𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri ✔

PART FORTY TWO

I would thank you guys for the amount of comments on the last chapter (the most I've ever received on a chapter at the time of publishing) but given that most of them were complaints and threats, I will not.

Love you anyway, kiss hug kiss hug

Word count;  2,552

Tomás

A nurse knocked on the door before opening it, "Everything okay in here?"

Oscar's gaze tore away, and he tried to put on a light smile as he stepped back, allowing the nurse in. She'd received an alert from the electrocardiogram, apparently, for the sudden increase in my heartbeat, and wanted to check in. And I allowed her, because I couldn't find the words Oscar was looking for.

The nurse checked the catheters on my arms, "How have these felt?"

I almost expected Oscar to answer for me, as he had all this time I'd been unconscious, but he didn't. He stayed by the wall, watching her work around me.

"Fine." I croaked.

She pressed her knuckles to my forehead, and I almost winced at how cold it was.

"You are burning up a little," She furrowed her brows, "Mind if I take a look at your stomach?" 

I nodded, though I was unsure why there was a need to. Her fingers buried under the hem of my shirt, lifting up the fabric to reveal the bottom of my torso.

I sucked in a breath.

Massive, dark purple blotches covered my skin, harrowed by small cuts, as if the elasticity of my skin had given up and had no choice but to rip to shreads. Not to mention the long, pristine-white bandage that divided the centre of my abs.

When the hell did that get there?

The beep of the ECG began to increase again, the nurse's eyes flickering to the display, wondering what had caused the sudden augmentation.

What had happened to me?

Was this the crash?

The sweat thickened on my forehead. 

She noticed, "I'm going to press on your stomach, okay?"

Again, I nodded, mainly because I didn't know what else to do. Her fingers touched the surface of my skin gently, as if to determine the sensitivity of it before pushing deeper.

I screamed, almost doubling over at the contact.

Oscar ran to my side. Tears fell over my cheeks.

She pressed again, and I almost cursed at her, my hands taking fistfuls of the sheets beneath me, as if that would keep me grounded. But then Oscar picked up my wrist, curling my palm around his.

The nurse put my shirt down, hurrying out of the room to find a doctor. I squeezed Oscar's hand, his fingers nearly draining white from the pressure.

I wanted to explain myself. I craved to explain myself. I wanted him to know how much I despised Pierre for what he did to me, for asking to use me one more time even though I'd told him I could never say no.

I wanted to know why, after what he said, he was now holding my hand. Why he was smiling at me, soft and pure, not saying a thing.

But the pain from my stomach engulfed it all. My eyelids clamped shut, trying to fight it off, and I wondered if the agony would've ever surfaced if the nurse hadn't touched my stomach.