For the Love of a Woman

Chapter 21

The last thing Daryl remembered was closing his eyes after he had been helped to a carriage. Now, he opened his eyes to a white ceiling. He rose up and looked around. There was a table filled with medical supplies, another table with stuff Daryl couldn't really make out, a steel cabinet against the wall, a sink, and a rack with two white towels hanging on them.

His crossbow lend against the wall next to the cabinet. The sheets were soft against his skin. That's when he realized that he had been stripped down naked. He whipped the covers off. Grunting as he stood, he stretched his body as he felt something pull on his arm. Daryl looked to see black stitches that were almost two inches long. That's when he remembered he had cut his arm in the cave; triggering his memory about everything else that happened.

Before he could take a step on the cool floor, someone cleared their throat from the door way. Daryl turned to see a woman with short dark hair staring at him with a little smirk.

"I see you're finally up," she quipped.

Daryl didn't know who she was and didn't care. "Where am I?"

"The clinic," she answered as she stared at his naked form without shame.

"Where the hell are my clothes?"

She exhaled like it was the worst question someone had ever asked her. "There in the cabinet."

Daryl strode to it and opened both doors.

"We had them cleaned for you," she said, her voice rounded around him and into the room.

Daryl grabbed his pants first. He was done giving Ms. Nosey Ass a show.

"How'd you get those marks on your back?"

"None of your business," he mumbled without turning around.

"Okay. If you want to leave the doctor needs to look you over. Then, he can discharge you."

"If he's not here in five minutes, I'm leaving anyway," Daryl said as he bent over to put his pants on.

"I'll get him."

Five minutes later, Daryl was dressed and sat impatiently while the doctor put him through the paces. It was the same guy he saw when he came out the tunnel.

"For the exception of the stitches, you're fine, Daryl," Adam said.

"Hell, I could have told you that," Daryl mumbled as he stood from the bed.

"Here," Adam said and handed him a clear bag with white pills in it.

"What's this?"

"Antibiotics," Adam answered as he made notes on a clipboard. "Take two a day until they are gone – as a precaution."

"What it made out of?" Daryl asked with suspicion. He wasn't taking any more chances by digesting stuff from people there he didn't know.

Adam glanced up. "Don't worry. I'm a professional medical doctor who deals in reality. Not a witchdoctor who makes potions with wild roots."

Daryl grunted and shoved the bag in his back pocket.

"By the way, that stuff on the table is for you," Adam said and tucked the clipboard under his arm.

"From who?"

"I assume from various people in town," Adam said nonchalantly. "The stuff was found on the clinic porch this morning. You're fans have to support you in secret in fear of backlash from D'artagnan."