“Are you coming, Imogen?”
I hesitated.
“Yes, sorry,” I said after a beat, following the doctor into Yoss’s hospital room.
Dr. Howell looked down at the chart and made a few notes. “We’re still waiting on the results of the blood panels, until then I’ve ordered a course of antibiotics to be on the safe side and given the severity of his injuries, the likelihood for infection is high.”
The doctor pulled back the curtain and we walked over to Yoss’s bed. Dr. Howell looked at the various monitors and I looked down at the man who had once been the boy I loved.
The boy I loved.
“Tomorrow you can tell me why you don’t have any options.”
My savior. My protector.
He had helped me when he didn’t have to.
He had taken care of me. He had made sure I was warm. Fed. That I had a place to lay my head at night.
Even when he couldn’t keep himself safe, he made sure that I had been. He put me first. Always.
God, I had missed him.
I had forced myself to forget how much.
“He looks pretty rough, but that swelling should go down in a few days. He’ll have a colorful face for a while though.” Dr. Howell pulled down the hospital gown and placed the stethoscope on Yoss’s chest. I noticed the scars. Lots of them.
His scars had scared me in the beginning. I had been frightened to touch them. I had learned they were a part of him. The ugly part. The part I wished he would change.
There were more of them now. A lot more. Some of them so large and so deep I didn’t want to think how he had gotten them.
“I’m scared to touch you,” he whispered, his lips quivering, his green eyes full.
My blood whooshed noisily in my ears and I felt a little lightheaded. We were so close, but I wanted to be closer.
So did he. But I could tell that the idea terrified him.
“Don’t be,” I murmured, reaching out and placing my palm over his heart. He was beautiful. And right now, in this moment, he was mine.
“There’s a lot of old scar tissue and badly healed breaks in his hands and arms. I hope he wakes up soon so he can tell us what happened to him.” Dr. Howell looped the stethoscope around his neck and made a few last notes in the chart. He reached down and patted Yoss’s arm gently. “We’ll take care of you. You’re safe here,” the older doctor promised the motionless man.
I shivered.
“You’re safe, Imi.”
His remembered voice rang in my ears.
“Are you coming, Imogen?” Dr. Howell said, breaking me free of my thoughts.
“I’m going to finish my assessment. I’ll stop by your office later and we can discuss his…case,” I replied.
After Dr. Howell left, I forced myself to sit again by his side. I stared long and hard at his face, trying to find the person I used to know somewhere beneath the cuts and bruises.
He was so much thinner than he used to be. I carefully turned his arm over and ran a thumb along smooth, unblemished skin, relieved there were no track marks.
Someone had shaved part of his head when they had stitched up his scalp, but I could still see some of the black hair I used to love running my fingers through.
His nose was swollen from the altercation that brought him here.
