Destroying Myself (Myself #3)

3. Lost Relations

I could act like I didn't care, but from inside, I crumbled.

"Then leave. It's just a cut." Placing his hand on the wall, he stood up and leaned his head at the back of the wall.

"Okay, if you won't let me see it. I'm calling the police." I started dialing the number, but he snatched the phone from my hands.

"Why?"

"You've blood on your shirt. I don't know what I saw but definitely, something is wrong. It's me or hospital. The cut is deep."

Because the blood wasn't stopping.

He groaned loudly. "No calling police." For a second, I thought it was fear on his face but he changed it back to his normal posture mixed with pain. "You want to see, then do."

He moved his hand away from the wound. I didn't know he would agree. I was just trying my luck. Sometimes I wish I wasn't a good person and could be mean, leaving him with his injury, waiting for the death to come and welcome him.

But the doctor part of mine always had some other thought. A doctor wasn't supposed to let her personal affairs get in the matter of work.

He directed the torch towards the wound, making it easier for me to see. Placing my hands on the edge of the shirt, I lifted it, checking the wound. Blood gush out. I touched it lightly and he groaned loudly.

"Nisha, be careful," he barked.

"We need to take you to the hospital. It's deep." Again, the fear came on his face and he pushed it back, shaking his head. "But you need care!"

"I can't. Fucking go away. I'll treat it myself." He placed the phone on my hands. Knocking his shoulder with mine, he wobbled.

I had two choices. Let him treat it himself, cause some infection and then come to the hospital. Or I could take him to my home and treat him there.

"Why can't you go to the hospital?"

"My wish."

His muscles were tense, steps wobbled and I couldn't see it anymore. He wouldn't go to the hospital and at one point he was right. They would ask the reason, report it and he wasn't adamant to tell them anything.

Running, I caught up with him.

"Come with me. My home. I'll see you there."

His eyebrows raised in a question. "What happened to you, princess? Why caring so much?"

My lips twisted in a sour smile. "I'm a doctor and fuck my life I have to see you. I've been taught that."

"I don't need your charity. Throw it at someone else." He tried to walk past, but I held his shoulders and barked, "Get in the car. Act rational. Cut is deep, you can't treat it. You need medical help."

We glared for a couple of minutes, waiting for another to turn his eyes. And at last, he moved his gaze and said, "Open the fucking car."

Smiling sweetly, I took the keys out of my denim shorts and opened the car. Wobbling, he went to the passenger seat and sat in. Taking a relief breath, I joined him. Starting the ignition, I drove to the destination of my home.

Surprisingly, he didn't say anything and looked outside the window. From the corner of my eyes, I could see sweat cloaking his face, tightening of his lips and hand covering the injury.

I should be happy seeing him in pain. He welcomed it even if I didn't know the reason for the same. He was a troublemaker. He liked getting into mess. His injuries weren't something new to me. I had seen many of them.