Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
His voice softens, “Let me handle it, man. Go sit with her. We’ll be there soon.”
I say, “Thanks, bro.” What I don’t say is, “I owe you one.”
But we both know that’s a given.
The doctor looks over Lexi’s unconscious and sweating body, now covered in one of my tees, umming and ahhing for close to ten minutes. Feeling her glands, peering into her eyes with a light, taking her temperature four times over the course of minutes. It’s safe to say, I’m panicked.
If it were anyone else but her…
Pushing the thought out of my head, I watch him closely. I don’t like his hands on her. All over her. This is how ridiculous I am. I know he’s a doctor. I know he’s here to help. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to take his head off at the sight of his hands on her body.
On my body. She is mine. She belongs to me.
For a second, I worry myself with thoughts that I’ve taken things with Lexi too far. For a second, I tell myself to break all ties with her. For a second, I wonder if I’m in too deep here.
For a second.
The doctor, a tall and fit middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, comes to stand by my side. Squirting hand sanitizer into his palm, he rubs his hands together. “So you say she’s never done drugs before, then decided to do weed and cocaine all in one night?” His brow furrows. He doesn’t believe a word I say.
Steeling my jaw, I explain, “I asked her to have a smoke with me and she did,” looking him in the eye, I state, “willingly.” He nods in a duly noted way and I add, “But I think the weed impaired her judgement enough to do the blow. I wasn’t around, and when I came back, she was wasted. She was worried about the weed in her system, so I don’t know why she would’ve…” I shrug. The rest is self-explanatory.
The doctor watches me closely, eyes narrowing. The motherfucker is making me sweat and he knows it. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, “It looks viral to me. The drug use may have amplified her body’s reaction to the virus, but as far as I can tell, she’s just severely dehydrated. Hence the drip.”
I look at the IV hooked up to the top of Lexi’s hand. Actually, I stare.
Can I really go through with hurting her, when I can’t stand to see a fucking needle in her?
I’ll never tell the fucker, but Happy was right. I’ve never been fine. Not a day in my life. My mind is…is…ruined. And I know the exact point it went from bad to worse.
Doc speaks on, “I’ll have to stay here until she wakes. The drip will take another four hours to empty. So if you have a spare bed for me, I’ll gladly take it. Preferably one close to the girl.”
It takes everything I have in me not to bring this guy down. I don’t like the way he said the girl. He said it like she was a junkie or a fuckin’ prostitute or something. Little does he know the type of work she does, or how fuckin’ lucky the government is to have someone as passionate as her on their side. But then, I am paying this guy a fuckload to avoid the question of identities.
“So,” I continue watching Lexi, my angel, “she’ll be fine, right?”
Picking up his carry bag, he states, “I can’t confirm or deny that. I’ll need to see her when she wakes.”
A forgotten Happy emerges from the doorway and motions for the doc to follow him. And I’m left with the girl who is destined to hate me. The girl I lov—
Whoa. What the fuck?
My body tenses. Glaring down at Lexi, I shake my head as if to clear it.
I don’t like what she’s doing to me.
My go-to emotion for anything I don’t like or don’t understand is anger. And I’m suddenly angry at her.
Scowling, I turn on my heel and stalk out the room.
Never should’ve brought her here.
My heavy lids try to open, but the weight of them forces me to stop. A cool breeze wafts over my hot body, providing little relief, but still feeling good nonetheless. A pinching on my hand makes my brows knit. It feels like I’m being stung by a bee.
Willing my arms to lift, I manage to slowly reach for the sore area on top of my hand to feel bumpy plastic. My brow furrows more. That’s when I hear someone speak by my bedside, “She’s waking up. Yeah. I don’t know. Okay.”
Opening one eye to peek out at my visitor, I see Happy watching me through a cautious gaze.
The effort to open that eye seems to have taken all my energy with it. Closing my eye and ceasing all movement, I mumble, “Sick.”