MY HUSBAND IS A GANGSTER

CHAPTER THREE

The Shadows and Shattered Bones
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The next few days were a blur of routine, marked by a mix of classes, study sessions, and fleeting moments of relief from the constant anxiety that had become my new normal. I had hoped for a break from the tension, but life had other plans.

It was a regular Thursday afternoon, and I was headed to my literature class, buried under a pile of notes and textbooks.

I'd just settled into my seat when Jeremy, a guy from one of my earlier classes, plopped down next to me. He was known for his cocky demeanor and had always given me a bad vibe, but I usually managed to avoid him.

Today, however, he seemed more aggressive than usual. As the lecture started, I tried to focus on the professor's words, but Jeremy kept leaning closer, making me uncomfortable.

"Hey, Rachel," he said, his voice low and too close for comfort. "You look like you could use some company."

I shifted away, trying to ignore him. "I'm fine, Jeremy. Just focus on the lecture."

But he wasn't deterred. His hand brushed against mine as he tried to slide closer. My unease turned to alarm as he reached under the desk, trying to touch me inappropriately. I recoiled, my heart pounding with fear and anger.

"Stop it!" I hissed, slapping his hand away. "Get your hands off me."

Instead of backing off, he leaned in even closer, a predatory grin on his face. "Oh, come on, Rachel. Don't be like that. You know you want-"

That was it. Something inside me snapped. Adrenaline surged, and I swung my fist with all the strength I could muster.

It connected with Jeremy's face with a satisfying thud. He recoiled, clutching his nose, which was already turning a painful shade of red.

"Get away from me!" I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Jeremy stumbled back, stunned and bleeding. He was about to lunge at me again when I heard a commotion outside the classroom. The door burst open, and campus security stormed in. They quickly restrained Jeremy, his protests echoing in the room.

My hand throbbed painfully, but I was too shaken to focus on it. I could hear snippets of Jeremy's ranting as he was led away. "She attacked me! I didn't do anything!"

A couple of students came over to check on me, their faces etched with concern. I tried to steady my breathing, but the pain in my hand was becoming unbearable. It was swollen and throbbing, and I knew something was seriously wrong.

"Rachel, are you okay?" one of the students asked, their voice wavering.

"I think... I think my hand is broken," I managed to say, my voice tight with pain.

"Let's get you to the hospital," another student said, taking my arm gently. "We'll call for an ambulance."

The next thing I knew, I was in the emergency room, waiting for a doctor to examine my hand. The pain was relentless, and every movement seemed to amplify it. I tried to distract myself by focusing on the sterile white walls and the occasional beep of medical equipment.

After what felt like hours, a nurse finally came in and began examining my hand. "You've got a pretty bad break here," she said, her voice soothing. "We're going to need to set it and put it in a cast. You might need to follow up with an orthopedic specialist."

I nodded, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and anger. I was lost in my own thoughts when a familiar voice cut through the haze of pain and anxiety.

"Rachel?"

I turned to see the tattooed man from before, standing in the doorway with an intense, worried look on his face. Beside him was Jeremy, looking battered and bruised. My heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here?

The tattooed man moved forward, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of concern and something else-perhaps guilt or determination. "Rachel, I'm here to make sure you're okay."

Jeremy was less composed. He was pacing nervously, his face still bloodied from our encounter. "Rachel, I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

Before he could finish, the tattooed man stepped in front of him, his expression cold and fierce. "You've caused enough trouble for one night."

Jeremy's eyes were wide with fear. "I didn't know-"

The tattooed man cut him off, his voice low and dangerous. "I suggest you leave before things get worse for you. I deal with you more later."

Jeremy's eyes darted between us, and he finally backed away, stumbling towards the exit. The tattooed man watched him go, his expression unyielding.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, turning his full attention back to me. "I'm really sorry about all this. I didn't expect things to turn out like this."

I managed a weak nod. "I'm... I'm fine. My hand's broken, but it'll heal. What are you doing here?"

He sighed, looking both relieved and exhausted. "I heard about what happened and thought it was my responsibility to make sure you're alright. I didn't want you to go through this alone."

A nurse came in to update me on my treatment plan, and I was quickly wrapped up in a cast. The tattooed man stayed by my side, offering quiet support. When the nurse left, he looked at me with a mix of frustration and sympathy.

"I'm really sorry you had to go through this," he said, his voice softer. "I should have been more vigilant."

I shook my head, feeling a mixture of gratitude and confusion. "You don't need to apologize. I'm just... grateful you're here."

He gave a small, almost invisible smile. "I'm glad I could help. But please, be more careful. The world isn't always kind, and I don't want to see you in a situation like this again."

I nodded, feeling a sense of calm despite the pain. "I'll try. Thanks for everything."

As he prepared to leave, he paused and glanced back at me. "I'll check in on you soon. Take care, Rachel."

With that, he was gone, leaving me with a profound sense of relief and an even deeper curiosity about him. As I settled into the hospital bed, my thoughts swirled around the events of the day. I couldn't deny that his presence had been a comfort, even in the midst of such chaos.

The night was quiet, the sounds of the hospital a stark contrast to the earlier commotion. I closed my eyes, the exhaustion from the day weighing heavily on me. Despite the pain and the fear, there was a flicker of hope that things might start to change-for better or for worse.

{TOO BE CONTINUED...}