Rescue My Drowning Heart | COMPLETED

Part II| What's Broken Can Be Mended

"I know they say we're broken, holding on to a love like this. Well if we're broken, I don't wanna be fixed. And my heart is open knowing that you are worth the risk. Well if we're broken, I don't wanna be fixed."— Sam Tsui.

Chapter Theme Song: 'Fixed' by Sam Tsui.

A/N: Don't forget to vote :) <3

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Blaze

The hospital is a familiar place for me.

I would often come here to treat the bruises caused by my late psychotic mother. That's when they were too severe to be dressed by a household first aid kit. And whenever the doctors would ask my father how I sustained the injuries, he would come up with some dumb, illogical explanation. Falling off a swing, running and toppling over—as if that would suffice a wide split in a child's head.

It was either the doctors were dumb or lazy to not have realized how absolutely silly his reports were, or the law and care systems were—still are— just plain incompetent. Either way, these factors aided in my final hypothesis that humanity is fake, disloyal, and unjust. The bad prosper while the good wither away with no justice or equity from the godforsaken people put in positions to 'protect.' This world is fucked up, the people inside it are fucked up, and I am just lucky I can't feel shit for anyone.

Except for Harmony Skye. The only girl who stays on my mind even after my 'incubation' period is long gone. Even after she had found out what my first motives were, and even when she laid beneath me, willingly wanting us to have sex. I am still here, and I never knew I'd stay for so long.

I am sitting outside the hospital room for quite a while now, watching as nurses and doctors travel back and forth and unintentionally inhaling the scent of rubbing alcohol and cleaning chemicals—a familiar mixture of smells that I have grown accustomed to. My palms are clammy as I slide them against each other, anxiously waiting to hear the reports on her.

She needs to be okay, or my existence will officially become futile.

My metallic ringtone echoes throughout the corridor, snapping a few inquisitive heads in my direction. I ease up off my rear to slide the phone from the pocket of my jeans, frowning when I see my sperm donor's name on the caller ID. Blowing out an exhale, I reluctantly press the green icon.

"Yes, Blake."

"Blaze, it's Sunday; do you want me to pick you up for dinner?"

I scratch my forehead, glad that I have a valid excuse not to see his face today. "I can't. Harmony is sick; I am at Huston's Hospital."

"Harmony is sick? Oh my God, what happened?"

"She has a fever. I am waiting for reports."

Instantly, the door to her room slides open, and the doctor with thin grey streaks lining his hair steps out.

"I'll call you back," I say, standing to my feet eagerly. I try to get a glimpse at her over his shoulders, but he is already closing the door behind him.

"It's just a fever; she will be fine. I gave her some medication." The man who looks to be in his early fifties assures me with a small smile. I read his name tag and see that his name is Doctor Pete—not that I even care.

"What's your relation to her?" He enquires as he removes a blue book from the curve of his arm and begins to jot something down.

Truthfully, I don't know what our relationship is at this moment. It is complicated, especially since she left my room so angry last night. I am trying not to get too excited about the fact that she spoke to me in her ill state because she may get mad at me once she regains her good health.