Doctor Love

Chapter 14

DAVID'S POV

"Kate? Kate!" I kept screaming her name but she wasn't responding. Not even a twitch. Her eyelids remained heavy, half-closed like window blinds during a storm.

Her body sagged in my arms, her head pressing against my shoulder with unnatural weight. The warmth that usually radiated from her skin was fading, replaced by something cooler, distant.

My throat constricted, dry as sandpaper. My fingers instinctively tightened around her waist.

"Move! Move out of the way!" I shouted, my voice scraping against my throat, bouncing off the sterile walls of the hallway.

Feet shuffled across the floor. A cluster of nurses in blue scrubs stepped aside, their faces a mixture of concern and confusion. Interns froze mid-conversation, charts clutched against their chests, eyes wide with surprise.

Rita looked up from the reception desk, her legs crossed at the ankles, a gaudy pair of fuchsia heels dangling precariously from her toes. The pink bubble expanding between her lips hung suspended for a moment before collapsing with a quiet pop against her lipstick.

"What the—"

"Get Dr. Bennet! Now!" I barked as I rushed past her, the edge in my voice sharp enough to cut.

The gum disappeared. The chair squeaked against the floor as she pushed back. A blur of pink and white as she disappeared down the corridor.

The emergency room doors banged open under the force of my shoulder, the metal cool against my skin. My breath came in sharp, painful bursts, panic nipping at my heels with every step I took.

Her skin had taken on a grayish cast, clammy to the touch. Dark strands of her hair stuck to my neck, damp with sweat, hers or mine, I couldn't tell. I'd carried patients before, countless times during rotations, but this was different. This was Kate. My stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot.

"Just stay with me..." I muttered, the words barely audible even to myself.

I laid her down on the ER bed, movements careful but rushed. The paper crinkled beneath her weight. As I pulled my arms away, something small and black slipped from the pocket of her uniform and dropped to the floor with a soft thud, skidding slightly across the tiles.

A jotter. Black leather. Worn at the edges.

I hesitated for a beat, torn between protocol and instinct. Then I snatched it up and shoved it deep into my pocket.

"Come on," I whispered as I pressed two fingers against the side of her neck, feeling for the carotid pulse. "Stay with me. Please."

Her pulse flickered beneath my fingertips, barely there. Each beat seemed uncertain, like a question mark, separated by stretches of silence that lasted too long.

I leaned in closer, my ear near her parted lips, trying to catch the sound of her breathing, shallow, almost inaudible, like the rustle of tissue paper.

The door slammed open behind me, the handle hitting the wall with a crack.

"Step aside!" Dr. Bennet's voice cut through the room, authoritative and sharp. Rita scrambled in behind him, her usual nonchalance replaced by focused professionalism.

"She collapsed," I said quickly, my voice uneven, words tumbling over each other. "She just dropped. I—I don't know why."

Dr. Bennet's experienced hands were already moving, checking vitals, his face a mask of concentration. "Did anything happen before she collapsed?" he asked, snapping on latex gloves with practiced efficiency.

"No. She just... her knees buckled. Like she was shutting down." The memory replayed in my mind, her eyes widening in surprise, her hand reaching out but finding nothing but air.

"Vitals?"

"Pulse weak. Eyes responsive but barely." I rattled off the observations, trying to maintain clinical detachment and failing miserably.

"Rita, I need suction set up. Get a bag-valve mask prepped, just in case." Bennet's voice was calm but urgent.

"Yes, Doctor," she replied, unusually focused, her usual smirk nowhere to be found.

I stood there, too close to the bed, my shadow falling across Kate's still form. My feet seemed cemented to the floor, unable to move even an inch away from her.

"David." Bennet turned his head, his tone sharp as a scalpel. "Out. Now."

"I—"

"Out."

My feet remained planted. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms.

"Will she be okay?" The question hung in the air, fragile as spun glass.

His eyes flicked to mine, the steel in them softening for just a moment. The change sent a chill through me.

He didn't answer.

"Please..." I breathed, the word catching in my throat. "Just—is she okay?"

He looked to Rita, a silent command passing between them. "Help him out."

Her hand latched onto my arm, the pressure firm but not unkind. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything except the thundering of my heart against my ribs.

I let her guide me out, my steps mechanical, disconnected from my will.

The hallway looked different now, colder, and elongated, as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope. The hum of fluorescent lights seemed louder than usual, vibrating in my ears, like the hospital itself was holding its breath, waiting.

I stood outside the room like a sentinel, my back against the wall. Minutes crawled by like hours. Time lost all meaning. Every second stretched into eternity, each one a question mark with no answer forthcoming.

Finally, my legs gave way, and I sank down onto a hard plastic bench, elbows resting on my knees. My palms were slick with sweat. I dragged them down my face, trying to force myself to focus, to breathe evenly.

What the hell had just happened?

We were arguing. I'd said awful things, words that cut deeper than I'd intended. She'd slapped me, the sting of it still lingering on my cheek. We fought like we always did, fire and ice clashing down the hallway, leaving scorch marks and frost in our wake.

Then she fell. Just like that.

Like her body had simply given up.

I reached into my pocket, and my fingers brushed against smooth leather. It was the jotter.

I pulled it out, turning it over in my hands. The corners were worn down, rounded from being carried everywhere. Light indentations marked the cover where she'd pressed too hard while writing. Definitely hers.

I flipped it open.