Path back to healing

Four

When I woke again, the room was still dim, and the machines by my bed had gone silent. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, and I could feel the ache in my body—dull but persistent, like a bruise that wouldn't heal. I shifted slightly, careful to avoid jarring any of my injuries.

"Awake again, I see."

Vincent's voice came from across the room. He was sitting in the same chair, this time with a cup of coffee in one hand. His gaze was as steady as ever, but something about it softened as he looked at me, like he was assessing my condition.

"Didn't realize you'd be camping out here," I muttered, my voice thick with sleep.

His expression didn't change, but I caught the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "I told you I'd stay. I keep my word."

I didn't reply, shifting my gaze away. It was hard to figure him out. One minute he seemed impossibly distant and cold, and the next... he almost seemed like he cared. But why would someone like him care about someone like me?

"Why am I still here?" I asked, trying to ignore the weight of his stare. "You don't even know me. So why help me?"

He took a slow sip of his coffee, setting the cup down before answering. "You're here because you need to be. And as for knowing you..." His gaze flicked over me, steady and unreadable. "I know more than you think."

I wanted to press him, to ask exactly what he knew, but something stopped me. The way he looked at me was unsettling, as if he could see right through me, peeling back every layer of defense I had.

Before I could say anything else, the door opened, and a different doctor walked in, carrying a tray of medical supplies. He gave a slight nod to Vincent. "Capo," he said in a respectful tone before turning to me. "Miss, I'm here to check your wounds. I'll be as quick as possible."

I glanced at Vincent, but he simply nodded, his gaze sharp as he watched the doctor's every move. There was a quiet tension in the room that made my skin prickle, and I could feel Vincent's silent command to the doctor: don't mess this up.

The doctor approached me cautiously, reaching to check the bruises along my ribs. His touch was light, but I winced as his fingers pressed against a particularly sensitive spot.

Vincent's voice cut through the air like ice. "Watch your hands, Doctor," he warned, his tone low and dangerous. I'd never heard someone's voice carry so much power in so few words.

The doctor froze, swallowing nervously. "Apologies, Capo." He glanced at me, his hand trembling slightly before he continued, even more carefully than before.

As he worked, Vincent's gaze stayed on me, a strange mixture of anger and... protectiveness simmering beneath the surface. It was clear that his tolerance for my discomfort was running thin, and though I barely knew him, I could tell that if the doctor overstepped again, he wouldn't hesitate to make him stop.

When the doctor finished, he quickly gathered his things, mumbling, "You're healing well. Just a few more days of rest." He gave Vincent a hurried nod before slipping out of the room, practically tripping over himself to leave.

The tension in the room faded, and I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath.

Vincent's gaze softened as he turned back to me, his tone quieter. "They're here to help, but I don't expect you to trust them."

"Right," I muttered, looking away. "Because trust is something I'm good at."

He didn't respond, just watched me with that same unreadable expression. There was a silence between us, one that felt heavier than before, like he was waiting for me to say something.