Healed by his Touch
by
Rose Simons
WARNING:
This story contains graphic sexual content and extreme violence including forced consent, reluctant sex and extreme violence. All characters engaging in sex are 18+ Adults only.
Not for sensitive readers!
Healed by his Touch is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
** - ** - **
I blew on the hot coffee clasped between my palms and sank into the tired chair in the doctor’s lounge.
I was halfway through my shift in the Emergency Room where I worked as a surgeon and I was already feeling drained.
“Hey Rachel.” My colleague, Ted gave me a thin, sad smile as he headed for the water cooler. If I hadn’t been so used to pitying looks from everyone recently I would have cried at his sugary tone and the ‘poor you’ tilt of his head.
For the last two months, I had been on the receiving end of a torrent of sympathy from acquaintances and strangers alike – all of it unwanted. Each time someone would try to placate me with an I understand or it will get easier, I felt like screaming. It reminded me of what had happened, what I had been through, and I did not want the constant reminder.
I was uncomfortably aware of Ted hovering in the small kitchenette sipping on his water. I know he felt awkward around me; unsure of what to say. I would have normally attempted to reassure him, put him at ease in an effort to convince people that yes, they could simply have a regular conversation with me like a normal human being. That no, I would not have a mini breakdown if you simply asked how I was doing. But today...today I felt removed from where I was, distant, so instead I leant my head back against the lumpy cushion and closed my eyes, hoping to shut out the world.
As usual, my mind wandered to that day, I had re-lived it a thousand times and yet my brain still refused to take the mental movie off of repeat.
I found myself transported to when I first met Jason. At a med school party, he had spilt an entire beer over my new top after bumping into me. I’d fallen in love that night, and even now the tang of stale beer hitting my nostrils still makes me smile.
We got married four years later. The memory of our wedding day had always been shimmering in golden, hazy sunshine. I used to remember a sea of smiling faces, the sound of laughter, the swells of happiness that had flowed through me. Now, when I think of it; there are ominous clouds in the blue sky, clandestine gazes across crowded dance floors. Suspicion and lies.
I was naive. I thought I had it all, thought I had the perfect life. I gave a bitter laugh – I even used to feel a little smug about it: My large house, great career, loving husband- all in a glass bubble of everything I had ever wanted. Until the day that bubble smashed into a million pieces.
Until the day I rushed home to find my ‘loving’ husband in bed with my best friend.
I’d got someone to work the end of my shift before I went home that day. I had been too excited to concentrate on working so decided to call in cover instead. After three weeks of feeling nauseous and no sign of my period, I‘d sneaked into the staff bathroom and stared in utter thrill at the two pink lines on the plastic stick. I was pregnant! I had to rush home to tell Jason. I knew he’d be as delighted as I was; he’d talked about wanting a family before we’d even married.
Running into the house feeling as though I would burst with happiness, I thought nothing of the fact that he was not downstairs and leapt up to our room to find him. I came to a sudden stop at the threshold, as though hit by an invisible force field. There, in our bed was Jason, sat up naked as my best friend Martina straddled him, also naked. I watched morbidly for a moment, unable to process the sight that befell me. He had his mouth on one of her nipples, his hand on her ass as she rocked back and forth on top of him; head thrown back and eyes closed. I did not speak, frozen still in horror. Finally, Martina moved her head and spotted me with a gasp, and that’s when my world came tumbling down.
Jason packed his bags that afternoon. I did not mention the unborn child growing inside of me, I couldn’t even think about it as I watched him drive away – back to the arms of what had been my oldest and closest friend. Other friends and family rallied around me, but hurt and betrayal choked my life with black smoke; every waking second was a painful stabbing of despair and loss as I spent my time curled on the bed in our spare room. Blinking through long, dark nights, I thought I was at the lowest any person could possibly be. And then I miscarried my baby.
Memories of the months that followed are shadowy, misty and sad. But slowly, slowly, life began to return to normal. I went back to work, started to function again. Ignored rumors about Jason and Martina’s new life together and tried to piece myself back together.
Ted had left the staff area by the time I prized my eyes open. I could imagine his relief at not having to find the right words to say to me. The buzzing from the pager in my pocket made me jump and I quickly shook myself into reality. I was needed across the hall and sprung into action.
It was utter chaos. A fireman covered in black soot was carrying a limp child in his arms as a woman with blood down her face screamed and sobbed, limping along next to them. Immediately, I rushed to the man where he explained what had happened:
“Their car was a fireball.” He spoke with a deep, calm voice despite his traumatic appearance. “We were first on scene and managed to get the lady and this little guy out before it blew.” He nodded his head toward the lifeless figure in his arms. The little boys face was as bloody as his hysterical Mothers, but I was relieved to see weak puffs of condensation against the oxygen mask. He was breathing, at least.
“I thought it best we brought them in rather than waiting for the ambulance.” The fireman continued, his blue eyes striking against his blackened face. Around me, nurses prepared a bed to take the boy to room to be examined, and I was touched by the tenderness with which the man placed him down onto it. As I left with a team of staff to help save the boys life; I glanced back at those blue eyes that were filled with concern.
Once the boy was stable, I washed up and went to speak to his shaking Mother. Explaining he would need ongoing care, but reassuring her that he would be okay. She was still in shock but grateful, and my heart went out to her as I said goodbye. Looking forward to finishing my shift, a figure sitting on the edge of one of the beds caught my eye. It was the fireman. I walked up to him, confused.
“You should have gone hours ago, haven’t you been seen yet?” I queried.
He gave an adorably shy smile. “They offered to check me over, but I told them I wanted to wait for the pretty doctor.” Cheesy as it was, my heart somersaulted at the compliment.
I tutted, pretending to be cross as I examined him. “You should have let someone see to you. You could have had life threatening injuries.” I said as a joke, seeing that his uniform had prevented any lasting damage.
He locked his eyes onto mine and stared intensely. This time, my heart flipped backwards as well as forwards. It was a sensation I had long forgotten.
“It would have been worth it.” He said softly. “I’m Chris, by the way.” He held out his hand and then withdrew it, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m filthy.”
I laughed and reached for his hand anyway, shaking it quickly as the electric of our skin touching made me catch my breath. “I’m Rachel. You saved that boys life today you know.”
Chris shook his head. “No, I just took him to the angel that saved his life.”
I lowered my gaze, suddenly coy.
“Say er, what time do you get to leave here?” He asked.
I replied without thinking. “I’m leaving now. You are my last patient.”
“I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but could I take you for a coffee?” Chris’ tone was soft, almost nervous. My jaw dropped slightly as it dawned on me that I had just been asked out. A hum of uncertainty buzzed in my stomach. Was I ready? Could I do this?
To be continu
WATCH OUT FOR THE NEXT PART.
BE FREE TO share your THOUGHT and
* COMMENT with NEXT for THE NEXT PART
by
Rose Simons
WARNING:
This story contains graphic sexual content and extreme violence including forced consent, reluctant sex and extreme violence. All characters engaging in sex are 18+ Adults only.
Not for sensitive readers!
Healed by his Touch is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
** - ** - **
I blew on the hot coffee clasped between my palms and sank into the tired chair in the doctor’s lounge.
I was halfway through my shift in the Emergency Room where I worked as a surgeon and I was already feeling drained.
“Hey Rachel.” My colleague, Ted gave me a thin, sad smile as he headed for the water cooler. If I hadn’t been so used to pitying looks from everyone recently I would have cried at his sugary tone and the ‘poor you’ tilt of his head.
For the last two months, I had been on the receiving end of a torrent of sympathy from acquaintances and strangers alike – all of it unwanted. Each time someone would try to placate me with an I understand or it will get easier, I felt like screaming. It reminded me of what had happened, what I had been through, and I did not want the constant reminder.
I was uncomfortably aware of Ted hovering in the small kitchenette sipping on his water. I know he felt awkward around me; unsure of what to say. I would have normally attempted to reassure him, put him at ease in an effort to convince people that yes, they could simply have a regular conversation with me like a normal human being. That no, I would not have a mini breakdown if you simply asked how I was doing. But today...today I felt removed from where I was, distant, so instead I leant my head back against the lumpy cushion and closed my eyes, hoping to shut out the world.
As usual, my mind wandered to that day, I had re-lived it a thousand times and yet my brain still refused to take the mental movie off of repeat.
I found myself transported to when I first met Jason. At a med school party, he had spilt an entire beer over my new top after bumping into me. I’d fallen in love that night, and even now the tang of stale beer hitting my nostrils still makes me smile.
We got married four years later. The memory of our wedding day had always been shimmering in golden, hazy sunshine. I used to remember a sea of smiling faces, the sound of laughter, the swells of happiness that had flowed through me. Now, when I think of it; there are ominous clouds in the blue sky, clandestine gazes across crowded dance floors. Suspicion and lies.
I was naive. I thought I had it all, thought I had the perfect life. I gave a bitter laugh – I even used to feel a little smug about it: My large house, great career, loving husband- all in a glass bubble of everything I had ever wanted. Until the day that bubble smashed into a million pieces.
Until the day I rushed home to find my ‘loving’ husband in bed with my best friend.
I’d got someone to work the end of my shift before I went home that day. I had been too excited to concentrate on working so decided to call in cover instead. After three weeks of feeling nauseous and no sign of my period, I‘d sneaked into the staff bathroom and stared in utter thrill at the two pink lines on the plastic stick. I was pregnant! I had to rush home to tell Jason. I knew he’d be as delighted as I was; he’d talked about wanting a family before we’d even married.
Running into the house feeling as though I would burst with happiness, I thought nothing of the fact that he was not downstairs and leapt up to our room to find him. I came to a sudden stop at the threshold, as though hit by an invisible force field. There, in our bed was Jason, sat up naked as my best friend Martina straddled him, also naked. I watched morbidly for a moment, unable to process the sight that befell me. He had his mouth on one of her nipples, his hand on her ass as she rocked back and forth on top of him; head thrown back and eyes closed. I did not speak, frozen still in horror. Finally, Martina moved her head and spotted me with a gasp, and that’s when my world came tumbling down.
Jason packed his bags that afternoon. I did not mention the unborn child growing inside of me, I couldn’t even think about it as I watched him drive away – back to the arms of what had been my oldest and closest friend. Other friends and family rallied around me, but hurt and betrayal choked my life with black smoke; every waking second was a painful stabbing of despair and loss as I spent my time curled on the bed in our spare room. Blinking through long, dark nights, I thought I was at the lowest any person could possibly be. And then I miscarried my baby.
Memories of the months that followed are shadowy, misty and sad. But slowly, slowly, life began to return to normal. I went back to work, started to function again. Ignored rumors about Jason and Martina’s new life together and tried to piece myself back together.
Ted had left the staff area by the time I prized my eyes open. I could imagine his relief at not having to find the right words to say to me. The buzzing from the pager in my pocket made me jump and I quickly shook myself into reality. I was needed across the hall and sprung into action.
It was utter chaos. A fireman covered in black soot was carrying a limp child in his arms as a woman with blood down her face screamed and sobbed, limping along next to them. Immediately, I rushed to the man where he explained what had happened:
“Their car was a fireball.” He spoke with a deep, calm voice despite his traumatic appearance. “We were first on scene and managed to get the lady and this little guy out before it blew.” He nodded his head toward the lifeless figure in his arms. The little boys face was as bloody as his hysterical Mothers, but I was relieved to see weak puffs of condensation against the oxygen mask. He was breathing, at least.
“I thought it best we brought them in rather than waiting for the ambulance.” The fireman continued, his blue eyes striking against his blackened face. Around me, nurses prepared a bed to take the boy to room to be examined, and I was touched by the tenderness with which the man placed him down onto it. As I left with a team of staff to help save the boys life; I glanced back at those blue eyes that were filled with concern.
Once the boy was stable, I washed up and went to speak to his shaking Mother. Explaining he would need ongoing care, but reassuring her that he would be okay. She was still in shock but grateful, and my heart went out to her as I said goodbye. Looking forward to finishing my shift, a figure sitting on the edge of one of the beds caught my eye. It was the fireman. I walked up to him, confused.
“You should have gone hours ago, haven’t you been seen yet?” I queried.
He gave an adorably shy smile. “They offered to check me over, but I told them I wanted to wait for the pretty doctor.” Cheesy as it was, my heart somersaulted at the compliment.
I tutted, pretending to be cross as I examined him. “You should have let someone see to you. You could have had life threatening injuries.” I said as a joke, seeing that his uniform had prevented any lasting damage.
He locked his eyes onto mine and stared intensely. This time, my heart flipped backwards as well as forwards. It was a sensation I had long forgotten.
“It would have been worth it.” He said softly. “I’m Chris, by the way.” He held out his hand and then withdrew it, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m filthy.”
I laughed and reached for his hand anyway, shaking it quickly as the electric of our skin touching made me catch my breath. “I’m Rachel. You saved that boys life today you know.”
Chris shook his head. “No, I just took him to the angel that saved his life.”
I lowered my gaze, suddenly coy.
“Say er, what time do you get to leave here?” He asked.
I replied without thinking. “I’m leaving now. You are my last patient.”
“I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but could I take you for a coffee?” Chris’ tone was soft, almost nervous. My jaw dropped slightly as it dawned on me that I had just been asked out. A hum of uncertainty buzzed in my stomach. Was I ready? Could I do this?
To be continu
WATCH OUT FOR THE NEXT PART.
BE FREE TO share your THOUGHT and
* COMMENT with NEXT for THE NEXT PART
Comments
Post a Comment