His Psychotic Obsession

chapter three

Elara

Running around the ER like a chicken with his head cut off is really not ideal. 

You know the call I got on my pager? Yeah well turns out there had been a massive car crash. Due to a shootout with some mafia gangs.

Yeah I don't know either. 

So here I am, tending to 10 different peoples wounds, while trying to take new people in who are just now being brought in from the ambulance. 

It was an all hands on deck day. 

I release I breath looking around at all the people with injuries, taking up the whole ER room. 

This was really not how my day was suppose to go.

"Elara!" someone calls from behind.

I whip my body around and I'm met with my coworker Dave, who's holding a Clip board in his hand. 

"What?" I ask. 

He does a double check on his clip board then looks up at me. 

"There's somebody ,that was in the crash that's personally requesting you tend to his head wound." He tells me. And I furrow at the fear behind his eyes.

"Ok..Are you okay Mr. Romo?" I ask him.

He gulps. "Of course. Follow me. I'll take you to him." 

Okay. Now I'm really confused. But nonetheless, I follow him. 

Dave leads me further into the ER, and stops in front of a curtain, and rips it open. 

I stop breathing.

The man that called me. The man that murdered someone, is siting right in front of me. 

Dave turns to me, but I don't look at him. I stare at the mans face, him doing the same, but with a smirk etched into his mouth. 

Dave gently grabs my arm, in an act on comfort. "You'll be okay yeah?" he asks, glancing at the man.

I finally turn to him and give him a forced smile, hiding my fear. "Yeah I got it. Go tend to your patients Mr.Romo." 

He nods and glances at the man once more, removes his hand and walks away.

I look back at the man, who is glaring at Dave's back. 

I take a deep breath and release it.

I walk over to the tray and stool and drag them both over to him, setting them in front.

The man watches my every move, never taking his eyes off of me.

I pull on my gloves and sit down in front of him, taking his head in my hands to examine the bleeding wound on his forehead. 

I try not to think about the fact that I have a literal murders head in my hands. 

I look closely at the wound, inspecting it, while trying not to freak out at the fact that he's my patient. 

That thought really sinks in and sends fear down my throat, making me nauseous. 

I clear my throat, trying to find my voice. "It's just a flesh wound. You won't need stitches, I'll patch you up and send you on your way. You can deal with the bill at the front desk." 

I pull back and look at him. 

I'm now painfully aware of our closeness.

He looks at me, tilting his head slightly, taking me in.