Positioned outside Logan's ward, I lean against the wall, patiently waiting for the nurses to finish up their cleaning routines. I could have remained inside the room, since I have already seen Logan stripped down, exposing all parts of his sculptured body except for his buttocks. However, I choose to wait outside. I can't tell them this without raising suspicions.
With a shake of my head, I try to recall the melody of the song that I previously heard being hummed by someone, who walked by me in the corridor. "Mr. Ezra!", a call from the doctor interrupts my thoughts and I direct my attention toward the male approaching me. "You are still here.", the male expresses, raising an eyebrow at me. He then inquires, "Do you truly doubt our services to such an extent?"
I straighten up and turn to face the specialist, replying, "I do not question your services in any form. Also, as I have stated previously, just Collen is fine."
The raven-haired specialist flashes a smile at me as he amends his previous statement. "Apologies. It's a habit of mine.", he mentions. "It's been two days and you refuse to leave. I've observed your acquaintance providing you with new clothing, so I do believe you have been making use of the ward's bathroom to take showers. You do realize we will alert you as soon as your companion awakes from his unconsciousness, right?"
In response to the specialist's remark, I cast a furtive glance toward the closed entrance before gazing back at him once more. "I am aware.", I say, slightly lowering my tone. "However, I wish to be by his side when he wakes up. I want to be present to offer him support once he comes to. I wish to be there to offer comfort." My voice is tinged with a degree of desperation.
The male raises his brows in curiosity, querying, "What about the commissions? Are you not missing out on hunts?"
"They are insignificant compared to him.", I answer in a heartbeat and his lips curl up in amusement at my reply, a development that is not lost on me.
Following that short exchange, the specialist directs a warm laugh in my direction and lightly pats my shoulder. "And they refer to us as softies for saving lives instead of taking them.", he comments, a touch of humor lacing his tone. "I won't judge you, so don't worry. It is a pleasant experience to encounter others who also possess hearts." The doctor offers a kind smile, to which I respond with a subtle nod of appreciation. As the specialist takes his leave, he utters, "Have a good day, Mr. Ezr— Collen"
I lock my jaws as I watch his retreating back. The mere sound of the words "Mr. Ezra" within the hospital setting has the ability to provoke a surge of unpleasant memories and a mounting sense of dread. "Mr. Ezra" was the title used by the specialist to address my father and convey horrifying news concerning my mother's condition. Following her final hunt, she was confined to the hospital for months, a period that led to a steady deterioration in her overall health. This, in turn, resulted in a detrimental impact on our entire family.
Before long, it became apparent that it was best to leave me at home with one of my father's friends monitoring me while he remained at her side. I was never informed of the actual events that occurred on the hunt...and I couldn't bring myself to ask. I held some knowledge concerning my mother's current condition though. She lost some of the control over her body and was afflicted with trauma. Frequently, she would experience nocturnal seizures. As an eight-year-old boy, being forced to witness my mother's deteriorating mental and physical state took a heavy toll on me.
Every now and then...I cannot help but ponder an alternate reality...one in which my mother's life was not spared during her last expedition... This hypothetical outcome would have prevented her from leading the type of existence she has assumed now...
In the midst of my contemplation, the nurses emerge from the ward at last, bringing me back to the present. As the nurses appear from the ward, they offer me a courteous bow, making way for me to re-enter the space. Logan now lies on the bed fully dressed in a set of fresh hospital garments, his somewhat damp locks clinging to the pillowcase and a number of strands clinging to his perspiring forehead. As I take a seat by his side on the provided chair, I reach out and gently brush his hair aside, my eyes never leaving his face.
