*Kylo's Point of View*
He could practically feel his knuckles turning white as he held you right to him, almost as if the closer he held you to him, the safer you would be. Given the circumstances of the night, that was farther from the truth.
He was the reason you were tangled up in this mess. And it killed him.
Kylo tried to calm himself by listening to your deep breathing, taking in the swelling of your chest against his, your skin warming from the blasting heat and him holding you so close. Ushar, sitting beside Kylo, was working to brace your broken ankle, concealing the ill angled appendage from sight. A small whimper escaped your lips as Ushar twisted the compression wrap around the bruising, swelling skin, a wrinkle rippling the skin between your brows.
He brushed his lips against your smooth temple, humming softly into your skin, hoping that wherever your subconscious mind had drifted, his low notes floated around you, wrapping and holding you close, shielding you from the pain of the real world.
"Hold on!" Vic yelled, cutting the steering wheel all the way to the left, tires screeching as the vehicle barreled into the parking lot of the nearest hospital. Kylo held fast to you, as well as the door handle, gritting his teeth against the force of the car speeding towards the building. Almost as soon as the vehicle came to a halt beneath the small Emergency Room pavilion, Kylo was out of his seat, sprinting through the automatic doors, clutching you to his chest, Vicrul and Ushar in tow.
"Please! Somebody help us!" Kylo yelled into the small waiting room, frantically eyeing anyone the space for anyone in scrubs. A young mother holding a sniffling toddler to her chest seemed to pale at the sight of you in his arms, limp and slathered in blood. An elderly couple averted their gaze, interlacing their fingers and whispering a prayer to whomever would listen, the withered face woman gripping a gilded cross between her frail fingertips.
Kylo watched as a young, stone faced doctor ushered him forward, eyes tight as he inspected the unconscious woman he held close.
He knew exactly what he saw.
The laceration on your left temple, still seeping blood down the side of your face.
The bloodied, now crooked nose, causing your eyes to swell, already shadowed with bruises.
The raw, irritated skin of your wrists from struggling against metal bonds.
The braced ankle, staving off the swelling and pain before professionals could tend to you.
Each injury you had sustained had Kylo's guts churning, begging for release of the light dinner and countless drinks he'd consumed. You were here because of him.
This was his fault.
As he laid you gently on the cot in a cold, nearly sterile trauma bay, he watched as nurses nearly shoved him out of the way to get to you, exposing your body to them, attaching wires to your skin, sinking needles into the precious flesh he once worshipped. He backed out of the room, watching as everyone buzzed around you, unable to tear his eyes away.
He had caused this, dragged you into the whirlwind of organized crime and living in the moment before danger had gripped you in its bloodthirsty talons, threatening to rip you away from those you knew and loved.
Kylo watched with bated breath as the doctor held your head fast between his hands as a nurse adjusted a cervical collar around it, locking your head in a fixed position. He couldn't help as his thoughts lingered to the nights he had spent, brushing his lips against the warm skin of your throat, tangled in sheets, listening to your breath catch, feeling you writhe beneath him in pleasure.
He reminisced on your tinkling laugh, the way your skin smelt like sunshine, lavender and vanilla, how you would always gravitate towards him while you slept and how he had welcomed your touch, even wrapped deep in his subconscious.
His heart squeezed painfully against his ribs at those thoughts. It hurt almost as much as the thought of having had you and almost losing you.
Kylo could feel the tears already looming in his eyes, vigorously wiping them away before turning his back to the trauma bay and walking through the automatic doors, the bite of early autumn air nearly knocking the sob loose from his chest.
Vicrul was there, leaning against a brick pillar, cigarette between his lips, dragging from it deeply. He could feel the rage radiating off of his brother in arms, knew he would give anything to pummel his fist into Kylo's face, but thought better of it, considering it would knowingly land them both in a jail cell for the night, farther away from his injured sister in such a critical state.
Ushar had appeared, having moved the SUV out from under the pavilion to make way for other emergency vehicles should they arrive, eyes glued to the pavement. The air was thick with tension, what was left unsaid seemed to choke all of them.
Had Kylo not gotten involved with the sister of one of his best Knights, they could still be out on the town, guzzling liquor and bedding women. But he had, and the guilt of it all was strangling him.
Before any of them could speak, the young doctor strolled out, whipping his head toward Kylo.
"The woman, she's stable. Mild concussion from the looks of the scan. We didn't see any bone fragments in the head CT from the broken nose, so it's stable, as is, unless she wants to repair it at a later date. We booked an OR suite to repair the broken ankle. The surgical team is prepping her now. We'll update you as soon as we can. You're free to wait in the lobby until she's in recovery." the doctor said, placing a hand on Kylo's shoulder once he was finished.
Kylo mumbled a curt 'thank you' under his breath, pulling his cigarettes from his jacket pocket, hastily lighting it and inhaling the acrid smoke deeply.
"She didn't deserve this..." Vic muttered, stamping out the butt of his cigarette, flicking it into the nearest trash can.
Kylo didn't deign to look up at him, knowing he'd see the look of disgust and disappointment on his bonded brother's face. He couldn't handle the weight of Vicrul's disappointment in him, not right now. He'd crumble beneath the weight of it.
"I was supposed to protect her. WE were supposed to protect her. But instead, we roped her into this life and now...," Vicrul huffed a broken sigh before continuing, "I could have lost the only thing in this world left that I love...because of OUR carelessness."
Kylo still didn't speak, but finally looked to his brothers. Tears lined Vic's eyes, his chest heaving in air in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay. He watched as Vic wiped his eyes with furious fists, stalking up to Kylo with only anger burning in his gaze.
"I want you to leave. I want you to forget about her. You've gotten what you wanted. Now, leave...before anyone else is lost in the fallout." Vicrul said, shaking with anger. Though Kylo stood a few inches taller than Vic, he had never felt smaller in his entire life, scolded at like when he was just a boy.
He watched as Vic disappeared through the automatic doors, Ushar following a beat behind him.
Kylo was alone. Utterly alone.
He felt torn, conflicted in what he felt like was his obligation to stay and the order to leave.
Numbly, Kylo fished his phone from his pocket, calling for his car.
The ride to his home was silent, save for his and his driver's breathing.
His home was cold and dark, vacant from the light and warmth you brought when you were around. He trudged through the kitchen, angrily pouring a hefty shot of whiskey. Then another. Then another.
As he stared into the expensive crystal, his anger boiled over, thinking of how that sniveling cunt went after you.
In a flash, Kylo threw the glass through the kitchen, watching it shattering into millions of glittering shards in the lowlight.
He braced his hands on the island countertop, attempting to ease his thundering heart.
No amount of alcohol, sex, drugs, or money would mend the hole in his heart. In his soul. He thought you were gone. He thought he was too late when he'd arrived.
To have you limp and bloodied in his arms had awoken the feelings he'd kept locked away for so many months, even after he had stormed off in the hospital after the death of his mother.
Kylo had never blamed you for one moment. Not you. Never you.
As Kylo dragged his feet through the hall to his bedroom, tears began to form again. The thought of having almost lost, having almost been too late, rocked him to the core. He undressed, the whiskey pounding through his bloodstream as he littered the floor with his suit.
Flopping onto his bed, his head swam, but he could swear, your scent still lingered, clinging to the sheets as a painful reminder of the gravity of who he almost lost. Who he did lose, in a sense.
The tears poured freely now as Kylo curled into a ball, clutching the bedsheets in his hands, aching for your touch, your kindness and forgiveness, even if he didn't deserve it.
Aching for your love.
Your name came out in broken sobs as he cried.
"I...love...you..."