Knockout

Chapter Three

The buzzing of your phone woke you from your peaceful sleep. You checked the caller-ID, 'Unknown' lighting up the dark space around you. You debated ignoring the call, wanting to steal the last 5 minutes of your mid-shift break. However, the racing of your heart got the best of you, pressing the green button.

"Hello?" Your groggy voice revealing your nap.

"Y/N!" A hushed voice whispered, hardly audible.

"Kylo?"

"Y/N. I need you to listen. I'm hurt, and I can't come in-"

"What?!" You screeched, "The fuck do you mean you 'can't come in'?"

"Y/N... Doc. Y-You gotta listen. Please. "

Deep breaths huffed in and out of your lungs, trying to calm the anxiety in your chest. "Okay... what's going on?"

"I was in a fight, no I mean, I was in a match. The other guy lost, and he took it really hard. He came out to try and pick a fight, but I didn't see the knife in his hand. He got me pretty good, Doc." His voice trembled. Shockwaves of anguish lapped at your heart. His accent was thicker than normal. He almost sounded like he was crying, voice breaking every few words.

"Fine," you resolved, your ' Do no harm ' oath ringing in your mind, "Where are you?"

The drive to the warehouse in West Philly made you nervous. You fidgeted with the zipper on your emergency medical bag. You felt bad for lying to Simon and Margot about where you were going (and why), but you suspected that it was safer for anyone to not be there.

Stepping out of the old maroon toyota, you turned to your phone, about to call Kylo. Right as you were about to hit the call button you heard a guttural groan, deep. You followed the sound, hoping your intuition was right. As you rounded the southwest corner of the large, square building, the sight before you nearly ripped a whole in your chest.

Kylo was propped up against the green dumpster in the ally, clothes in shambles. His hands were stained red, long black hair sticking to his forehead and neck. That isn't what troubled you however. It was the large gash that lined his angular face, dripping in a deep crimson. The smell of blood, sweat, and filth stang your nose. A lump lodged itself in your throat.

"What... nevermind. Just... can you move?" Worry thickly coating your voice.

"Um, yeah, let me-ARGHHHH!" Kylo screamed, shattering your heart in two. "No... actually. I don't think I can." His voice was strained.

"Okay.. Okay..." Your thoughts raced, desperately searching for a solution. "I'm gonna need you to hold very still . Can you do that?" Your mind began to settle, tuning out the outside world. All focus on cleaning and closing his wounds. Saving him.

"Not without screaming," he said sheepishly. If his face hadn't been so gory, you could've sworn he was blushing.

"Shit." You looked around the alley, finding nothing you could use to help sooth his howls. Resigning yourself, you removed your jacket and then peeled your top off your body, using the scissors in your kit to rip off half of the shirt. You knelt down. Rolling the shirt up, you thrust the top to his face.

"Bite." you ordered. Your voice was clear, commanding. He looked up, hesitating for only a moment, before biting the scrap of fabric in his jaw, steeling himself.

"This is gonna hurt."

You poured the alcohol on his cheek, high pitched wails emanating from his chest. Wetness coated his face, a mixture of alcohol, blood, and tears. His large hand gripped your arm in a vice, squeezing you so hard you were sure to have a palm shaped bruise tomorrow. You didn't mind. You were too engrossed in helping him. Once the worst was over -the disinfecting- you began to dab at the excess blood on his cheekbone. Faint touches brushed over his skin, you gently stroked his head. You hushed the loush shutters that rattled out of him, even through the makeshift gag. Had this been any other circumstance, you would've chastised yourself for being so close to him, especially without your top.