I'm the kind of guy who faints at the sight of blood, and how does fate decide to play with me? By making my betrothed decide to become a freaking doctor. I'm the kind of man who fears ripping off a bandage, but I receive a wife who isn't even afraid of cutting open heart after heart.
The smell of vomit covers my favorite white shirt as I hold Krithi in my arms, trying to hold back a shocked Aruvi from nearing her.
I recover from my own shock momentarily, screaming Krithi's name and tapping her cheek. Aruvi's bawling her eyes out by now, grabbing for her mother with panic in her big brown eyes.
"Krithi!" I yell into her ears, slightly pinching her to try my luck.
Apparently, I have crappy luck.
Okay, what would Krithi do? What would she do? I try to remember the two instances where she has treated someone before me.
Prakash— the bastard who I thought was my father, who deceived me my whole life— had been treated for heart attack. I wish he died. The other guy— the reporter who she treated against my wishes— had been bleeding from his head.
By the looks of her, she is not bleeding. Thank lord for that. I hate blood so much, I would have fainted from the mere sight of it; and that would be no use to my Krithi.
She was practically wheezing when she climbed down the stairs— so could it be her asthma? A faint memory of Krithi enters my brain; wheezing up the stairs of our old house and partially out of breath as she conversed to my mother after we went on our first date— the one where we went for a jog around the park.
If it was only respiratory issues, why did she faint from climbing down the stairs? I have no clue about first aid, but I'm pretty sure that descending the stairs doesn't make you winded, and faint. Even my eighty three year old grandma could climb down the stairs without any breathing problems crossing her way.
Maybe it has something to do with the baby? My brain pauses it's train of thought, stuck in a momentary coma. No, there should be a plausible explanation for why she fainted.
Alisha did warn me about her loss of blood, and hemoglobin and whatnot. I don't understand half the terms the woman used, but she was already mad at Krithi and I, so I chose the more realistic, less dangerous path and stayed out of her way.
I pick Krithi up, adjusting her head on my forearm whilst her lower legs dangled over my right arm. Aruvi peeks around my legs as I move towards the door hurriedly, gasping as I try to unlock the door. Aruvi struts past me, standing on her toes and pulling out a silver kitchen knife with a black handle from under her white sundress.
Where the hell did she get a knife and why was she hiding it under her dress? On another note, what was Krithi doing while dressing her? Did she not see the little girl arm herself with the blinding silver knife? It glistens with its sharpness, for heavens sake.
Aruvi holds on to the sharp side of the knife, making me wince in fear for my little girl, and jabs the handle into the lock, twisting it. She successfully unlocks the damn thing, and opens the door, standing on her tippy toes all the while.
She dashes through the door, running o the car, and tapping on the metal door of the white Audi, and effectively waking up the sleeping shit-head driver.
The man groggily wakes, clicking his tongue in thirst. I want to dump some cold water on the bastard, preferably after slicing his body with Aruvi's knife. Oh, and let it be cold, salt water. Let him suffer in hell for all I care.
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The Workaholic Wife (COMPLETED)Romance
A workaholic doctor never thought about marriage a day in her life until she woke up to find a man in her bedroom. Her mother wanted grandchildren and she wanted to abide her wishes, so that her mother would not scorch her ears until she does. What...