It’s the only explanation for why I threatened Dr. Kent’s life. My fear of losing Delilah was and is so potent that I couldn’t stop myself. If he reports my conduct to the council, I’ll be fucked.
If she dies, it won’t matter.
I glance at the closed door that leads to the operating room. My hands grow clammy. Wiping them on my pants, I remind myself that bursting through the door could cause the physician to make a crucial mistake. The need to satisfy my uncertainty isn’t enough for me to risk her life.
The room is silent, save for the distant clatter of medical equipment and the muted conversations of the staff beyond the thick walls. Only when my legs begin to cramp do I make myself sit down, the ancient wooden chair creaking under my weight.
The waiting is excruciating, more agonizing than the mental torture my father put me through when I was younger.
The memory of the tunnels underneath the university, a labyrinth of darkness and silence, creeps into my mind unbidden. How many hours did I spend navigating those places with terror as my only companion?
My father believed in teaching through adversity and pain. The first time I was left in one of the tunnels was when I was a small boy, armed with nothing except a flashlight and a directive to find my way out if I wanted to see my mother again. Eventually, that wasn’t grounds for motivation.
In those underground passages, I grew accustomed to the threat of the unknown and used it to push myself, to show my father he couldn’t break me with fear. The echoes of my past collide with my present worries. Here in this waiting room, the obstacles are not something I can overcome. I’ve been forced to place my trust in another.
This overwhelming sense of helplessness threatens to wreck me.
I stand again, my restless energy too much to contain. Time stretches, each second longer than the last. I clench my fists until my arms shake and my knuckles turn white. The physician’s confidence in his ability should comfort me, but it doesn’t.
My fear of losing Delilah is just too great.
Finally, the door opens and Dr. Kent steps out, removing his surgical mask. I rake my gaze over his face, searching for any signs of the outcome, my chest tight.
“She’s stable,” he says. “She’s young, and that should help her recover quickly. I’m going to keep her overnight and for however long I see fit until I’m certain she’s free of danger. Do you understand, recruit?”
I nod, unable to articulate words. Relief sweeps through my body, making me unfocused and off-kilter.
Dr. Kent tilts his head, his gaze assessing. “You can see her now, but she’s going to be under for a while. The anesthesia needs to wear off naturally. Also, I’ve given her something to help with the pain. It’ll be hours before she’s awake.”
“I need to be there when she opens her eyes.”
I need to see if she hates me, if I’ve lost her forever.
The physician shrugs. “You might want to sleep first. I can call you the moment there’s any change.”
“No. I’m not leaving until she’s conscious.”
“Very well,” he says. “Wait here while my staff transports her from the surgical room to a recovery one. I like to keep the OR available. You never know when a recruit will need it.”
“Understandable.”
I watch the physician walk away, and a wave of exhaustion hits me, burrowing into the marrow of my bones. However, it’s not enough to pull me away from Delilah. I’ll sleep on the floor of her room if I have to.
My foot taps in sync with my pulse, the rapid beat reaching dangerous territory. I just need to see her. Once I do, I’ll be fine.
At the sound of voices coming from the other room, I narrow my gaze, my focus on the doorway. A moment later, someone wheels in the gurney. Delilah lies on it, covered in hospital linens, her skin not much darker than the stark white fabric.
I blow out a long breath to ease the tension running through me at seeing her so weak. To stop myself from reaching for her. All I want to do is snatch Delilah up in my arms, but my protection is not enough right now.
The nurse eyes me with a wary look as he guides my bride into a nearby room. He positions the gurney next to the bed and leans down to lift her.
“Don’t touch her,” I say. The dark tone in my voice is more than a warning. It’s a death sentence. “I’ll do it.”
The nurse hesitates but steps back, his expression distrustful. I slide my hands underneath Delilah’s back and legs and pull her close. The feel of her in my arms is euphoria, and I nearly sigh like a fucking pussy.
Under the scrutiny of the nurse, I place my bride in the bed and then cover her with the blanket, careful to tuck the material snugly around her frame. She looks tiny and fragile in a way that unsettles me.
“I’ll check on her in a little while,” the nurse says.
