Scars All Over

Despite her distaste for his cold, domineering manners, Callie couldn’t stand by and watch him bleed to death. Besides, there was a certain fearlessness in his actions, a determination to shield her from harm. Callie sighed, giving in to her better judgment. Suppressing the urge to leave him behind, she decided to carry him back to her place. Despite the cool, drizzling autumn night, beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she struggled under the weight of his unconscious body. By the time she manoeuvred him onto the bed, her face glistened with perspiration, and she was panting heavily. But Callie didn’t allow herself much rest. She bent down, pulling out the emergency medical kit stowed beneath the bed. Initially, she had planned to rip open his blood-soaked shirt just as he had done to hers, but her strength failed her. With a sigh, she resorted to cutting his shirt open with a pair of scissors. As Callie glanced down, she was met with a sight that almost drew a wolf whistle from her. From a doctor’s perspective, the man’s physique embodied near perfection, a testament to dedication and hard work. His shoulders were broad and muscular, with well-developed deltoid muscles giving them a rounded appearance. His arms showcased strong biceps and triceps, exhibiting a noticeable size and definition. The forearm muscles were well-toned, displaying strength and muscularity. His chest was broad and well-developed, with sculpted pectoral muscles that were firm and toned. The abdominal region featured a defined six-pack, with an enticing V-shape tapering down to his waist. However, the otherwise perfect body was marred by at least half a dozen scars etched across it, with a two-inch long gash below his left sternum, still bleeding. Old wounds, now healed, but still visible, spoke volumes about the tumultuous experiences he had endured. Callie’s eyes were drawn to a gunshot wound, a mere half-inch from his heart, a perilous reminder of how close he had come to losing his life. The bullet must have torn right through his body, leaving a star-shaped scar both front and back. Despite working at a hospital affiliated with the army, she had never personally treated a patient with a gunshot wound or witnessed such an injury before. All her knowledge was limited to what she had read in medical textbooks. Callie couldn’t fathom who had tended to this wound, but one thing was certain: even with a skilled surgeon, this man’s survival was nothing short of a miracle. The scars raised more questions. Within the borders of Engalia, guns were strictly prohibited for civilians. For this man to be tangled up with folks who had firearms, he was either one of the angels—law enforcement or military, or one of the bad guys. His ambush of her pointed the possibility to the latter, but the lack of any real harm done to her pointed to the former. For some inexplicable reason, Callie couldn’t resist the compulsion to touch the star-shaped scar. Her fingertips tingled from the warmth radiating from the man’s chest, as a fever coursed through his body. The man was an enigma. How did he end up with such a severe abdominal wound, likely made by the tip of a sharp dagger? Who were those assailants after him, and why? A barrage of questions swirled in Callie’s mind, her suspicions growing with each passing moment. Despite her doubts, though, Callie’s duty as a doctor overrode any judgments. Regardless of his past, she was determined to do her best to treat him. She brushed aside thoughts of his identity, focusing on her role as a healer. With steady hands, she applied a clean gauze to the bleeding gash, desperate to stem the flow of blood. The pain from her action failed to rouse the unconscious man or elicit even a groan, but his hand instinctively gripped her wrist with a strength that felt capable of crushing her bones. Callie winced, but didn’t pull away. She continued to apply pressure to his wound, determined to save his life. Only when she removed the blood-soaked gauze did he release his grip, allowing her a brief respite. Massaging her sore wrist, Callie continued her task, threading a needle and skilfully stitching up the wound. Luckily, the man remained still this time, allowing her to swiftly close the wound and wrap it with a bandage. Exhausted, Callie slumped against the edge of the bed, gazing at the unconscious stranger. He had a handsome face, but she was in no mood to appreciate its striking masculine beauty. ‘You had the nerve to assault me and ruin my clothes!’ Her voice, hoarse with fatigue, held a mix of annoyance and weariness. ‘If you weren’t injured and passed out, I’d send you straight to the police!’ Her body ached from the ordeal of carrying a man twice her size and treating his wounds. Callie couldn’t fight off the urge to rest any longer and soon succumbed to sleep, her weary body finding solace on the edge of the bed. *** The moment dawn broke, Elias jolted awake, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the unfamiliar sight of pastel pink walls. A touch to his bandaged abdomen confirmed that someone had tended to his wound. Turning his gaze, he discovered Callie slumped against the bed, sleeping soundly. Her breaths were even, and her long lashes fluttered with each inhale. There were dark circles under her eyes; last night’s events must have drained her. Without any makeup, her lips, slightly swollen, retained a captivating cherry-red hue, enticing him to lean closer and steal a taste. In slumber, her face lost the guardedness she displayed when awake, revealing innocence and vulnerability. She must have foregone involving the police, instead taking it upon herself to nurse him back to health. Which was just like her, Elias thought with a smile. She was the kind of woman who would go out of her way to save a stranger, just like she did the first time they met.