Competing for the Dominant

Nineteen

Quinn

There was a loud ringing in my ears that was fueling the headache forming.

" . . . in? Quinn?"

Daniel? Was that Daniel?

"Quinn!"

I tried to reach for him, but a wave of pain washed over my body. I wanted to scream, I was in so much pain.

Someone was pulling my body somewhere and I really wish they hadn't. It was like every fiber of my being was on fire.

"Don't worry. I've got you. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. Can you just wake up, please?"

Wake up? What was Daniel talking about? And for the love of all that is good, would someone please turn off that ringing?

"Come on, Quinn. Don't do this to me. Stop scaring me,"

I blinked my heavy eyelids open and Daniel's worried expression morphed into happiness.

"Oh thank god," his hands were squishing my face as his tears hit my cheeks. He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Hey, Hey. How do you feel?"

There was another wave of excruciating pain and I could sense alarm bells go off in my head as my vision faded and Daniel's face changed into horror.

"No. No, Quinn. You need to stay awake."

🖤

"He's going to have to be moved as soon as the chopper gets here. Sir? Sir, can you hear me? He's still unresponsive,"

I opened my eyes as much as possible with the strobing lights.

Had I passed out in the club? No, that's not possible. I wasn't at the club today. Where had I been?

"Quinn, it's going to be all right. The paramedics are going to help you. You just have to stay with us,"

Whoever was talking sounded upset and I moved my arm towards the sound, but I was already losing consciousness again.

🖤

Voices were echoing around my head and it wasn't helping the headache I had. I wish they would shut up and leave me in peace.

There was a steady beeping and I tried to move my arm to shut it off, but only my finger moved. What was going on?

"Get some more anesthetic; he's starting to come to,"

Anesthetic? The fuck did that mean? I tried to move my hand again, but it was still very unresponsive.

"Don't worry, honey. You aren't going to feel a thing. We're gonna get you all fixed up, I promise," I wish that person would have kept talking. Her voice was nice and motherly—something I sorely missed. If she had said anything, however, I missed it as I passed out again.

🖤

"—fine, Mr. Knight. The stitches will eventually dissolve, but he will have scars. The damage to his ribs wasn't severe, but the bruising will affect his breathing for a while. There definitely shouldn't be any strenuous activity within at least the next month, as well. He probably won't remember a lot of what happened a few days ago and I would take it slow introducing him to the idea that he's missed a few days; he may not take kindly to it. That's normal with the head injury he suffered, plus the amount of morphine and anesthetic he's been given. If he has any symptoms of a TBI or confusion, he could have a worse injury or possible swelling of the brain and he will need immediate medical attention,"