Right Through Me

F O R T Y F I V E

Watching his chest rise and fall, slowly, had only reminded me all over again of the times when I was his personal medical team for the fights, when I spent hours saving his life only to watch him doing it all over again. He'd been out for hours now. After losing a lot of blood from his wound, he passed out well before the operation and, with the help of the anesthetic, hasn't awoken since. He was now in the calmest sleep possible, his entire body frozen still, but his chest continued to rise and fall.

Many members of the club came to check on him, asking me if he'd be okay and I assured them he would. They'd stay for only a moment and leave, one after the other. Now, it was quiet. It was well into the night, many of the members were either at the bar having a drink or in their rooms with the company of a woman. I'd been sitting here since I finished, monitoring him.

I stood slowly, grabbing my stethoscope and clipboard and moving over to him quietly. I gently placed the stethoscope over his heart, listening to it beat slowly and calmly. I marked down the information, checking his temperature and blood pressure once again and sitting right back down in my seat, noticing that he was still unresponsive.

When he entered the room, when he collapsed, when I operated on him, and now while he's unconscious I seemed to have forgotten, once again, why I had even hated him. My thoughts were annoying but I could no longer lie, I didn't hate this man. It was physically impossible for me too.

I was exhausted. Not only did I patch up a gunshot wound but I ended up having to do an emergency blood transfusion with, much to my dismay, my own. I was feeling fatigued and exhausted after it, weaker than usual. I'd spent the last two hours trying to finish a bag of Cheese-Its to replenish my energy but it was even hard to do that.

I continued sitting there, my eyelids feeling unbelievably heavy. I sighed heavily, scooting my swivel chair to beside where he laid, leaning my elbow on the bed and resting my head on my hand, staring much more closer at him. 

"What a jackass," I grumbled, pointing a finger at him, although he was no where near conscious. "Maybe you can explain to me why I can't just get over you."

It was silent besides the quiet beep of the heart monitor and his regulated breathing. He was still. Calm. While he was like this I could hardly tell that he was sad. He was always so calm when he slept.

"God, look at me. Staring at you while you sleep is so healthy," I grumbled to myself, my eyes falling to his hand. His knuckles were bruised and had dried blood. Whatever went down didn't end well. Before I could even comprehend what I was doing, my hand was holding his. His grip was limp and I squeezed his hand, unsure of myself, of my decisions thus far.

"What am I doing?" I mumbled, not moving my hand away from his. "You broke my heart and yet I still love you."

My eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion finally taking it's grip on me and pulling me to sleep.

* * *

THIRD POV

Donovan's opened slowly sometime during the early morning. His vision was blurry and he was unsure, at first, where he was until his sight cleared and he realized he was back at the clubhouse. He lifted his hand and moved the oxygen mask away and off his face, breathing deeply. He moved to rub his face but was stopped when something suddenly squeezed his hand.

He looked down, getting sight of Lina, her head resting on the edge of the bed, fast asleep, with her hand interlocked with his, squeezing and un-squeezing it as she slept deeply. He was shocked to say the least. He didn't expect her to help her when he collapsed, he wasn't going to hold it against her either if she decided not to help him. What was more shocked was that she had fallen asleep holding his hand, why didn't she go home? Why did she stay?

He stared at her, unsure of what to do. He couldn't leave, he felt numb and too tired to go anywhere. She looked exhausted even in her sleep, her blond hair was much longer now and had cascaded over the bed. In the midst of his trance her eyes fluttered and she slowly came to, lifting her head slowly. She was disorientated for a moment, looking around the room and then up at him. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes widening and then moving down to their hands. In an instant she yanked her hand away from his, as if his skin had burnt her, and stood up, backing away from him and clearing her throat.

"You're awake," she said, smoothing her hair down and grabbing her clipboard. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

She nodded, checking his heartbeat, blood pressure, temperature and wound. "You were out for about nineteen hours. Your bullet wound is still fresh but there's no signs of infection."

He nodded, unsure of what else he should say, of what else he could say. "You held my hand."

She froze, looking up at him. She cleared her throat again. "You weren't sleeping well at some point last night," she lied. He knew she was lying. "Just a precaution."

He nodded slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing to his towering height, slowly. She was immediately entranced in him, being reminded of just how unbelievably muscular and God-like he looked shirtless. 

She gulped audibly, turning her gaze away from him. "You shouldn't move so suddenly. You lost a lot of blood."

"I think it'd be best if I left anyway," he replied sharply, walking slowly out of the infirmary and disappearing completely from sight.

"Was I just--?" she began, throwing her clipboard across the room and exited through the storage and going straight home.