Page 6 of Promises in the Dark

The room felt too hot, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and something else, something metallic that was probably my own blood.

I gritted my teeth, trying to stay still, but every so often, a flash of pain would make me jerk, and she’d mutter something under her breath, half-warning, half-comforting. She was calm, steady, not even looking at my face, just focused entirely on what she was doing, like she was patching up a hole in a wall instead of digging around in my gut.

“Okay, all done,” she announced, satisfied with her handiwork, like she hadn’t just put me through fifteen minutes of hell.

Relief hit me like a goddamn freight train. Finally. Her weight still pressed into me, but I was too exhausted to care anymore. She lifted herself off me, and I could move freely again.

“For fuck’s sake, took you long enough,” I muttered, trying to stay still despite the burning ache in my wound. “Hope I never see your ass again.”

I couldn’t make out her expression behind the mask, but I felt her eyes on me, a hint of irritation simmering beneath the surface.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

The air between us shifted as she made her exit, attempting to leave me alone. Gratitude wasn’t something I dealt in—not anymore. I wasn’t about to thank anyone for doing their fucking job. I was a soldier, built to kill, not to care.

Emotions, attachments—they were just distractions, the kind that got people killed out here. I'd seen it happen too many times, some guy letting down his guard because he was too busy worrying about someone else.

I’d buried enough friends to know that getting close was a mistake I couldn’t afford to make twice.

The softness in her eyes, the patience she kept showing me—it only made me want to push her further away. People like her, they didn’t last in places like this. They’d either get used up by it or crushed by the weight of reality. And I wasn’t about to be anyone’s damn charity case, some project they could fix or soften up. I didn’t need that, and I sure as hell didn’t want it.

“You’re not half bad at your job... for a civilian,” I called after her, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

She paused, turning just enough to meet my gaze. Her eyes were steady, calm, unreadable. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the patch-up. But tying a few bandages doesn’t make you a goddamn hero,” I shrugged, keeping my tone as dismissive as possible.

Her eyes narrowed at me, the tension rising again. “I’m a trained professional, just like you. Don’t underestimate me just because I don’t carry a gun,” she snapped back, her voice like steel.

I exhaled slowly, not backing down. “I won’t underestimate you, but be careful not to overestimate yourself,” I replied, my tone just as stern as hers.

Her expression hardened, eyes narrowing even more.

“I may not be a soldier, but I sure as hell know what I’m doing.”

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, I watched as Doc yanked off her mask, giving me the full view of her face for the first time. Pale skin, full lips—yeah, she was fucking gorgeous, no doubt. But there was a heaviness in her eyes,like she’d seen some serious shit. She would’ve been fucking stunning if not for the stress lines etched deep into her features, like the weight of the world had clawed its way onto her face.

But that fleeting beauty? It didn’t mean anything to me. I’ve seen how quickly that kind of thing fades, especially in my world. Hell, it doesn’t even take long.

“I wouldn’t be alive without you,” I muttered, the words tasting more bitter than I expected.

My thoughts were clouded, poisoned by the mission and the shitshow it had turned into. The voices of my dead comrades screamed in my head, their bodies flashing in front of my eyes like it had all just happened.

Anger pumped through me, pure frustration tearing at my insides. I tried to get my busted ass off the bed, fighting through the pain. But fuck, it was like getting hit by a sledgehammer over and over, every inch of my body on fire. It was brutal, a fucking torment I couldn’t escape.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my muscles to move, but my body fought me. It was like swimming through thick mud, every movement slow and agonizing.

I planted my feet on the cold floor, gripping the bedrail like it was my lifeline, determined to stand the fuck up. The room spun for a second, but I held steady, not about to let a little dizziness take me down.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. I barely made out her outline as she moved over me, hands pressing against my chest to keep me down.

I shot her an irritated-as-fuck glare. “Trying to get up,” I ground out, my voice rough. “I need to get back to the base.” I tried again, forcing myself off the bed, but my wounds lit up like someone had shoved a branding iron into me.

“You’re not going anywhere, not like this,” she said, her order sharp as steel.

I shoved her aside, not giving a single fuck about how much it hurt. “Get out of my way,” I snapped, my voice coarse and rough.

I staggered across the room, barely noticing how my body was screaming in protest. Every step felt like walking on broken glass, but I didn’t care. I had to get the fuck out of here.

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