Gaping wound edges and contamination from wood splinters. He must have been working in the forest with heavy equipment. That would suit his rough demeanor. I won’t be able to fully assess the depth and severity of the wound until I clean it.
For a moment, I look up and find myself staring where I shouldn’t. Directly into his dark eyes. "How did this happen?"
"Saw." That’s his brief answer.
Very enlightening.
Just as I’m about to inquire further, he leans back in his chair and rests his head against the headrest. He'd better not pass out. Judging by the condition of his towel, he has lost a fair amount of blood, but a man of his size should be able to handle it.
Mentally, I postpone my questions about theaccident and continue with my work. "When was your last tetanus vaccination?"
"Two years ago." He audibly exhales. I pretend not to notice his grumpiness. Neither his nor my mood is relevant right now. "Can you move your thumb?" I continue.
He nods. Very good. That means the damage shouldn't be too severe. Probably just a few injured blood vessels that I will suture later. In a few days, he will be back to normal.
I touch his fingertip. "Can you feel this?" I ask, and at that moment, I become the one who feels something. A tingling sensation as delicate as snowflakes melting on my skin.
Oh no. Please, not now.
He seems unaffected. "Yes," he says, nodding in confirmation.
"Good," I clear my throat to regain my composure. "Looks like you got lucky."
He furrows his brow. "Aren’t you going to clean the wound already?"
Ah, so someone knows about wound care. Still, I’m certain he’s not a doctor. If he were, he would have already told me everything I need to know. "Are you taking any medication?"
"I’m perfectly healthy," he hurriedly replies as I turn away to retrieve a syringe and anesthetics from the cabinet.
"That’s obvious." I lower my gaze to his injury only to raise it again immediately. Surely, he knows what I’m trying to convey, but he doesn’t react. Focused, I draw up the local anesthetic and flick the syringe to get rid of excess air bubbles. "You’ll feel a little prick."
Ireach for his hand again. Once more, there’s that tingling sensation. And the longer I keep touching him, the more intense it becomes.
What my body is doing is so incredibly inappropriate. He’s my patient. Even if he weren’t and even if I were to give in to my attraction, it’s more than obvious that Noah has no interest in a conversation. Or in me.
With a pounding heart, I place five perfect stitches around his injury to spare him pain during the treatment. Then I grab the cleansing solution and finally turn to my medical bag. This is the perfect opportunity to use the magnifying glasses with the built-in light that my colleagues at the clinic gave me as a parting gift. Unlike traditional medical equipment, they’re super stylish. The temples are adorned with rhinestones, and the LED lamp is currently the best available on the market. I could never have afforded it myself.
Proudly, I put on the glasses. When I turn to face Noah, I notice a crooked grin on his lips.
Is Mr. Trying-to-look-unassuming-in-a-checkered-shirt laughing at me?
Shaking my head, I focus on his wound to clean it. Considering the sheer quantity and size of the wood splinters, it’s not an easy task. While I work, my gaze occasionally drifts to Noah’s face.
Of course, not to admire his attractive features, but solely to assess his general condition. He’s pale; he was already like that when he arrived. It’s probably due to the blood loss, but my gut feeling tells me that something else is wrong with him too. I can’t pinpoint it, but my instinct as a doctor rarely deceives me.
"Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?" I ask, trying to sound as inconspicuous as possible.
It seems he doesn’t like to talk. At least not with me.
"This is going to take a while," I cautiously pluck another wood splinter from the wound. "And I won’t stop asking."So you better tell me right away what’s going on, I add silently. Because one thing is clear: as his doctor, I can’t let him go until I’m certain he’s okay.
