Begin Again

The snow wasn't going to kill me. The temperature would. I didn't remember when was the last time my teeth clacking over this winter. I had always been a little bit immune to the common cold. By the time my teeth couldn't stop clacking, I knew this year had been the worse. My thought wandered somewhere else as I walked on the snow-covered pavement. I decided to reward myself after the endless opportunities I had in the hospital with a cup of hot chocolate and a warm bath. I continued my walk and had been ten steps ahead from Aunt Mary's house when someone called out. "Adam!" a familiar voice stopped me. I silently groaned but still turned my body around. "Bradley!" "I was waiting for you." He smiled. "Oh—" that was all I responded. "Nightshift?" He stood right in front of me, there was a puff of smoke escaped from his mouth. "Just got back from patient's house," I forced to smile and my eyes happened to see his hideous sweater with Santa's head on the front with a line word said 'ask your Mom if I'm real'. "Uh--," he trailed off, and I started to worry. "I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me this Saturday?" My eyes widened in shock as I met with his eyes. He was smiling, showing his crooked yellowish teeth. "—Saturday?" I scratched at the back of my neck, thinking a proper answer to say to him. Bradley was a new guy from Santa Monica. He had this tanned skin—maybe a little bit too much spend on the beach and some moles on his face. I barely saw his jaw line, his face became round and puffy from the last time we met which was one week ago. "well?" he began impatient. As much as I didn't like Bradley, hurting anyone's feeling with a simple 'no' wasn't really my style. "I am so sorry, Bradley. I am not going to be in town that day," I surprised myself by this sudden excuse. My brain was brilliant at making this s**t up. His face slightly dropped. "May I know where to?" I bite my inner cheek. "—and when will you be back? Sorry, it sounds pushy but—" "I am going to visit my brother and I don't know when I'll be back," I scratched my upper lids to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town, Bradley." He flashed a bitter smile, "That's okay--," he said, seemed to encourage his own self. "Well—we still have another day." I could feel the shock on my face. And before I could respond, he was running back to his house, stumbling a bit over the thick snow. ________ I put my hands all together in front of my mouth and breathed to warm them, but they didn't do well. The lamps street on the side of the pavement only radiated some areas, left the darkness stayed in the corners. I pushed aside the creepy thought and fastened my legs. The only sound I heard on this quiet road was my steps, walking through the layer of the thick snow. The red building came into view, showed some yellow lights still on at some windows. A sudden groaned and coughed blurred my thoughts, and I stopped instantly. The sound came from beside the abandoned newspaper office, exactly on the rat run. "Hello?" My voice cracked at the end. I might say I was a little bit afraid, and the cold made it worse by seeped in through me, I could feel the hair on my neck crawled. My head started making an endless assumption which made me in doubt whether ran for my life or approached the figure beside the trash bin. I was waiting. But I didn't know exactly what was I waiting for until another coughed reached my ears, and I gripped onto my bag tightly. As I walked closer to the sound, I found my boots were half-buried in the snow. That was I knew how deeper the snow was in this area. What is he doing here? Outside—In this cold night? I asked myself by taking step by step closer to him, my heart had been stammering inside my chest and my teeth still clacking against each other, I couldn't stop them. I saw a guy beside the trash bin. His casual white shirt became a little bit dirty and stained red. His skin was pale and a gasped left my mouth when I saw blood dripping down from his body. It fell to the ground—tainting the color of the snow. He probably didn't know I was there. His head hung low, buried on his chest whilst both of his hands curled to his legs. I figured his black coat on the ground and his silver watch rest nicely. He sure didn't look like a homeless. I frowned when his shoulder didn't move. I didn't like the thought of me found a dead body in the middle of the night like this. Honestly, dealing with the police was much more difficult than buried a person. But he did cough seconds later. "Hey!—Hey! Are you okay?!" I decided to call out to him and shook his body strongly, hoping he would react or answer me. "I am bleeding—" He said after another coughing. "Did you—f*****g—expect me—to be okay?" He was having trouble in breathing, his head still hung low. I was taken aback by his words. "N-No," I found myself answered it. "—Good, now go" he said weakly, his tone was unwelcomed. His blood dripping more and more to the ground, I couldn't bear it. "I thought you were dead!" I exclaimed, my hands still gripped onto his shoulder. "—I was," He changed his position with a grimaced of pain and whimpered in cold. His hands were also stained red, and stiff. "I don't need your help. Hush!" he said, shooing me with his weak hand. His eyes still closed as he laid his head on the wall. Apart from those bruises, he was gorgeous, like one of a Greek God alive. His well-defined jawline stood out sharply, as if chiseled by a sculptor, it definitely went with his muscular build, those straight nose, high cheekbones, and arched brows enough to make someone's drooling over him. I cleared my throat. "I am V. And I am a nurse, I could help--" "I am not your f*****g patient—V," he emphasized the words before coughing twice. His face might take my breath away, but his demeanor was haughty. I couldn't just leave him here, injured and dying. I decided to use another therapeutic approaching based on my nursing experience because it worked every time especially on a pig-headed like this. "People who injured and dying would always be my patients.—C'mon," I tried to sound really nice, but unfortunately, my good intention was being turned down when he skimmed my hands away from him. "Go." He said weakly, his jawline tightened as his hand stay put on his chest where the blood came out. I took a deep breath and stood up. This pig-headed was getting on my nerves. "Fine! I will let you die in here!—and let the maggot eats your body if that's what you want." Another slight pause before he chuckled, I felt the sensation in the pit of my stomach at the sound of his laughter. "What was that?—Is that how you threaten your patient?" he added, his chest up and down rapidly. I frowned again. I never threatened my patients, of course. They were willingly accepted my help and learned to trust me. He decided to open his eyes when I made no answered. They were blue—like an ocean, but unfortunately, His eyes were filled with emptiness and sorrow. "—I just want to help," I said in a whisper, his eyes made me felt emphatic. After those words uttered, he stunned and silent like a stone. His chest was slowly breathed in a regular motion—they weren't fast and shallow anymore. "I will treat your wounds and all, after that you may go wherever you like. I will not insist you on staying." Watching the blood dripping was a very unpleasant view and it hurt me just to watched it and did nothing. "Although my flat was more comfortable than here," I sighed, closed my eyes. "--there's a warm bath, hot chocolate, and cookies--," When I reopened my eyes, he blinked several times. I knew he was listening. I stomped on my legs, prepared to leave. "But if you don't want my help that's okay too—and I'll just go," I took a quick glance at him and started to walk away, two stepped ahead and I heard his voice again. "—can I have a hot chocolate then?" he said, holding his black coat. _________ The white door swung opened revealed my small flat painted with soft cream and some paintings decorating the plain wall. They were given to me actually, I rarely used my salary just to purchase decorating stuff—food of course, the most important. When I said 'I live in a small flat' it was exactly meant I didn't have any spare room or space that I could use to be my store room or simply just to wander around. It directly showed my kitchen and the bathroom, and the door on the right would lead to my bedroom. I was helping him to walk straight to the living room. I had always been slender, obviously not an athletic person. He, on the other hand, was twice as me with a well-built body. I put all of my strength to carry half of his weight to my living room. It was square and small, only fit with L-shape plain couch with three cushions, hanging bookcase on the wall, and a tv. "—No fireplace," he was stating rather than questioning. I sighed, feeling a little bit embarrassed. "Yeah—I always loved to have a fireplace, though. I think they would make a perfect combination," I referred to my couch whilst helping him to rest on them. "No heater?" "The heater is broken for now. But I got the portable heater, just wait a minute," feeling more embarrassed of my lack of facility. I was so busy in the hospital so I didn't have time to make a service call and when I had, I just forgot about it. I bite my lips when his teeth just couldn't stop clacking. "— you still can make a hot chocolate, right?" He said in an irritating voice. "yes!—Oh! We need to treat your wound first," I jogged to the bathroom and grabbed a wound kit. I'd love to stay organized and kept the things that might useful when I needed it especially in the moment like this. I was feeling a little bit proud of myself. "f*****g Toretto!" He bawled. The wound kit on my hand fell to the floor caused his head swiftly turned on my direction. I quickly gathered the things and mouthed 'sorry' then walked slowly to approach him. His left hand began unbuttoned his shirt, opened it over his chest. His eyes were closed as his Adam's apple went up and down. I positioned myself between his legs, and examined the wound. It was definitely a gunshot. There was one hole under his left clavicle. The bullet missed the bone, but would it have hit the subclavian artery or another artery? "I don't f*****g know what the f**k you're saying but if you're really a nurse, you'll know how to handle this." He swallowed the lump in his throat, obviously nervous. "I spent six years in the college, and two years working in a hospital. This should be easy," I felt his eyes settled on me as I tried to focus on his wound. "How long have you been there?" "—an hour," he hissed when I pressed his wound to stop the bleeding. "Handgun?—Rifles?" I asked and looked up, he lifted his eyebrows, amusement showed across his eyes. "Beretta Cheetah," I frowned. "—also known by Series 81, a compact blowback operated semi-automatic pistols designed and manufactured by Beretta of Italy." He seemed to read my mind so he explained flatly, unamused. "—you surprised me," I said after took out two bullets from his chest. My hands accidentally came in touch with his left arm, by now I was realized of his hands grasping on the side of my waist tightly. "A gunshot wound can be one of the most devastating injuries a person can endure." My voice betrayed me at the end and I felt his hand awkwardly released the gripped as he noticed my red cheeks. I took a quick glance at the two bullets on the silver tray and cleared my throat. "How are you still alive??" "It's done?" He asked, ignored my question. "Not yet, I still need to suture your wound." He gulped. "—that bad??" worried laced on his tone. "Well—two bullets inside one hole. You should be grateful you're still alive," I shrugged and prepared to suture his open wound. He chose not to answer this time. Maybe, he also surprised by himself, survived without getting any help for about an hour, laying there, just unmoving in this cold night. He took a deep breath and unconsciously squeezed my waist when I did the last thread on his wound. A small gasped escaped my mouth, "Sorry," he said in low voice, and I shook my head, indirectly telling him it was okay. Just squeezed it. "—you're done," I said, tapping his chest lightly. He let a heavy sighed, "thanks." "No problem.—Do you need a pain killer? I got some---" "I just need a cup of hot chocolate." He rested his shoulder on the middle back cushion, eyes fluttered closed. "Oh—okay," Just as I walk down to the kitchen I heard him said, "thanks." My heart hadn't stop stammering as I kept thinking to myself that it was my first time making a hot drink for two—I lied. It was because of his touch. I never had male guest in the middle of the night, and this guy was a stranger—since when I let a stranger squeezing my waist like that? why was so special about his touch? Nevermind. Apart from that, I never made this hot chocolate for a guest, even friends. Hot chocolate for me was something special and the special thing should be shared with special people only like family or close friends. The sound of kettle blurred my thoughts and I instinctively grabbed two mugs on the shelf. I sat on the floor with my back leaning on the wall whilst he sat on my couch, shirtless. His dark hair was messy and he got some bruises on his face. He was so deep in thought so he might didn't notice me observing him. His feature was absolutely captivating, I was sure God himself satisfied by creating him. There was a tattoo on his neck, 'eight arrows in a radial pattern'. I creased my forehead, what is that mean? "See anything you like—V?" his eyes piercing mine in a magnetic stare and I couldn't look away, it was so intimidating. It was a strange feeling, I felt scared of him for a moment. I'd never be the one who scared easily. I was pretty sure with myself, that I was a Gryffindor person. This man was dangerous, his aura was different. I am pretty sure this man was involved in some kind of dirty job—that was my first assumption. "What is it?" Oh--He was pretty good at reading people. "W-what happened to you?" I chose to ask this as the first question. "It's not your f*****g business," His demeanor, again, was another different case. "Let's say it's the part of the assessments," Yep! Good choice, Genevieve. "I am not your f*****g patient," He said rather harshly. "Well, I just treat your wounds and all that means you're my patient," he scowled before looked down to my mug. "—And let's not forget that I just give you my hot chocolate for free," "Two bullets in one hole. How is it possible?" his jaw tightened but he said nothing. "Whoever it is, he or she is not just an ordinary shooter," I stated, looking out through my window. The road was entirely snow-covered. "—He's not," He nodded shortly. So, Toretto was a man. "Who did this to you?" A validity questioned to prove my second assumption. "does it matter?" He slurped on his drink. "—Who teaches you to make this?" "—It doesn't matter." I spat back, slightly annoyed and I heard him sighed after that. He might feel the tense filled in this small room, "—your name," He was stating again rather than questioning, the same tone when he asked about my heater. "It's Genevieve." He nodded curtly. There was a silence before my eyes darted to the hanging clock on the wall. "before I go to bed, what's your name?" "It's Lucius." Hm, it's a suitable name for the Greek God. "I have morning shift--so goodnight." He said nothing as I get up from the position that caused my butt to stiff and tight. I opened my bedroom door and closed it, leaving him alone with his thought. It was quite frustrating of not knowing what had happened to someone especially when you're the one who treated his wound. He, apparently, wasn't the one who easily spill the bean. I decided to comb my hair, and called it a night. By the morning I woke up—He was gone.