Chapter Thirty #2
I release a long-winded breath I didn’t realize I was holding before sitting gently down on the side of the bed, listening to the cheap wall clock tick with every second that passes.
It feels like forever for a different nurse to come back and dress my wound.
After she finishes taping a gauze dressing on my buttocks, she plasters ointment on my neck, the various blisters and red marks on my body I can’t reach and then passes me the rest of the tube to spread the treatment on the places I can.
After she leaves, I get dressed, take the edge of the curtain and move it aside, so they know I’m decent, and jump back when I nearly collide with Dr. Z’s chest.
He doesn’t move, our closeness making my heart skip a beat.
He holds a bag in his hand in front of him, separating our bodies slightly, his eyes gazing intensely into mine.
I back up into the room, putting some space between us.
He walks forward, closing the gap, staring at me, his mouth partly open as though he forgot why he’s standing before me holding a white plastic bag filled with supplies.
The nurse who dressed my wounds enters and advises Dr. Z that his other patient has returned from X-ray and is ready to be seen.
He clears his throat, glancing away from me briefly to thank the nurse before turning his attention back to me.
“After speaking to the attending physician about your injuries and my findings, the best course of treatment for your burns is Silvadene ointment used twice daily. As for the wound on your backside, it’s not deep enough to need debridement, but you need to have it reexamined in a few days to make sure it’s not getting infected and is healing.
You can’t get a clear view of it in its current location.
Keep it covered and change the gauze as needed.
Take showers instead of baths for now. Is there someone at home or someone you can call that you’re comfortable with who can check it in a few days to make sure it’s not infected? ”
That I’m comfortable with. The way he said it tells me he’s concerned about me, which I understand. I shake my head, because who am I going to call? My mom? My dad?
He extends the bag to me, and I take it as he removes a business card from his front pocket and passes it to me.
“Take this. It has my number and extension here at the hospital. Call and leave me a message in a couple of days, and we can arrange a quick recheck here in the ER of your wound without you having to wait for hours.”
I take the card, my fingers grazing his as I slide it away from him and tuck it into the pocket of my sweatpants. “Thank you,” I say softly as I tilt my head down and stare at the floor between us.
There’s something about him that makes me feel intimidated and shy, which isn’t like me, and I’m not sure how to act around him.
A part of me wants to bury my face in his chest and beg him to help me, and the other part wants to stay far away from him.
I glance up at him, my eyes staring at his lips as he licks them and swipes them with his thumb.
I look away, wishing my life weren’t so complicated and that I was deserving of such a handsome creature.
“Contessa,” he says barely above a whisper, causing me to look up at him.
Usually, I get irritated if, after I tell someone to call me Tessa, they still call me Contessa, but not with him. When he says it, it sounds seductive and eerily natural, almost like I’ve heard him say my name many times before, which is impossible under the circumstances.
He takes a small step back as the nurse reenters the room, checking the status of my discharge so he can move on to the next patient. He smiles down at me and says, “If there’s anything else, anything at all we can do to help you, call or come back, okay?”
His eyes, so honest, so humble, so sexy. I quickly look away from him. A shudder travels through me, making me outwardly tremble.
“Contessa, are you alright?” Heat rises in my cheeks as he reaches for me, sending a wave of passion and desire to my core.
What the fuck is wrong with me? If Mastyx found out I had these thoughts about someone, he’d be furious.
“Thank you,” I say again, without looking at him, pushing all the thoughts and how he makes me feel out of my head and quickly moving around him, my sandals squeaking loudly.
I make my way to the exit, my body screaming, needing to go home and plaster more of the medicine samples Dr. Z gave me on my skin. The nurse put on an ample amount, but I feel like the more I have on, the better.
Dr. Z’s face flashes through my head, his eyes full of concern and those soft, inviting lips begging to be kissed. I find it hard not to think about him.
Fuck. I shake my head rapidly and take a deep breath, pushing him out of my head once more.
Outside, as I approach my vehicle, a man walks toward me, flicking his lighter to light his cigarette. He tries again after the first flick fails to ignite. Without warning, the fire from the lighter shoots straight up, higher than his head, lighting his face up orange.
He quickly tosses the lighter away and yells, “What the fuck?”
I stand there, dumbfounded, staring at the lighter on the ground and the flame still burning high above it.
The man shakes his head at me, walks past, and heads for the emergency entrance.
My chest heaves, my breathing growing rapid.
The lighter’s flames grow higher, as if someone is forcing all the flammable fluid into its wick, fueling the flame’s height and sending a message.
Sending me a message.
My thoughts turn to Mastyx, and I wonder if he somehow heard my thoughts about Dr. Z and is now sending me a quick reminder of what awaits me if I cross or betray him.
Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, and I’m overreacting.
I exhale loudly, clench the hospital bag tighter in my grasp and move cautiously toward the flame that stands between myself and my car.
As I close in on the flame, it slowly grows smaller and smaller until, finally, it puffs out its last spark and dies.
I stop in front of it and whisper, “Mastyx?” not wanting anyone to hear me talking to a lighter on the pavement.
Nothing. No high flame rekindling, no sparks, just a dead lighter, resting on the blacktop of the hospital parking lot. I return to my car, unlock the doors, and sit softly in my seat, closing the door behind me.
It’s hot for the first day of November. Sweat rapidly beads on my skin as I sit in my car, seemingly stuck in the moment.
I blink several times, exhaustion overwhelming me, and dismiss any thoughts of Mastyx’s presence playing a part in the lighter fiasco.
My key ring rattles against the steering column as I insert the car key into the ignition and turn it.
The radio blasts Evenspeak’s Little Sinner at full capacity, and the heat in the car suddenly rages at top speed into my face.
I quickly cover my ears, muffling the blaring music, before frantically reaching for the volume and heat dials and twisting them off.
My heart pounds hard in my chest and blood races through me, sending violent tremors to every part of my being.
He’s here. I tuck a wayward lock of hair behind my ear with a trembling hand, before gripping the steering wheel tightly, my eyes wide with shock.
The window beside me rattles with an insistent knock, making me jump and grab my chest. I twist my neck to face the window and gaze up at Dr. Z, who’s no longer wearing his lab coat, carrying a leather bag over his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice muffled by the partition dividing us.
I don’t answer. I put the car in reverse, speed backward, crank the wheel, put the car in drive, and slam my foot on the gas, sending the vehicle flying out of the parking lot and into the street, just missing a man walking to the cancer clinic across the street.
He’s waving his cane at me when I peer into the rearview mirror.
The car in front of me stops abruptly at the red light, and my foot slams the brake to the floor so I don’t rear-end them. Another vehicle pulls up to my right in the turning lane, their window rolled down, their head bobbing as they play drums on their steering wheel to Highway to Hell by AC/DC.
Message received.
Mastyx has made it clear to me that the next time he sees me, our encounter won’t be a pleasant one.
Perhaps I’ll stay awake for the next several full moons and not call him to me with any sacrifices.
Full Moons are the only time he can visit me freely.
Although incubus demons can only have sex with sleeping women, our relationship is a little different compared to most. We have a contract, one that, if I break, I will receive the punishment I deserved years ago.
A one-way ticket straight to hell.