Daughter of Blood and Nightmares

22.0: I Crossed A Line I Shouldn't Have

She's weightless in my arms as I carry her through the halls with Oliver trailing behind me. I should've brought her straight to the doc instead of forcing her to bleed out while we spoke with Zayne. She didn't need to be there. Maybe Zayne isn't used to mortality, weakness after dealing with us for so long. Or maybe he just doesn't care and if that's the case, why do I?

My feet come to an aggressive halt as I come face to face with the doc in the hall. "I was made aware that my assistance is needed." He looks at her blank face, limp limbs. "Let's get her to her room."

I follow dazed and confused, guilt ridden and sick. This is my fault. The seconds tick by slowly as we navigate the halls to her room. The doc leads the way, not stopping until he's in her bedroom. Following his unsaid command, I place her on the bed. Blood quickly stains her sheets.

Oliver and I stand there, silent as the doc pokes and prods at her leg before searching for the wound on her arm. "We need to get her undressed." When neither of us move, he looks to me, a playful all too knowing tone to his voice. "If you're uncomfortable, worried about her feelings or her outburst she will no doubt have, you can leave."

"I'm staying." He already has a pair of scissors to her clothing, cutting it away. He starts at her ankle and works up her leg.

"And she only needs one of us to see her naked, so she's all yours." Oliver jokes as he slaps me on the back. "I'll check with you later to see how she's doing." He leaves without a look back.

I should go too, but I can't. On my best behavior, I keep my eyes averted, staying strictly on her bloody leg that the doc has already cut free. "Cut the other side while I stitch her up," he holds out the scissors for me to take. "When you finish, start on her shirt." He glances at her arm. "That one on her arm is not as bad as the one on her leg."

I do as he says. I cut along the seam of her other leg while he examines her wound. He talks more to himself than to me. It's deep, needs several stitches, he's surprised she didn't bleed out. It takes him longer to patch her up than it takes me to cut her pants away.

Reluctantly, I start to cut the uniform top. I start at her wrist and cut along the length of her arm, over the curve of her shoulder, and the seam along the side of her stomach. Staying out of the doc's way, I match the other side, cutting the fabric away. By time he finishes her leg, wrapping it with thick white gauze, there's just one final seam to cut.

He cuts it away quickly and starts to peel the shirt from her chest. With my best intentions, I want to keep my eyes on her wounds, but her wounds litter her torso. There's a faint bruise on her collar bone from the fight in the alley at the market and her ribs are red from the kick she endured. The doc's words snap me out of my internal battle. Her forearm is wrapped, the job already done. How long was I staring?

"Lift her up a bit," he says into the room.

As I gently grab her shoulder to lift her from the bed, the doc whisks the shreds of clothing away. Her pants are a little more difficult, but even with jostling her, she still doesn't wake. Once she's fully free of her uniform, I cradle her still limp body in arms as stare down at the bloodied bed. "Sheets are in the closet."

The doc quickly goes to retrieve them. It doesn't take long for him to discard the dirty ones and replace them with fresh ones. As gently as possible, I lay her back down and cover her up to her neck, not a sliver of skin showing.

Now, I wait.

I pace the floor until my feet ache. Then I go as far as to bring in a chair and hover over her until she wakes. What if she doesn't wake up?

Dark thoughts cloud my head as I impatiently wait for her to move. The second she twitches, I nearly jump to my feet. Thank God. "You're alive," the words rush out of my mouth and it starts her normal, careless banter. It's within my grasp, something I can handle until she jolts up to prove she's perfectly fine.