you did give me a black eye." He glares with the eye I didn't hit, and I see the already-formed bruise and dried-out cut. In a word, his eye didn't look pretty.
"That sounds like a you-problem." I retort. "You're the one who chased after me instead of trying to work things out like adults; I thought you were going to kill me. I had to defend myself some fucking how."
"You didn't have to beat me." He hisses. "You could have hit any other place, except my eyes. I kind of need my eyes to effectively work."
"Do you think I care? Would you rather have I kicked you in the balls, you dick? Because I could have just as easily done that instead." I hiss in response, and he doesn't answer me. "That's what I thought." He grabs something out of a box, and slips a pair of blue gloves on, grabbing a bottle that's sloshing around brown-tinted liquid. "W-What's that for?" I ask nervously.
"What's wrong?" Namjoon teases, "finally lost your edge?"
"If you're about to kill me, then yes."
Namjoon frowns. "I'm not about to kill you. When you fell into the pool, the stitches in your chest tore. All that running of your little late-night escapade only made it worse, I'm afraid." He scolds gently. "So if this'll ease you, I'm not going to kill you. I'm replacing them; suturing them back." He held up a dripping syringe. "Don't worry, this won't hurt. You won't feel anything."
"Woah woah woah!" I say nervously now. "W-Where's that gonna go? I'm not up for any needle pokes right now," I say childishly, more concerned at the pain of getting stuck with a needle than the inflammatory dance of pain my body was currently doing. To be honest, despite my acting like a baby over getting a shot, Namjoon would probably be doing me a favor to numb my pain. I just wasn't really in the mood for him (or anyone for that matter) to stick me with a sharp needle, you feel?
