Control and Submission

Chapter 3

A grin tugged at my lips in victory as I walked off.

When I finally reached the correct room I took a deep breathe before walking in. I had no idea why I was so nervous.

The room was long and narrow. There was a row of four beds along each wall. The back wall had a line of large lwindows going across at waist height letting the bright morning light. Several health posters pasted along the top. Of the beds, only one appeared to be occupied as it was the only one with its curtains drawn around it.

Here goes.

I quietly peeked inside. And my heart thudded.

It was him.

The same thick eyebrows. His beard had grown some. Same yet different.
Like the creepy vibe was gone.

In that small glimpse he was just a normal guy in a hospital bed paging through a magazine, quietly humming to himself.

Would he remember me?

I quickly pulled back.

Pull your shit together.

Your not gonna breathe again until you open this damn curtain.

After a few seconds of giving myself a little pep talk I took a deep breath and readied myself for another attempt.

Lungs bursting.

I pulled the curtain across. Without realising my own strength, I had pulled the curtains fully across, almost taking down the rail, making the guy jump up in fright.

"Shit!" He cursed in shock, dropping his magazine. It was PlayBoy.

His heart rate monitor beeped in a momentary frenzy before gradually slowing to a normal pace.

I stood there arms still hanging off the pulled curtains.

"Sorry" I said awkwardly, "Uh-wrong person".

He nodded.

When I didn't move on he awkwardly began to fidget. His fingers fiddling, his eyes avoiding my direction and then gazing down in longing despair at his fallen magazine.

I struggled for words as he then settled on picking at imaginary flint from his blanket.

"D--do you-" I began breaking the silence causing him to look at me. "Do you--oh you probably would, no, you know what, I'm just gonna get it"

He wore a confused expression.

Slightly blushing from the embarrassment of having a conversation with myself, I walked around his bed. Bending down I picked up his magazine.

Kim Kardashian, in a revealing one piece was displayed on the front cover in all her curves and glory.

I handed it back to him.

"Thanks" he said, but it was with a questioning tone like who-the-hell-are-you-and-can-you-get-the-hell-out.

Ignoring that fact.

"So, uh ,what happened to your arm?" I asked examining it.

I guess he knew that I wasn't going to leave because he surprised me by answering.

"I don't remember much" he said, for which I internally sighed in relief. " But I was told some guy brought me in who told the nurse I was in a fight".

I cringed at the sight of his arm. It had a slightly purple hue.

I reached out to check the temperature of his hand and had to quickly stop myself.

"Can I?" I asked.

He shrugged, and I took that as a yes.

I placed the back of my hand on the hand of the injured arm.

It was just as I thought.

His hand was cool to that touch. Caused by a lack of warm blood reaching it.

This meant that an artery was injured at the time of the dislocation. He was treading very dangerous waters.

"You need to go into operation as soon as possible" I said worriedly.

It was the first time I had any real look at the damage I was causing. Countless were the times I had done this to a person. That alone, scared and amazed me.

"What? Why?" He said concerned laced in his voice.

"Tell your so-called doctor to do his job properly" I said angrily, backing out of his bed area.

What the fuck is wrong with these people?! He's dying.

"You tell them to call Dr. Martino Rafelò, he'll help you"

"What who-" he began.

I had a thing for running off and leaving people mid-sentence. Because that was exactly what I did.

"Wait!Who are you?" I heard him call out.

I checked the time. It was 8:45am.
Shit.