Will You Be My Olivia?

The rain poured relentlessly from the dark sky, accompanied by violent winds and distant rolls of thunder. Richard Martins staggered through the deserted street, struggling to stay on his feet. Blood stained his clothes. Several wounds covered his body, and every step sent a sharp wave of pain through him. His vision blurred repeatedly, but he forced himself forward. The street was empty. There were no passing cars, no pedestrians, and no help. Worse, he had no phone, and no way to contact anyone. All he could do was keep moving. Suddenly, his legs gave out beneath him. He dropped to his knees and braced himself against the wet pavement with trembling hands. His breathing became ragged as he fought to remain conscious. "No..." he whispered hoarsely. He couldn't collapse here. Not now, not after everything. Across the street, a young woman hurried through the storm beneath an umbrella. The powerful wind kept tugging at it, forcing her to grip the handle tightly. "I can't believe the weather decided to be this terrible tonight," she muttered under her breath. Then she froze, seeing a figure was lying in the middle of the road. Her eyes widened. "Oh my God." Without hesitation, she rushed toward him. Her umbrella slipped from her hand and landed on the wet pavement as she knelt beside him. Carefully, she turned him onto his back. The moment she saw his condition, her heart nearly stopped. His face was pale. Blood mixed with rainwater across his clothes. Bruises and injuries covered him. For a terrifying second, she thought he might already be dead. "Can you hear me?" she asked urgently. She gently tapped his cheek. "Sir? Can you hear me?" After a few seconds, Richard's eyes slowly opened. The rain fell heavily against his face, forcing him to squint as he looked up at her. Relief washed over her instantly. "Thank God," she whispered. "You're alive." Richard said nothing. Instead, he slowly tried to sit up. Immediately, she supported him. "Easy," she said softly. With her help, he managed to get back on his feet. But the moment he steadied himself, he pulled away from her. "Go away," he muttered through gritted teeth. He took a step forward, limping heavily. The young woman stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?" she asked. "You need medical attention." "No." Richard's voice was firm despite his weakened state. "Leave me alone." He tried to keep walking. Three steps later, he collapsed again. The young woman immediately rushed to his side. "Fine. Be angry all you want." She slid his arm over her shoulder. "But I'm not going to stand here and watch you die." Using every bit of strength she had, she pulled him upright. He was much heavier than she expected. Her muscles protested immediately, but she refused to give up. She glanced briefly at the umbrella she had abandoned. There was no way she could carry both. Leaving it behind, she began guiding him down the street. The rain soaked both of them within minutes. Her legs ached, and her arms burned. But she kept moving. "I'm probably not getting you to a hospital tonight," she admitted between breaths. "The weather is too bad, and you weigh a ton." Richard remained silent. Whether he was ignoring her or barely conscious, she couldn't tell. Still, she kept talking. "Don't die on me, okay?" After what felt like forever, a small hotel finally appeared ahead. Relief flooded through her. "Thank goodness." She practically dragged Richard through the entrance and toward the reception desk. The receptionist immediately stood up. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. "Please," the young woman said urgently. "I need a room." The receptionist looked from her to Richard. "Miss... he needs a hospital." "I know." The young woman said. "But there isn't one nearby, and if I waste more time looking for one, he could die." The receptionist looked uncertain. "What if something happens to him here? The hotel could be held responsible." The young woman quickly removed an identification card from her bag and held it out. "I'm a final-year nursing student." Her voice trembled with urgency. "I know how to treat his wounds. Please." The receptionist studied the card, then looked back at the injured man. For several long seconds, she hesitated. Finally, she sighed. "Alright." Relief immediately spread across the young woman's face. "Thank you." The receptionist shook her head. "You're going to need help getting him upstairs." Together, they guided Richard to a room and carefully laid him on the bed. The young woman immediately turned toward the door. "I need to get some supplies." The receptionist frowned. "You're leaving him here?" "Only for a short while." She grabbed her bag. "I don't have the equipment I need to treat him. I'll be back as quickly as possible." The receptionist still looked uneasy. But eventually, she nodded. "Okay." The young woman offered a grateful smile. "I'll be back." Then she hurried out of the room. The receptionist remained standing beside the bed, staring at the unconscious stranger as thunder rumbled outside. She glanced toward the closed door before looking back at him. Taking a slow breath, she murmured, "I really hope I haven't made a mistake." After what felt like a while, the young woman finally returned. "Did he wake up while I was gone?" she asked as she began arranging the supplies she had bought to attend to his wounds. The receptionist shook her head. "No, he didn't. But he was mumbling a few words occasionally." The young woman glanced at her briefly before putting on a pair of gloves. "What was he saying?" she asked, focusing on the items in front of her. The receptionist thought for a moment before answering. "It sounded more like a name." The young woman paused briefly. "A name?" The receptionist nodded. "Yes. I think it was Victoria... or something like that." The young woman said nothing as she began tending to Richard's wounds. The receptionist continued, "I was wondering who that could be because, judging from the ID card you showed me earlier, it clearly isn't you." The young woman gave a faint nod as she carefully dressed one of his wounds. "Maybe she's someone related to him." The receptionist remained silent for a moment, watching her work. Then she asked, "Do you know him in any way?" The question made the young woman look up. A faint smile appeared on her face. "No, I don't." Then she added, "Why do you ask?" The receptionist shrugged. "With how worried you looked when you brought him in earlier, I thought he was either your boyfriend or your husband." The young woman froze.