Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

65. Bitter, Pt. 3

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Author's Note: This chapter contains mild medical gore and content that may be disturbing or troubling to some readers. Please proceed with caution.

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The air in my hospital room gradually lost its tension as the day wore on. I had fallen asleep shortly after our argument, my fatigue getting the better of me. When I awoke a few hours later, Striker was sitting on the couch with one foot propped on his knee, his arm stretched across the back of the couch as he looked out the window behind him. It was early in the evening, by the looks of it, and the sun was just beginning to set, shining rays of scarlet red into the room that bounced off the sterile white of the linoleum floor.

I watched Striker for a few minutes, taking in his relaxed features, until he finally turned his head and noticed me staring. He smiled. "Evenin', darlin'."

I mirrored his expression and responded with a soft, "Hey."

"Sleep good?"

"I guess," I replied, rubbing my eye. "What time is it?"

"A little after six."

I shifted in the bed, flinching at the sting in my belly, and decided to reach for my call remote. A few minutes after asking for pain medication over the call system, my nurse for that day entered the room and injected the drug into my IV.

"Thank you," I said when she finished and discarded the trash. "You're about to get off, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'll be back tomorrow, though."

"You wouldn't happen to know who my nurse is tonight, would you?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, turning toward the door. "It's going to be Mara again."

I froze as she said goodnight to us and walked out the door. A tsunami-sized wave of dread consumed me, and I could feel myself begin to shake at the prospect of being subjected to the succubitch's torture again.

Striker must have seen the panicked look on my face, and he said from his spot on the couch, "You alright?"

My body went rigid at the thought of Mara thoughtlessly prodding around inside my wound again just for shits and giggles. I turned my head to him, taking a shaky breath before saying in a quiet voice, "Please don't leave me tonight."

Striker's brows furrowed at my words. "What's wrong?" he asked warily.

I said nothing, only gnawing on my bottom lip in apprehension.

He stood to his feet and approached the bed. "(Y/N)," he said, leaning on the bedrail and bending down to better see my face. "Why don't you want me to leave?"

I looked away, shaking my head. "I just—Mara was kind o-of rough when she changed my dressing last night . . . I — I just want you to be here when she does it again. . ."

His slender fingers took hold of my chin and gently turned my head back to him. There was a stern expression on his face as he examined my features. His reptilian eyes slowly narrowed at me, and I could see his suspicion brewing behind them.

"That's all, Striker," I stammered. "Really. . ."

He frowned, still appearing unconvinced, but sighed softly through his nose and lightly brushed his knuckles across my jaw. "Okay," he said. "I'll be here."

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"Hey, wake up."

I woke from my fitful slumber when I felt a hand roughly grab and shake my shoulder. I turned onto my back and pried my eyes open, my stomach lurching when they landed on the figure looming over my bedside.