Nursing The Bad Boy (Completed; Sequel Released)

Chapter 2

One part of me ran through the possibilities of what he could possibly do and the other wanted to yell again and argue, but that's when I heard footsteps. "Gemma?!?" The owner of the footsteps called.

"I'm-" I started,  but I was cut off by soft lips meeting mine's. To say that I almost collapsed, would be an understatement. No no, I literally lost all feeling in my legs and probably needed a heart implant as well because it stopped beating for a few seconds. The lips gently began moving, but I did nothing but place my hands on the person's chest and push them away and sent them colliding into a stack of papers.

"How dare you steal my first kiss you messed up idiot!" I whisper yelled, because I knew if I spoke to loudly Mr. Rapist wouldn't waste another second before kissing me again.

He chuckled. "That was your first kiss?" He asked, but didn't give me time to answer. "Well, then the least you could have done was make it memorable for us both and kissed me back," The guy spoke seductively. "Now, shut up." his voice returned to one that meant business.

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. "Jerk." I muttered under my breath.

"I heard that," He chuckled.

"You were meant to, imbecile."

After moments of silence, the footsteps outside disappeared and the guy slowly creaked the door open. "They're gone. Now do humanity a favour and don't scream again," Mr. Rapist turned to me and opened the door wider for me to get out. I know that biologically my heart can't stop every time I say it does, but I swear that it might just have because when the light reflected on his face, and I finally got a good look at who my capturer was, I just about fainted. His dark hair defied gravity and his bright blue eyes were as mesmerizing as the sea. His 6'2 muscular build was complimented by a black v-neck and dark washed jeans and although he had several cuts, wounds and bruises on him, he still looked godly. Who was this fine specimen you might ask? See that's what scared me. It was Wyatt Evans.   

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"So are you going to help me or continue gawking?" He asked, clearly amused.

I cleared my throat and averted my eyes. Okay, so maybe I had been gawking for a while, but.....I had no excuse. I had seen Wyatt around town and in high school as well, but I never knew him personally. However, I did always make an effort to stay away from him and people associated with him. I didn't need the attention. "Follow me," I spoke and turned on my heel, leading him into the new admits ward, that was most likely empty. I drew the curtain and motioned for him to sit on the bed. "So what is this? Sexual healing or something?" Wyatt winked and lay on the bed.

The heat rushed to my face and I scrunched up my nose in disgust. "No, you dimwit. It's call bandaging your gushing wounds."

Wyatt made an understanding face, but his smirk never left. I noticed that most of his shirt was torn up and a blood covered. What looked like a stab wound near his abdomen was wetting his shirt. Along his bicep was a gash that ran arms length and his leg had a bullet wound. My eyes widened and I stepped back a bit. Wyatt probably noticed this because his expression turned soft. "It's nothing, just please bandage me up quickly." He spoke, quietly.

I nodded and hesitantly went over to the cupboard to get disinfecting alcohol, tweezers, bandages, gauzes and an anesthetic shot. When I returned Wyatt squirmed slightly, but didn't say anything. "I'm going to give you some anesthesia so-" I spoke quietly, but was rudely interrupted.

"I don't need it." He said, in a clipped tone.

Lucky for him, I was a registered anesthetic nurse and could cause him less pain, but unlucky for him, his ego got in the way. I met his bright blue eyes, but they held no emotion or answer to his hesitancy. "Fine. Then, you'll have to suffer and I'll give you something for the pain later." I responded, not willing to argue with him. "Roll up your pant leg." I said.

He did as he was asked and I started working on his bullet wound. There was no bullet per say, but it looked like he had been lucky and only gotten grazed. Shaking my head and sighing, I got to work. In a mere 10 minutes I finished bandaging his bullet wound. I would have been done quicker, but Wyatt literally bore his eyes into my soul and I couldn't focus. "Take off your shirt." I mumbled, shyly.

"Oh honey, if you wanted some of this, you should have just told me." Wyatt winked and a devious smirk formed on his pink lips.

My eyes narrowed and I grimaced. "I don't want to see you strip, but I would like to help you and if I remember correctly, you need me to help you. So please?" I spoke, but never met his eyes. Sure, I could talk back to people if and when needed, but my mother had done wonders to my confidence and it was not where it needed to be.

"Someone's feisty." Wyatt muttered, as he pulled off his torn up black shirt. I turned around to grab the disinfecting alcohol and whirled back around.  Holy mother of biscuits, he has abs! My hazel eyes probably popped out of their sockets, probably not literally but you get the idea. I shook my head before he could noticed and started working on his stab wounds.

Tell me? If a hot guy shows up, captures you, then asks you to help him with his several deep and intricate wounds, would you ask questions? I wanted to, but I kept my mouth squeezed into a thin line because I didn't want him to kill me.  I dipped the gauze into the disinfecting alcohol and touched his wound.

He hissed as the alcohol touched his bleeding wound and grabbed my hand. His touch ignited a flame and I knew that later I might have to treat myself for burns. "Did that hurt?" I asked, softly. I tried to calm my breathing, he was so close. Breath in, Gemma. Breath out. Breath in, breath out. The years that I spent staying away from his kind weren't paying off.

"No," He retorted sarcastically, still holding onto my hand. "I hissed because I'm a snake. Of course that hurt, pumpkin."

His comment awakened several buried memories. He called me pumpkin. My mom and the several kids who used to make fun of my weight called me that. Did I not loose enough weight? I ignored the memories and continued to work on his wound. It didn't matter, he was just another person. "Could you please let go of my hand now?" I muttered.

 He smirked and shook his head. "Do I scare you?" he asked, completely ignoring my question and moving closer to me.

I kept my eyes on his wound, not daring to face him. Even though he did scare me, he scared me completely biscuit-less, I rose my head up and shook my light brown waves. "Absolutely, not." 

(EDITED)