Page 29 of Dream Girl

I wrap my arm around her neck, bringing her to my side and letting her feel the thump of my heart. For the sake of letting her hear me, I turn my body a little more, putting the comfort of my stitched wound on the back burner.

“Milo.” The teary whimper hurts me more than the stitches, and I silently berate my stupidity for worrying her.

Amelia doesn’t take care of herself when she’s stressed, and the evidence is on her body because I fainted from metal poisoning. No words will be able to describe how much of an incompetent fool I am for not being able to take care of myself.

If I can’t do that, then what right do I have to say that Amelia is mine to protect. I have no right to say that no harm would come to her, and I certainly don’t have the balls to say it now.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” I kiss the top of her head, finding it a little wet.

“And,” she murmurs against me. “For not putting yourself first.”

If the signs for metal poisoning were something I had in mind or I was a trained medical professional, I would have noticed them sooner.

The soreness and aching on the wound weren’t my imagination from the memories of my brothers. There was irregular dizziness that could only be settled with a distraction of pain and a nauseating feeling in my stomach when Amelia had given me the coffee.

Those symptoms could indicate numerous things that could be wrong with my body, but I should have taken those hints to see a doctor before this whole upsetting thing caused Amelia to be stressed and crying over me.

“I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t answer back, simply nuzzling her face to me and sniffing back her tears. The amount of wetness on the hospital gown is embarrassing, but she doesn’t need to have more things to be distressed over.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” I comb my fingers through her tangled hair.

She sighs at the gesture, fisting her tiny fingers on top of my gown and under the hideous blanket.

“Are you cold?” she asks, peering at me through her lashes. “Are you in pain? You should put the needle back, the medicine—”

“Amelia.” My voice stops her rambling and she shyly slings her legs, so they trap mine. “I’m alive.”

It may not be the best thing to say to her, but it works because her grip loosens to a more comfortable hold. She buries her face into the hospital gown, crying quietly and shaking in my arms while hoping that I don’t hear her.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words are a broken record until a nurse comes in to check on us.

Her shock is immediate as she goes for the chart at the end of the bed. My eyes follow her, watching her with hawk intensity to make sure she doesn’t do anything funny. She runs towards the phone of the wall and calls for a doctor while her eyes sweep across the bed before landing on us.

Just as she puts the phone back on the wall, her wheeze breaks the silence as her eyes bulge out at the hanging needle down at the bed.

“Sir!” she gasps, hushed. “You cannot take the IV out! It is for your pain!”

“I don’t need it.” I set a frown on my face, daring her to come closer when Amelia freezes under me at the voice of another woman.

I hold her under the bright pink blanket, the tears on her face are only for my eyes, and I refuse to let anyone say otherwise. Amelia is vulnerable, and when she is delicate, there is a certain charm to her that triggers the testosterone-filled men in the area.

I believe it is one of the things that attracted me to her. I can’t be blamed because it’s not something many have experience with, and it’s hard to control bodily responses when she is right there for the taking.

I’m the first one to get to her, and I will be the last of her everything. Other men can look with the gaze of art appreciation, but anything more than that will result in severe consequences from an unhinged military man.

The doctor comes in, white coat fluttering behind her and a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She frowns at the swinging IV that the nurse had picked up and sighed; the bags under her eyes show how tired she is.

I’m not intentionally making her job difficult, but I know my body, and it doesn’t need medication to slow itself down. My body has always been sensitive to medication since I was young, and I wouldn’t take them unless they are absolutely necessary.

The doctor fills me in on what had happened while Amelia stays quiet under the blanket.

First and foremost, the doctor starts telling me that the blankets and pillows are from the gift shop below because my wife thought that I wouldn’t be comfortable and it would take me longer to heal if I’m not in the best sleeping conditions.

Mywife never comes to my mind with Amelia’s face attached to it. I don’t correct that misunderstanding as the doctor continues.

I have been sleeping for approximately six days. It’s the thirtieth of December, a day before New Year’s Day. Not a day goes by when Amelia is not there, and it took a man in a yellow scarf to get her to the joined bathroom of the patient’s room to shower.

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