Page 5 of Promises in the Dark

“Stay awake,” Doc’s words echoed, sharp and insistent.

I took a deep breath, trying to focus through the pain and the haze of meds. My vision blurred and cleared in waves, my head spinning. But I fought to stay conscious, fighting against the pull of the void.

“You might have a concussion,” she continued, and it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“Can you make this shit quick?” I grumbled. “I don’t plan on being stuck in this hellhole with you for much longer.”

“You need stitches,” she replied, deadpan.

“I’ll manage without,” I huffed, my stubbornness in full fucking force.

“You’ll manage?” she repeated doubtfully.

Annoyance flared hot inside me. Her words caught me off guard, and my patience snapped.

“You’re not factoring in how much I wanna rip your head off right now,” I growled, my eyes locked onto hers, daring her to keep talking.

The tension thickened, and I could see the cracks forming in her calm facade. She wasn’t as composed as she pretended to be.

“Stay still,” she commanded irritated despite her efforts to sound professional.

For a split second, my gaze shifted to her, really taking her in for the first time. She was beautiful—too fucking beautiful for this cold, sterile environment.

Her small frame and delicate features clashed with the hardened attitude she wore like armor. Green eyes that practically glowed under the shitty lights, red hair pulled back with a few loose strands clinging to her sweat-covered brow.

But any fleeting appreciation I had for her looks was bulldozed by the pain that racked my body. I needed to get the fuck out of here. I needed answers, not a goddamn nursemaid.

The needle puncturing my skin had me gritting my teeth, my body trying to squirm away from her.

“You okay with me laying on you while I sew this up? My weight will keep you still,” she said casually, as if this was just another fucking day in the office.

Fuck me.

I looked at her, deadpan, trying to keep my cool. The idea of her laying on me wasn’t exactly thrilling, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

“Do I even get a say in this?” I muttered, trying to sound as level as possible, but the pain was turning everything to shit.

Reluctantly, I nodded, swallowing down the wave of discomfort. Human contact wasn’t my thing, but I needed this over and done with.

Doc lowered herself onto me, careful not to crush my chest, but still—her warmth against me wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Actually, it felt... weirdly reassuring.

Her face hovered above mine, her eyes focused as she worked, her body pressing into me with a strange kind of closeness I wasn’t used to.

I didn’t want to be some little bitch, lying here getting soft because someone was close enough for me to feel their heartbeat. Emotions and feelings—hell, I’d done everything I could to bury that crap deep. Softness and comfort, that was for people who had some rosy memory of family and warmth. I didn’t need it, didn’t want it clawing its way in, trying to make me weak.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad’s the pain?” she said, trying to catch my eye as her fingers pressed around the wound, sending a fresh spike of agony through me.

Annoyance flared up again. Like I needed a fucking reminder of the agony ripping through me.

“Ten,” I spat through clenched teeth, trying my best not to move. I could barely focus on anything other than the excruciating throb in my body. “Solid ten. No question.”

Maybe it was even an eleven, but I wasn’t about to start whining about it.

She exhaled through her nose, her face unreadable as she reached for more gauze. “Well, you’ll love this part then,” she muttered, “We’re running low on anesthetics and painkillers. The last supply convoy got held up outside Kandahar and what we’ve got left is going to the more critical cases.”

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic,” I muttered, rolling my eyes despite the stabbing pain that motion brought. “Guess I’lljust enjoy the show then. Don’t let me stop you from digging in there.”

She didn’t respond, just tightened her jaw and kept working, focused, her hands moving with a precision that would have been almost impressive if I wasn’t the one feeling every damn second of it. I could feel each tug of the needle, each pull of the thread as she stitched me up like a torn-up sandbag.

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