Curvy and the Beast

“Doctor Murray, I need you in here STAT,” I call.

The older doctor comes walking in calmly. “What do we have?” He asks.

“Male presents with a six-inch-long laceration to the left side of the abdomen, about an inch deep.”

Dr. Murray pulls on a new pair of gloves and walks to my side where I’m holding Crews’ shirt away from the laceration. He observes the cut and looks up at me. “The wound is infected, he needs to get to a hospital, Addison.”

Crews wraps one of his hands around my wrist, causing me to gasp, and squeezes lightly, “No, no hospital.” He groans and tries to get up.

Pushing Crews back, so he’s lying on the bed again, I look up at Dr. Murray, and he shakes his head. “Clean up the wound and stitch him up.” He says and then walks to the door. “And get him hooked up to a fucking IV will ya’, the guy needs some fluids and an antibiotic. I’ll send Linda in to assist.”

“Thank you, Dr. Murray,” I say to the man’s retreating back. He’s all grump and attitude, but he’s a good doctor that’s way overworked and underpaid. The truth of the matter is he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t love it as much as I do though.

“Alright, Crews, you need to wake up for me,” I say, shaking his shoulder.

After a few moments, the man finally blinks his eyes open, and I’m struck by the warm brown eyes staring up at me.

“Well, hello there,” I say smiling, happy he’s a little lucid.

“You look like an Angel.” He mumbles and reaches up slowly to run his fingers through my hair.

I laugh it off, but his gesture is intimate and makes me want more from this man than is acceptable, he’s hurt for Christ’s sake. I clear my throat. “I can assure you I’m not. Crews, I’m going to put an IV in your hand, then clean up your wound and get it stitched up. Then I’ll get you home to rest.”

“Thank you, my Angel.” He mumbles, and his eyes close again. Poor guy. Does he have anyone who would care that he’s hurt? I think about waking him again to see if there’s anyone he’d like me to call, but he looks exhausted.

Linda, who is also a Licensed Practical Nurse, and I work quickly to clean the infection from his wound. Once it’s clean, I stitch him up and apply a clean bandage to keep it clean and uninfected. I leave him to rest on the bed while I finish the rest of my shift.

Around five-thirty the next morning, I shake his shoulder lightly, trying to wake him up, but he just groans and rolls to his bandaged side, making his face pinch and his eyes pop open. “Fuck that hurts,” he says harshly.

“Let’s get you home so you can rest. First, I’m going to take out your IV, so sit still for me.”

His chocolate eyes study me, and like a fly, I’m caught in his web. He nods and watches me closely while I take the IV out and bandage the area. “Okay big guy, up and at ‘em.” I put my arm around his back and grab his hand with my other and help him to sit up. When he sways, I let him lean into me, so he doesn’t fall. “You awake there big guy?”

He groans, and I barely hold my laugh back.

“Is there anyone I can call to come pick you up?” I ask, foolishly hoping he doesn’t ask for a girlfriend.

“There’s no one,” he says. When he goes to get off the bed, I step back to give him some room. Once his feet touch the ground, he sways and has to hold onto the bed, so he doesn’t fall. The man is huge, almost a foot taller than me and covered in muscles. He makes me feel tiny, and for a girl like me, that’s something. I’m five foot eight and wear a size eighteen in jeans on a good day.

“Look, thank you for your help tonight.” He pulls a money clip out of his back pocket and hands it to me. “Take out whatever you need to pay for this.”

I look at the bundle of money, seeing stacks of hundreds and fifties. What does he do to have this kind of money on him? Who is he?

“Do you have insurance?” I ask and immediately regret it by the look Crews gives me.

“Does it look like I have insurance, mama?”

I blush, hard, then clear my throat. “It’s Addison.”

He smirks, and my heart flutters. Where did he come from? A man like him simply does not exist in the real world.

“Queens.” He says.

“I’m sorry?” I ask mortified.

“You asked where I came from. I was born and raised in Queens, but my mama is from Puerto Rico.” He winces and holds his side that I just stitched up. The man needs to rest.