CHAPTER 2: A Doctor's Instinct
(Betty's POV)
Morning comes gray and cold through my window.
I am still on the floor. My back against the wall. My knees pulled to my chest. I did not sleep. I just watched him. Every breath. Every sound.
He is still on the couch. Still pale. The bandage on his side is stained red again.
I push myself up. My body screams. My neck. My back. My knees.
I walk to the bathroom. I grab my medical kit. I kneel beside him.
My hands are steady now.
I peel back the bandage. The wound is angry. Red around the edges. But the bleeding has slowed. The stitches are holding.
"You are lucky," I whisper.
His eyes open.
I freeze.
He is watching me. Dark. Sharp. Fully awake.
"How long have you been there?" he asks. His voice is rough. Thick with sleep.
"All night."
He stares at me.
"Why?"
I do not answer. I look back at his wound. I clean it. Slow. Careful. I apply a fresh bandage.
He lets me work. He does not speak. He just watches.
When I am done, I sit back on my heels.
"You need a hospital," I say.
"No."
"You could die."
"Then I die."
I shake my head. I stand up.
I walk to the kitchen.
My phone is still on the floor. The screen is still cracked. I pick it up.
9-1-1.
My thumb hovers over the numbers.
One call.
I look at him.
He is watching me. He does not move. He does not speak. He does not try to stop me.
He just watches.
Waiting.
Like the choice is mine.
My thumb stays frozen.
I cannot do it.
I do not know why.
I lower the phone.
He is still watching me.
"Why didn't you call them?" he whispers.
I look at him. His dark eyes. His pale face. His bloody bandage.
"I don't know," I whisper back.