Pulse

Chapter 4

     After I parked in the staff parking at the rehabilitation center, I raced inside and hurried to Briggs's room, but I was not ready for what I saw. He was violently shaking, holding onto the railing of the bed. His eyes were closed. I wasn't sure what to do.
     I went to his side and placed my hand gently on his arm; he flinched. Knocking my hand away. "Don't touch me." He yelled; his voice was coarse and shaking.
     "Briggs, I'm here," I said softly.
     "Get out!" He yelled again.
     "I'm not leaving you like this. You need to calm down and take some deep breaths." I spoke with care and patience.
     "I can't breath," his lips shaking still.
     "Briggs looks at me," he opened his eyes; all I saw was pain and fear. His eyes were rimmed with an intense red, his eyelashes wet. Tears I'm sure he doesn't want me to see.
     "Hey, you're ok." I continued to speak softly as I leaned in close.
     His face held pain. "It hurts, everything. Not just my body but my heart, my mind. It's all broken pieces." He was slowly calming down.
     I was able to slide my hand into his. I don't think he even felt it. He was still too tense and panicked. But he didn't shoo me away.
     "Let me help you." My voice felt shaky on the break of cracking seeing this man in pain. All the hurt he was going through.
    "There's no helping the broken...the lost." He mutters, sounding pessimistic. His other hand came up, and he placed it over his face. Heart-wrenching sobs ran through his body.
     My tears hovered on the rim, nearly spilling over. "Briggs, feel my hand." He moved his hand away from his face. He looked at our linked hands. His body began to ease from its panic.
    "Do you feel this?" I asked.
    "Yes." He nodded his head, and tears slid down his face.
    "What do you smell?" Is this a trick question?" He looked unimpressed, but his hard breathing was subsiding.
     "It is not a trick question. Just tell me what you smell?"
    He seemed to calm down even more. He was less shaky. "I smell cherry and blossoms."
    "What do you hear?"
    "You."
    "What do you see?"
    "You."
    "Feel better?"
    "Yes." His eyes reluctantly stare into mine. I could feel heat traveling through our clasped hands, our entwined fingers. But it didn't last long before he pulled away. Like he forgot for a moment that it was okay to show emotions and temporary weakness. Then like a switch, he was back to looking rugged and unbreakable.
    "I'll see you tomorrow," I whispered. As I am nearly at the door, I hear him let out a weak breath.
     "Please stay." He sounded desperate for me to stay.
     Surprised to hear this, I took a moment to respond.
     "Layla, don't make me beg; it's bad enough you saw me so vulnerable and low." His voice held gentleness but still fierce, not showing his soft side.
     On the heel of my croc, I spun around and faced him unequivocally.
"I'll stay for a bit, but I shouldn't stay."
     He closed his eyes for a moment, which looked like relief. His hardened exterior smoothed out as I made my way over to the chair. He didn't speak a word.
     I pulled out my phone and scrolled through Instagram. Glancing up, I saw him studying me. "What?" I arched my eyebrow at him.
     "Nothing." He said blankly, with no expression. Like he couldn't even pretend a hint of a smile. "So, how long have you been doing this job?" He asked, with no sweetness in his tone. But he seemed like he was forcing himself to talk to keep me here.
     "2 years."
     "What made you want to do this?"
     I leaned in closer, keeping my eyes on his. "There's just something about helping someone. Making them see that it's not over, that they can be just as strong as they were before." I said proudly.
     "So you think I won't be a mess always?"
     "I don't think you a mess; you've been through much traumatic stuff. It doesn't just disappear; it takes time," I sympathetically.
     "What if I am never the same again."
     "Maybe you'll be an even better you; it's okay not to be the same. We sometimes change."
     "I just want to go back before I end up here." He looked out the window that gave very little light now that there was complete darkness outside.
     "Maybe you're meant to be here." I feel silly for telling him this when I know it's the last thing he wants to hear.
     He peered back, "are you one of those girls that believe in fate and fairy tales?" He crossed his arms over his broad chest; my eyes got lost on his massive biceps, stretching the gown's sleeves. He had tattoos that were very interesting like a story was being told or pieces of what makes him the person he is. Like they each had sentimental value. They even went up to his neck. Beautiful.
      I blushed when I realized I'd gotten lost in checking him out, and he was staring at me, waiting for me to answer him.
     "What did he say?"
     "Sorry, what did you say?" I blushed as I skimmed my fingers through my hair, feeling flustered.
    "Do you believe in fate and fairytales and shit?" He repeated.
     "Yes and no, yes, I believe that we are all here for a reason and circumstances bring us to where we are supposed to be, the good or bad. As for fairy tales, no, I don't believe in them. Do I think about prince charming and finding the one?
No."
     "Someone's jaded?" He questioned me like he was curious as to why.
     "I'm not jaded. I know guys only want one thing, and that's sex. Anything more is too hard, or they are just not into me."
    "Shit, I shouldn't be talking to you like this." I tried and recovered by changing the subject quickly.
    "Scorned by men?" He sat there looking smug.
    "I shouldn't have said anything."
    "Why, I'm not good enough to talk to?"
    "I just don't think it's professional to talk about my feelings."
     "I don't mind; it's better than talking about my pathetic myself."
    "So you think we only want sex?" When he said sex, he made me blush. I let my hair cover my face. I felt his fingers brush my hair off my face. I was surprised by his touch. "Layla, not every guy is like that, but if you're wondering if that's me, then your right." I knew it. Especially a man like him, why would he want to be committed to just one when he probably gets a woman begging to be with him.
     "You're not a one-woman man?" Curiously, I inquired. My eyes floated up to his.
      He shook his head. "No, I don't believe in one person who can satisfy me. Plus, women are only good for one thing...sex."
     "Why?"
    "Why do I not believe that one can satisfy me or why are women-only good for one thing?
    "The last one."
    "Women are not to be trusted. I choose never to let them in."
    "You think we are that bad?"
    "Yeah."
    Ouch. I stood up. "I'm going to go. Have a good night."
    "Why are you leaving!?"
    "Cause we are only good for one thing and that I am not giving you, so it seems I should just go." I tried to cover the hurt I was feeling, I went to walk, but he grabbed my hand. "Briggs don't," I spoke, but it was shaky.
    "I bet you would like it."
    "Like what?" I followed our linked hands and wandered my eyes up to his.
     "Sex with me." He said confidently.
     "Guess you'll never know as you are my patient, and I don't have sex with men like you."
    "Men like me, what does that mean?"
    "Someone that sleeps around.
    "What if I just had sex with you?" He smirked.
    "No." I pulled my hand away, needing to getaway. He was making me feel things just by his touch.
    "We could have fun? Play some patient scenario."
    "No," I said firmly, but he was making this hard to say no; my body was tingling just thinking about this man naked or what he could do to me.
    "Just once?" He wouldn't quit.
    "No, Briggs, I don't need you or anyone."
     "How do you know you don't need me if you've never had me?" His expression looked teasingly devilish. Like he knew he could reel me in with his charm, and I would do what he said just like all the others.
     "Cause, I like you," I said softly before walking out.
    "Wait!" He called out, but I kept walking.
     I couldn't do this. I needed to see if someone would take my patient. There's no way I can be near him and not fall for him.