Miguel O'Hara x Reader [one-shots]

CHEATED [MA/F] [MTW] (P.IV)

I THINK I hurt him.

How could I have not?

I bled out on the floor of our apartment and he blames himself for leaving. He blames the fact that he had to find the man that took away my choice and kill him, an urge that was far stronger than the urge to stay and protect me from the nightmares that plagued me.

He blames himself because he thinks he'd rather spread bloodshed than stay with me.

I think that's bull.

I think that his urge to kill those who hurt me is the protectiveness he reaps over me. He was just too late this time.

That isn't his fault.

I'm in my hospital bed and the machines are beeping. There's a quiet droning sound inside the room, and I hear small conversations between nurses outside, muffled by the shut door.

Usually, visitor hours would be over by now—it was 2AM—but Miguel insisted he stayed. It had been two days. I was stitched up and bandaged. I had cut deep enough to scar, but not deep enough to have died instantly.

If he had found me much later than he did, we would be in a very different situation. But I was still here, trying  not to close my eyes, even with the exhaustion that continued to threaten them closed.

I just watch him.

And I feel him.

His arms are over my legs, his head right next to them, on the mattress. Even with the slight tension in his brows, he looks so peaceful. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt him.

Like I couldn't hurt him. Even though I already did.

I may have lacked common sense when I did what I did—since I had been consumed by the feeling of hands all over me—but I fear that that is the reasoning as to why I should get away from Miguel as soon as possible.

He loves me too much. That should be a good thing, but it only distracts him. It distracts me too. I think I need to leave for the greater good, but I really don't want to.

A shaky exhale leaves me. I watch as his chest rises and falls, his whole being always reserving the title as my catharsis.

I shouldn't have let a knife take that place. Even replacing him for one second had its consequences.

I need to let him go, I understand— but I won't. For me and him, I'll try to heal. He'll hold me in his arms, and I'll hold him in mine. I'll cry some days, and he will too. He will comfort me and I will comfort him. He is everything I am and everything I am not, I am everything he wants to love.

I take a deep breath. Just by looking at him, I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me back. I want to feel his touch and his mouth all over, kissing away the memories, kissing away the pain, kissing away the scars.

I want him in this bed with me. I want him right next to me, holding me in his arms. I want him. I want him now.

"Miguel," my voice is hoarse from not having used it for the past two days. I move my legs slightly. "Miguel?"

He stirs slightly, stretching for a second. He glances at the clock in the middle of the room, then at me.

He has to double take when he sees my eyes staring into his.

He stands up suddenly, completely awake. He cups my cheeks, running his thumbs and the pads of his fingers over my skin as if he can't believe that my awareness is real— as if he's questioning if my whole being exists or if it is simply artifact.

My hands come up to his wrists. I wrap my fingers around them and soothingly run my thumb over the back of his palm. I smile small, my eyes half-lidded with tiredness. "Hi."

His shoulder slump and he exhaled in release. "Hi, baby," he smiles back. "How are you, my love?"

"I'm okay," I nod, happy that he's happy to see me. "I'm sorry," I mumble, my voice still cracked and dry.

He shakes his head, leaning down and kissing my forehead. "No sorries," he establishes, moving the kiss down from my forehead to my cheek, littering dozens of kisses just like how I wanted. "I missed you so much. I thought... I, uhm..." he shook his head, unable to say that he thought he would lose me forever. "I'm gonna get a doctor, okay? They're going to check—"

"Mm-mm," I shake my head, humming a 'no.' I move my hands up, the pain thankfully subsided from the painkillers I must be on, and cup his cheeks, smoothing over his skin. "Want you next to me."

"You sure?" He blinks back tears; happy from seeing me awake, and sad from almost seeing me die. "The doctor told me to get her when you wake up."

"Please," I force the word out, my throat dry and a tad painful.

He nods almost instantly, and I move myself as best I can, despite Miguel's protests. Even though he was buff and muscular and other-worldly tall, he forced us to fit, even if he was hanging off most of the bed.

Still, he held me tight, afraid I'll slip out of his arms if he loosens his old for even one second. I don't blame him. Two days ago, I did just that.

"I don't want to push you," Miguel whispers in the dark of the room, rubbing my arm soothingly. "But I need to know... I need to know why you tried to leave."

I yawn, nodding my head. I was going to explain either way, but he wanted an explanation, and I needed to give him a piece of mind. "I... I— well..." I sigh, snuggling further into him. "I felt him all over me. Like tattoos. Hundreds of needles poking at me, all over my skin. S-So the places he touched me a lot, I cut to relieve the tension— the weight off my shoulders. And once I cut my wrists, it felt better. And I... I needed more. So I moved it down to my thighs, then my calves, my ankles. I thought—foolishly—that it wouldn't do anything. I thought that cutting the skin, it would heal in record time, and I would be okay. But I was dissociating and cutting deeper than I thought, and a sudden wave of tiredness swept over me. I laid down, still drunk on the feeling of being weightless and empty before you came and saved me."

A shaky exhale leaves the both of us.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to hold you," he mutters against my temple. "If I had stayed, we would be at home. If I had just stayed, you wouldn't be hurt like this. It's all my—"

"No," I cut him off, shaking my head. "No, it's not your fault. It's his. I'm glad he's dead. At least he won't be hurting any more people. You did a good thing."

He moved his head a little back, looking in my eyes. His thumb ran soothingly over my cheek, and when he leaned down and kissed me, I felt whole.

I may have nightmares, and I may be haunted by the memories for quite sometime, but with Miguel right next to me, I'm okay.

When I fall asleep in his arms minutes later,
I sleep peacefully.