Vengeance

||31|| Grave

August POV

Death is always a possibility.

I never cared before.

I never cared whether I lived or died. I'd go on missions with nothing to look forward to when coming out of them.

Until I met her.

Then suddenly, living for her seemed to be at the top of my priorities.

My heavy eyelids slowly begun to pry open at the sound of a soft beep goes off every few seconds. I blink several times to get rid of the blurry cloud of sleep that's fucks with my vision.

Glancing around, I immediately feel the oxygen mask on my face. From that alone and the white stainless walls and the blue curtain that divides the room in half, I'm no doubt in a hospital.

I look down, pealing off the thin cover to see bandages going around my bare chest.

Death was so close, I had felt. The coldness, and unforgiving loneliness, I fucking felt it.

My hand raises and I plant them at the edge of my bed, slowly lifting myself.

I must be numbed or drugged, because I don't feel shit, only a slight ache. I'm sure that'll change in a few days.

"Mr. Creed! Welcome back." I turn my head to see a nurse dressed in her blue scrubs and a stethoscope hanging from her neck.

I pull off the Oxygen mask, "Where's Oakley?" Is the first thing that leaves my mouth, on the verge of throwing my feet off the side of the bed. "How long have I been out for? What happened?"

She puts her hand on my chest, inclining me to lay on my back again.

"You're not supposed to be sitting up, let alone standing," She says. "It's only been two days since you were omitted. Regarding your last question..." she pauses and then continues, "Your right lung had to be removed, resulting in the last minute transplant from a donor."

I scrunch my face, putting a hand on my chest, "What?" I say the word in disbelief. Who the fuck would give me their entire right lung? There are probably several people that needed it more than me, so why—

My body goes cold.

The nurse never answered my first question.

Why didn't she answer my first question?

Where the fuck is Oakley?

I look up at her hovering over me, making sure my vitals are good. Grabbing her wrist, she jerks, her attention turns to me.

"Where the hell is she?" I ask, meeting the slight fear in her gaze. But only panic finds a home in mine. "Where is my Oakley," The words spew out.

The nurse only gives a small smile, which I can't tell is an 'I'm sorry' smile or a 'she's okay' smile and it's pissing me off.

She pulls away and I let go of her wrist as she walks to the front of my bed, "She donated her lung to you," She says, "without hesitation might I add."

No.

"That's rare to find; most people wouldn't go that extra step even for their partner, considering the high risk of the procedure."

God, please no.

Her words seem to revolve around my head. She donated me her fucking lung? High risk?

Who fucking let her go through with that?

Who am I kidding, if that was her decision, she wouldn't let anyone stop her.