Loving The Flame

Chapter Fourteen

The thin line between worry and anxiety confuses me. But when we experience both worry and anxiety simultaneously, it can be overwhelming. How do we navigate this intense combination of thoughts and feelings? I believe I may be dealing with a generalised anxiety disorder, and let me tell you, it's definitely not a pleasant sensation.

I found it impossible to fall asleep, even though I felt completely exhausted. I've been feeling unfocused lately, and the anxiety is affecting my appetite. Perhaps due to sleep deprivation and exhaustion, my muscles are extremely tense, causing my worry to spread throughout my body like a multiplying worm. And even though it's only been two days since that horrifying incident, it feels like two years.

The situation as it is is stressful, and I am concerned about being one of the few people aware of Christopher's current condition. Imagining the worst-case scenario and having to explain it to his son or other family members feels like a heavy weight.

They didn't want to contact the authorities or go to the hospital. Vincent and the family doctor, Dr. Mark, decided to treat him at his mansion. They are secretive to the point that I am not allowed to leave the mansion, and I don't have the intention until I am sure he is well. After all, I feel responsible because he was shot while protecting me.

I found myself constantly replaying the same scenes in my mind, specifically the moment when he collapsed into my embrace and his efforts to protect me from danger. I can't shake off my concern for him.

Seeing him peacefully sleeping in his bed always triggers a flood of tears and a wave of fear that sends shivers down my spine.

"He will be okay," Vincent reassures me as I glance up at him, taking a deep breath, standing on the opposite side of the bed. He appears to be improving; his left hand is resting in a black arm sling that supports his shoulder. His face is displaying no hint of concern; his slender lips maintain a subtle smile; and his deep-set blue eyes are focused as if peering into a person's soul rather than their face. He stands tall and in great shape, sporting a shaved head and broad shoulders that radiate self-assurance. He is wearing a black shirt and trousers, and I think this is the first time I've really seen him.

"I hope so," I murmur, twirling my hair around my back. "Are you doing alright?" I inquire quietly, hoping not to disrupt Christopher.

"I'm doing well; thank you for inquiring, ma'am," he responds with the precision of a soldier on duty. I remain silent, reflecting on the events that unfolded as we hurried into the mansion and descended into the basement. The memories flood back, causing me to shake my head in disbelief.

"You were expecting it, right?" I inquire, gazing at him with uncertainty about his demeanour. He glances up at me and then shifts his gaze down to Christopher.

"I'm sure he will tell you what you need to know," he responds.

"Can't you perceive the state he is in?" I ask.

"Mr. Anderson is strong." His responses are concise, almost reflecting his aversion to lengthy discussions. "I need to talk to Dr. Mark," he informs me, and I can't help but feel frustrated and tired of being left in the dark about a situation that nearly cost me my life. He pauses upon seeing me by the door, and I eagerly await his response. "I apologise for the way you're treated," he says, and I glance down, crossing my arms over my chest, wrapping myself in the yellow cardigan I have on. "Dr. Mark struggles to maintain his composure when feeling anxious. " He attempts to rationalise his behaviour, and I can't help but smile as I look at him.

"I get it, truly," I say, with a forced smile and a nod. As he exits the room, I take a seat on the chair next to the bed, gazing at Christopher.

Gently, I grasp his right hand as tears well up in my eyes. That night sticks out in my memory, with my hands stained in his blood as I desperately tried to stop the bleeding. After quickly exiting his private jet, we are driven to a luxurious mansion in a car. His head lay gently on my lap, gazing up at me. My hand pressed against his abdomen, while he gripped my arm tightly as if retaining it for his life. When we arrived at the mansion and realised the unexpected turn of events, there was no time to think about anything because Dr. Mark immediately led us into a basement filled with cutting-edge medical equipment. As if they were preparing for this type of thing all their lives.

Dr. Mark welcomed us with a stretcher, and every security guard helped us carry him out of the car. I was a mess: screaming, crying, calling for help, pleading with him to stay awake, yelling to get the authorities or ambulance... I was panicking. I was more in the way than helping. As soon as we ushered into the basement, Dr. Mark yanked me away, threw me on a chair in the corner, and slapped me on the cheek. After that, I stay still like a lifeless doll, staring at him while desperately working to keep him alive. He didn't say a word until the following morning. He informed me that we could transfer him to his bedroom and that I was not allowed to leave the mansion. I swapped the blood-stained clothes and stayed in his room, next to him, until now.

Now I wonder if he will wake up to see another day. I wonder if I will ever thank him for standing up for me all this time. Every disagreement at work leads me to be the best that I am, and I just start working for and towards him. I just can't lose what is barely starting.

***

Christopher tumbles to the ground. I shout at the top of my lungs. I'm running. I'm drenched in blood, tears streaming down my face. I continue to stumble, despite my efforts to escape something I don't know but fear. A crippling fear that takes over my entire being. Then I got shot in the chest.

I wake up with a sharp breath. I've been crashing on a sofa in Christopher's room, and it's been four days. Glancing to my left, I see Christopher resting in his bed. I make my way over to him, letting out a yawn and still feeling tired. Sitting on the chair beside his bed, I hold his hand in mine and rest my head on the bed. All of a sudden, I sense his finger shifting, and he tightly grasps my hand. I quickly sit up, gazing at him with enthusiasm, my eyes wide open.

"Chris?" I urge him to rise and examine his expression. As his eyes slowly open, he quickly shuts them once more. "Christopher?" Once more, I try to get his attention by gently shaking his left shoulder while our hands remain intertwined. He groans while attempting to shift his head from side to side.

"Good morning." A nurse assisting Dr. Mark enters the room to carry out her morning routine, and her expression turns serious when she sees me.

"He's awake," I snap at her. "Get Dr. Mark, now!" I bark at her, and she quickly leaves the room in a hurry.

Once he hurries into his room, he quickly checks his pulse, adjusts the bandage around his abdomen, and assists him in leaning back. It takes a while, and I stand back, looking at him for good news, and from the look of it, everything seems just fine.

"You sick bastard," he reprimanded him, and I grinned as I watched them. Vincent stands behind Dr. Mark with a smile on his face.

"I suppose the vacation has come to an end; I'm back," Christopher tells him. As his gaze meets mine, I quickly glance away, feeling a bit shy. His dark hair with a few greys around his ears is tousled, adding to his relaxed vacation vibe that's contrary to the situation he's been in. The blue and black striped lines on the pyjama shirt give him a relaxed appearance. He appears far from resembling a person who has just finished a period of bed rest. He is quite good-looking.

"I must say," Dr. Mark comments, and I glance up at him. His charming smile illuminated his large eyes, and his brown t-shirt nearly matched his skin tone. "She never left your side, not once," he says with admiration. "And I'm so..."

"Water under the bridge." I interrupted him before he could finish his sentence, and he smiled back. He gazes at Christopher, who is fixedly observing me, then shifts his gaze to Vincent standing behind him. "I'll provide you with an update," he says, nodding, and Christopher acknowledges without glancing in his direction.

I anxiously await the moment when the room is empty, and I approach him, taking a seat on the chair. Slowly and hesitantly, I reach for his hand, my eyes growing heavy with uncertainty about his comfort, but he holds me tightly and unexpectedly.

"I thought," I whisper, and he pulls me onto his bed. I embrace him tightly, tears streaming down my face onto his shoulder, seeking solace in his presence.

"There, there," he murmurs to me while enveloping me in his arms. I make sure to avoid touching his injury. We remain in this position for what seems like an eternity, as if we have been close companions for years, until I finally drift off to sleep in his arms.

I can't say for sure, but it feels like this is the first time I've truly slept since that event. Suddenly, I sit up and notice that I am nestled next to him, and he is focused on some files. I tuck my hair behind my ears and glance at him on my left, feeling embarrassed.

"Apologies," I whisper, and he grins. "I must have dozed off," I mention, planning to get up from his bed. He grasps my hand firmly at my wrist, and I meet his gaze.

"Stay," he insists. He gazed intensely into my eyes. "Just for now," he murmurs while setting the files on the night table across the bed, pressing his lips firmly against the pain in his abdomen. "Like a friend, just a friend," he says, making his request clear when he asks me to stay. I paused, my lips slightly apart, contemplating my next step.