Erika's POV:
"It's Erika."
"Erika." He repeated in a whisper, almost as if trying to savor my name on his lips.
I felt my cheeks heat up just from looking at him. He caught on my reaction and smiled mischievously. He was like fire, but this wasn't the time to let him consume me. Besides, I had a job to do.
I am a professional.
He stared at me, his hand still under my chin. He parted his plump lips to say something, but not a word came out. Time stilled as I allowed myself to look at him as well, feeling mesmerized by the blue flecks in his green eyes. My gaze fell lower, to a tattoo traveling up his skin, like feathers tinting the right side of his neck. His shirt was still covering his right torso and arm, so I couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but I had a feeling the right side of his body was covered with more black ink.
Snapping out of the trance I found myself in.
I looked at his left shoulder once again; the acromion bone was abnormally prominent, coloring his skin a livid blue and making his movements limited. Such injuries came with immense pain, but he hid his behind smirks and mischief.
I couldn't help but wonder.
"This might be painful." I didn't give him much time, before I applied light pressure on his shoulder to inspect the passive motion of the joint.
"Wha- ugh, fuck!" He pulled his arm away from me, furrowing his eyebrows in anger.
"I did try to warn you."
"You call this a warning?"
"You're right, I should have explained what I wanted to do. I apologize for that." I sighed, eyes focused on his tight expression. "Will you please allow me to inspect the motion of your shoulder? The on-call doctor wrote it's been dislocated, but I presume you tore a muscle as well... and therefore the pain."
He agreed to my request with a nod, and I moved closer. I was a bit irritated; something in his story didn't add up.
"Do you mind explaining again, how this really happened?"
"I told you. I fell." He was clenching his jaw in anger; I was overstepping my boundaries. The circumstances of his injury didn't matter, when it came to diagnosis and therapy. I was just curious.
"It looks like an athlete's accident. Are you sure it was a 'falling' incident?" I raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he just rolled his eyes.
Ignoring the sour looks directed my way, I continued with my task, inspecting his shoulder and moving on to the rest of his body. It was standard procedure; still, I felt heat in my cheeks as I pondered upon asking him. Irritated with him and myself, I sighed. I was a professional. There was no time for a scenario where I was shy about this.
"Mr. King, could you remove your shirt entirely? I need to..."
"You know..." He chuckled, looking away from me, before pinning me down with his intense eyes. "I find it incredibly sexy, when a woman knows what she wants."
I blushed profusely, feeling the tips of my ears sting, but I refused to play along. "Mr. King I need to hear your heart and lungs-"
"Erika, please. It's just Brandon." He sounded genuine for a moment, ready to comply, but not without a last teasing remark. "Although, I wouldn't mind dinner first-"
"Brandon, please!"
My voice rang louder, echoing off the walls of the bare room; it sounded foreign to my ears. I was never a confident person and I mostly preferred laying low, being unnoticed. The man in front of me was making it clear that, if I wanted him to follow instructions, I would have to fight for his respect, go beyond the seams of my dormant self.
"Relax, Erika," he said, his voice almost apologetic. "Your wish is my command."
I wished I wasn't late this morning; maybe I would be luckier and get assigned to a different patient. I wished I wasn't as embarrassingly innocent as I was; maybe then it wouldn't be so hard to swallow the lump in my throat. And I wished he was still wearing the shirt, because now there was no going back to the flustered mess I was becoming.
Tanned skin stretched over trimmed muscles, creating rims and ridges for his tattoos to spread, never reaching his left side. The black ink decorated his body, reaching like tree roots the base of his neck. How many hours of pain did he endure to create this artwork? No wonder he hid his pain so well.
Ignoring the way he was watching me like a hawk, I continued with my inspection. He had some cuts and bruises on his lower abdomen, as well as some scarred marks on his chest and hips. Most of them looked like older blows that had once left his skin open. Reaching for his hands, I noticed the dry blood around his knuckles and the rough skin of the scarred tissue around them. His fingertips were surprisingly soft, as if they remained unharmed from everything else that kept wounding him.
It was unfair, how imperfectly perfect he looked.
"Looks like you were in trouble," I said, raising an eyebrow, questioning the man in front of me.
He shrugged it off like it was nothing. I felt disappointed that he didn't trust me, as his doctor, at least.
Street fighting and illegal gambling fights were common in most parts of the city. I was curious. However, I couldn't ask more questions, as he pulled his hands in fists by his side, clenching his jaw once more, avoiding my gaze.
Funny. Even irritated, he had this charm about him.
I continued the check-up, taking out my stethoscope to hear his heart and lungs. He flinched for a second before that smirk was back on his lips.
"Your hands are cold," his husky voice sent chills down my spine, as he looked into my eyes.
"Sorry, about that. My hands are always cold."
"It's a good thing mine are always warm, then." I gulped, staring intently at the metal piece in my hands as I felt his gaze upon me.
Don't let the fire consume you! I reminded myself, biting my bottom lip.
"You're cute!"
I had all the power to stop his advances. Only problem was, I didn't want to.
I felt his fingers caressing my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear. He looked deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed, before his eyes found my own. Thoughts in disarray, I took a step back, pretending to write my evaluation in his file; I could still feel the goosebumps marring my skin.
It was a good thing I was the one with the stethoscope and he was the patient, otherwise he would hear how abnormally fast my own heart was beating.
"I'm sorry, but I need to ask; these bruises... are they recent?" I pointed towards his abdomen, trying to get to the bottom of this, before I put on my gloves.
Like a light switch, his eyes were stone cold, lips pressed in a thin line.
"It's not relevant."
I took his left hand in my gloved smaller ones, careful not to cause him more pain. I sprayed antiseptic solution onto the wounds, before wiping it away moments later. Soaking a bandage in antibacterial solution, I brought it to the wounds on his knuckles again. I tried my best to clean his knuckles before they got infected and moved on to his right hand.
His right hand was worse. I took a third bandage and tried to clean it the best I could, while stealing glances at his face. He was staring at me intently, not losing a moment of what I was doing. My thumb was caressing his knuckles, as I too looked into his eyes.
Split-second decisions: ripping off the band-aid was the best way to go.
"Are you a street fighter, or something?" I said, my thumb still caressing the bruises forming around his knuckles.
Instead of a reaction, I was met with a stone-cold mask.
"Or something. It's none of your business. You are here to patch me up and sign me out," he said in a harsher tone than before.
"Well, glad we're on the same page."
I almost felt hurt, but he was right. He was just my patient and I shouldn't invade his personal life. This was a line I shouldn't cross. Accepting the slight attraction towards him was wrong, an illusion.
With a sigh, I disposed the bloodied bandages and gloves. I proceeded to clean my hands, when I continued with my interrogation.
"And what about your shoulder? That is a very serious injury. It might need surgery since-"
"I fell, okay? But again, it doesn't matter-" he paused for a second, his eyes wide in realization. "Wait, what? No, I can't have surgery. I definitely don't need one for my shoulder. I need to be patched up. Maybe something to hold it in place? Whatever, I need to be back to my job and life and-",
He was in denial.
Typical!
I sighed. Men.
"This is just a basic check up procedure. No diagnosis is conclusive without an X-Ray image or even a CT-scan. But, I am almost certain, that you have a rotator cuff tear."
I observed his face for a second; I wasn't sure he was listening to me at this point.
"Meaning, that a muscle was torn. And that definitely needs to be operated. Did you feel a pop once you were wounded?"
"I will not be having a surgery. You can forget about that, Doc."
He wasn't even listening to me.
I was almost sure: Anterior shoulder dislocation with a rotator cuff tear. Type A, maybe. Next course of action: a CT-scan. The sooner the better.
"No more angel? I'm feeling hurt right now." The change in my voice caught his attention, so I continued. "You don't need to freak out. Just let us take care of you."
He was studying me for a moment in silence, his eyes never leaving my own.
"Put on the hospital gown for now. Rounds are about to start and we'll see what the chief thinks about my diagnosis." I crossed my arms, waiting for him to get dressed.
He didn't seem happy with my request; no one looked sexy or charming with that blue fabric, but since he was in a hospital and not a fashion runway-show, he didn't have a choice. Surprisingly, he didn't fight me on this one.
Instead of leaving the room, I stayed, finishing up my report on the computer. It was only at a soft grunt, that I turned around to find him frustrated while he tried to conceal his pain. He was standing by the bed, both hands through the sleeves of the gown successfully. He was having trouble tying the top-part of the gown, when I decided to step in.
Avoiding contact with his warm skin was the best course of action, but I couldn't ignore the rest of the tattooed artwork on his back, even if I wanted to.
The feathers that were once picking out of his collar, continued down his spine. Flames covered his lower back, growing in size until they resembled a rising phoenix in the middle. And all that covering his right-half side. His left-half remained untouched, besides the blemishes and scars.
Without realizing it, my fingers lightly touched the rising phoenix, a symbol of resurrection, of life reborn anew and transformed.
Breathtaking.
A gasp left my lips at his fast movements, bringing my body closer to his by a swift tag of the stethoscope still around my neck. He dipped his face lower, not yet touching but just a breath away from my skin.
I stood frozen in place, aware of the word that escaped my lips a few moments ago.
"Brandon, what are you do-"
"Keep provoking me, angel. Keep biting those lips and blushing..." he paused, taking another deep breath, warm against my skin.
"I'm not amused whatsoever, Mr. King." My words held strength, as I pushed him back, away from me.
His eyes were watching me intently, shining in a different light.
After a few long seconds, he walked back towards his bed, muttering under his breath.
"I wonder..." he said under his breath, biting his lip. "What are you doing to me, Angel."
In that moment, it became clear who had the upper hand and since control of the situation was restored, the king's reign ended.
___
I'm playing with words here. Since the beginning, Brandon calls Erika 'angel', up until this last moment, when he says 'Angel'. He's playing with her, thinking he's the cat and she's the mouse. But the moment she stands up to him, pushing him away, that's where the capital A in Angel comes from. In that moment, Erika earned his respect, creating boundaries, pushing him away.
From that moment onwards, things between them will be different: angel became Angel.
This was the beginning for these two and we're just getting started. I hope you give this story a chance, as it develops into what I have in mind.
Hope you have a wonderful night/day.
xo J
*PS: Pectoral muscles are your pecs. (happy now, you little brat? you know who you are x)