Page 18 of Fixation
Dozens of people. They’re either seated or standing. Crying, shocked, or yelling. Some of them have blood on their T-shirts. One man grabs his arm close to his chest and bites his lip.
Doctors, nurses, and hospital staff in their scrubs are there, too, talking, aiding, and rolling wheelchairs.
I got here last. It’s no surprise that no one approaches me.
“Please.” My heart melts at the Uber lady’s shout. She’s going to get a million stars for this. A huge tip. “She’s already fainted at least once. She needs help. Now.”
Oops. I might black out again. Or…I would’ve blacked out.
If not for thisfeeling. Same feeling I’ve had at home over the last two months.
The chill. The goosebumps. My nipples peak.
My stalker is here.
Or am I hallucinating again?
“Miss.” That voice. Low and authoritative. Husky and commanding.
With what little strength I have left, I raise my head to look at him.
At the man in green scrubs who’s rushing toward us. His dark brown hair is cut short. His white undershirt hugs his lean arms.
His dark gaze. So intense and…apologetic?
What for?
“I’m a surgeon. I’ll take it from here.”
Oh, his hands are on my throat, checking me, I think. They’re warm and strong. His fingers are long. I can’t look him in the eye anymore, though. My head is droopy.
“I’ll take it from here,” he repeats, harsher this time. Resolute.
“Okay. Okay. Thank you.” The Uber lady helps me into his arms. Oh, wow. He’s incredibly strong. Comforting. I could fall asleep here. “She fainted. Looks like she has a fever. A high one.”
The doctor squeezes me before using one hand to tear the mask off my face and get my back from the driver. And thank God, he’s holding me with both arms again. It’d be terrible if I fell on the floor.
“Breathe, I have you,” he reassures me. Then to her, “She’ll be fine. You can leave now.”
Even with this terrible flu, I notice his order is strange.
Isn’t he supposed to ask if she’s family or related to me? What about my name? My HMO? He should be asking for that information.
I think so.
Or…maybe things like this happen all the time. When someone loses consciousness, their emergency contact probably shows up later to fill out their forms.
Yeah, that makes sense.
Nothing to worry about. No one will hurt me in a hospital.
How can anything—cough—bad happen to me when a doctor is carrying me? A surgeon.
He’s okay. I’m okay. I can let go.
I am letting go.
“I’ve got you, Harper.”
