It had been hours—far too many—since Vincent had appeared in her room that morning. The silence he left behind grew heavier with each tick of the clock. All Gabrielle wanted now was to be discharged, to escape this miserable hospital bed with him at her side, yet nothing of the sort was happening. Instead, she was subjected to an endless parade of tests, each one leaving her weaker, sicker, and more worn down.
But none of them hurt half as much as his absence.
The idiot.
He was the very one who insisted she be confined, and yet the very first to abandon her.
She turned her head toward the window. Another day had slipped through her fingers unnoticed. The sun had vanished, leaving the sky as dark as her mood. Even the untouched tray of food on her side table sat cold—just like the ache in her chest.
Before she realised it, tears were spilling down her cheeks. Soft at first, then gathering force as she buried her face in her hands. She felt small, empty, discarded. Goddamn the medication, and her weak immune system for making her so unguarded. And goddamn her husband—her infuriating, careless husband—for leaving her when he swore he wouldn't.
She knew she shouldn't be crying like this. She knew stress slowed her recovery. But how could she stop when she felt like nothing more than a forgotten patient abandoned in a grim hospital room? As though Vincent had left her here because he simply couldn't be bothered anymore.
"M-Mrs Walton...?"
Of course. The same nurse from last night—the one who drugged her into unconsciousness—stood frozen in the doorway, watching her cry like a fool.
"Get out," she snapped.
"Mrs Walton, I need to—"
"I said get out!"
He didn't move. And that alone snapped something inside her. Her finger shot toward the door.
"I want you out!"
"I'm sorry," he said carefully, "but I'm your nurse. You're my patient. I decide when to step out and—"
He didn't finish.
The tray of cold food suddenly flew past his shoulder, clattering against the wall. Gabrielle had never seen him pale before, but he did now.
"Get out!" she cried. "Get out, right now!"
He knew her temper—every nurse on the floor did—but this still startled him.
"Mrs Walton! You haven't touched your meals for days. If you are trying to harm yourself, this is the wrong place to do it! There are people who need this room to survive! Children dying across the world, fighting for their last breath, while you throw food at your nurse because you wish to give up!"
Her sobs faltered.
Did he really just—
"Aren't you a doctor, Mrs Walton?" he pressed. "I don't know what happened to you, but I can tell you've forgotten why you became one. You are letting yourself waste away when you're meant to preserve life. It is—frankly—the most pathetic tragedy I've ever seen in the medical field."
She stared at him, shocked, humiliated, furious. Her hand trembled as she grabbed the metal stand holding her IV and knocked it over with a loud crash.
"Who do you think you are?!" she shouted. "I haven't lost it! It was taken from me!"
Her voice cracked.
Her licence—her identity—snatched away.
And yes, she had given up. She knew it. And yet hearing him say it aloud—
"Gabrielle!"
His voice sliced through the air.
She turned, breath catching, eyes stinging. Vincent stood in the doorway, fury radiating from him.
YOU ARE READING
Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)
RomanceNOT-FOR-BELOW-18-STEAMY CONTENT! He was perfect... That's what everyone thought, at least. He has everything a man could ever ask for... But like a very funny joke, he had too much of everything. His life turns upside down as he was forced to have...
