Chapter 2

Outside the infirmary, I kept pacing nervously. My arm was numb under my coat, but I brushed it off.

After standing there forever, I finally forced myself to walk in.

"Doctor, could you go a bit easier?" Richard said. "Will you be able to get all the glass out? She won't have a scar, right?"

The school doctor let out a sigh. "It's a surface wound. She'll be fine."

Richard let out a low chuckle. "I'm worried."

I paused behind the screen.

The doctor put away her tools, gave a few quick instructions, and headed off to the other end of the room.

The room went quiet for a moment.

It was Beatrice who finally broke the silence. "Aren't you going to check on your precious girl? She's hurt, you know."

Richard didn't even hesitate. "She can take care of herself. I'm worried about you."

"Worried about me?" Beatrice snapped, her voice suddenly rising. "Worried about what? If it weren't for Catherine, I wouldn't be stuck like this. Richard, why are you acting all fake? I..."

The sound of their kiss was especially loud in the quiet room. I felt like I'd been tossed into the depths of the ocean, suffocating in silence.

Every word that followed sounded muffled, as if I was hearing them from underwater. Yet somehow, they pierced through, painfully sharp. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry for what you went through.

"I promise I'll protect you from now on. Give me a chance, okay?"

His words were searing, overflowing with passion.

Their closeness was so intense that standing there made me feel like an awkward intruder.

The surge of emotions was waking up the messed-up part of me, the side I tried so hard to hide.

My feet felt like they weighed a ton, but I had to force myself to back away, every step heavier than the last.

It wasn't until I finally stepped out of the infirmary and squeezed through the noisy crowd that I noticed the blood on my arm had dried, caked onto my sleeve. It felt grimy and damp.

At the bus stop, my breath reeked of blood. The people around me edged away, keeping a couple of feet between us.

I lowered my head, staring down at a puddle on the ground. The reflection staring back at me was dead and empty.

A car splashed through the puddle and stopped right in front of me.

The back window rolled down, and the scent of tobacco drifted out. It wasn't heavy, yet a light hint.

"Why are you standing here alone?" A deep, rich voice drifted to my ear, making me look up in a flash.

I saw a face with sharp, striking features.

"Huh? H-Hi, Mr. Rivera." As soon as I opened my mouth, my voice sounded scratchy and kind of awful, and I looked so awkward.

Oscar Rivera, in the car, gave a faint smile. But when his gaze fell on my wrist, his expression turned serious.

"What happened to your wrist?" His voice dropped at the end, and the atmosphere suddenly grew tense.

I hurriedly hid my hand behind my back. "Nothing, it's fine. Were you looking for Richard? He's still at school. You could call him."

It was obvious I was trying to dodge the question, and I managed a weak smile.

After all, this was Oscar, Richard's uncle. No matter what, I couldn't let my reaction slip.

But Oscar didn't even seem to hear me, his eyes still locked on my hand. "Get in the car."

I was stunned for a moment. "Huh?"

"I said, get in the car, girl," Oscar repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As if drawn by some invisible force, I found myself moving toward the car door.

Oscar reached out and pulled my uninjured hand with a firm grip.

The next moment, I found myself in the back seat of the Bentley.

Oscar told the driver up front, "Take us to the hospital."

The doctor cut off the shirt that was clinging to my skin and finally got a look at the wound. It was way deeper than I'd thought.

"This is quite serious. You'll need stitches," the doctor said. "Any medical history? Or are you taking any long-term medications?"

As soon as the doctor asked, I could feel a cold sweat forming on my palms.

I was about to make something up when Oscar's calm voice sounded from behind me. "No local anesthetic with adrenaline."

My limbs froze. He was right. If one were on psychiatric meds long-term, one really couldn't use that stuff. But how did Oscar know that?

The doctor nodded silently and didn't press any further.

While I was feeling on edge, my phone suddenly started buzzing.

Whoever was calling wouldn't quit. The phone kept ringing without a break.

Propped up on the sterilized table, all I could do was awkwardly stare at the sterile drape. Suddenly, my vision was blocked by a dark suit.

His chiseled jaw was so close to my cheek, and his hand rested on my hip.

I froze.

Oscar grabbed my phone and held it up to his ear.

"Catherine, where the hell are you?" Richard's voice came through the phone, sounding seriously pissed off. "Didn't you hurt your hand? Did you go to the hospital or not?"

I hung my head, my mind all over the place.

Oscar answered calmly, "She's at the hospital."

Richard seemed to choke up for a second, then his voice was full of surprise. "Uncle Oscar? Why are you taking her phone?"

"I brought her here. Got a problem with that?" Oscar replied.

Richard kept talking, but Oscar cut him off and ended the call.

His scent enveloped me again, washing over my senses. That barely-there itch brushed across the base of my thigh once more.

Oscar didn't show a hint of emotion as he slipped my phone back into my pocket.

He straightened up, folded his arms, raising his brows. "Did you two have a fight?"

I fumbled for words, but nothing came out.

"If you don't feel like talking, so be it." Suddenly, Oscar gave my head a quick, gentle rub. His dry hand softly tousled my hair.

I felt a shock run through me, and I stood there, stunned for ages.

When I finally snapped out of it, Oscar was already gone, leaving the ER behind.

He walked away with quiet confidence, every movement calm and assured. It felt as if that moment of intimacy had never really happened.

Before I left, the nurse brought in my meds. "Ms. Nelson, here's your medication. Take care."

As I thanked her, I absently checked my pocket. But my hand suddenly froze.

Inside, besides the anti-inflammatory meds, were four or five of my usual psych meds. Each bottle was clearly marked with the time and dosage.

The handwriting was firm, the ink barely dry.