Dirty Angel (The List #2)

by N. K. Love

  “Look at me G, how big was the blade? Did you see it?... Listen to me, this is important, I need to know how deep it’s gone.”

  Jax still doesn’t look at me.

  “Not deep… it’s hit my ribs.”

  Relief washes over me. If that’s true, he’s hopefully out of the danger zone.

  “Oh thank God. That’s good.”

  “It’s not serious B… Just hurts like a motherfucka.”

  “Right, okay, right… Is there anywhere else? Any other injuries?”

  He thankfully confirms there isn’t and I kick myself for stupidly letting myself get distracted by the blood loss from his eye. Rookie error.

  “B, I need you... to call…”

  “Of course, of course. I’ll call them now.” I fumble in my robe pocket and realise my hands are trembling. I pull out my phone and shakily unlock it. “Then I’ll clean you up whilst we wait and—”

  “No, Beth… No hospital, no police…”

  He glances at me for a split second and I see a new fiery desperation in his eyes and I know he means it, but why?

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You need a goddam professional. You’ve got a freakin’ knife sticking out of you—”

  Jax reaches across and grabs my forearm, silencing my outburst. He holds me softly but his touch always demands control from my body. Even in the midst of these fucked up circumstances, the feel of his touch generates such a heightened state of awareness of how much this man means to me.

  What lengths would I go to for him? How long is a piece of string?

  “Don’t Beth, please.” His words are almost a whisper.

  This is getting more and more messed up and cryptic. I just want to breakdown and cry and scream and magic everything better. But I need to be alert and calm and in control.

  “What then? Who did you want me to call?”

  Jax nods towards the bag with bandages and gauze spilling out around it on the work surface.

  “Beth… open that black case.”

  I see a black leather case inside the large green first aid bag. He lets go of my arm so I can put down my phone and grab it. Unclipping it, I lift it open and find a supply of strong opioid painkillers in tablets and vials. There’s no doubt, these are prescription only. There’s no patient information on the labels so if these weren’t prescribed to him, it’s illegal for him to have them, let alone take them. It freaks me out that he’s got all of this and I want to know why and how but those questions can wait. For now I’m just relieved because he needs to take something fast-acting now.

  I spot a typed card inside a plastic wallet attached to the inside of the case lid and run my fingers over it. It’s a brief guideline and instructions on how to administer each drug.

  “Beth, dial the number… on the back of that.”

  I slide the card out and turn it around. Sure enough there’s a random mobile number typed on the back. No name, no other details. It feels so shady but what else can I do? Jax has always been infallible in my eyes, making the right choices and being there for me at every turn, even knowing what I need before I do.

  “Trust me Angel.”

  I wither as soon as the word ‘Angel’ leaves his precious lips, shedding layers, exposing my hidden vulnerability. Tears threaten once more, welling up and blurring my vision. I can’t let him down, this is my chance to be there for him on the rare occasion that he needs me.

  “I do. You know I do, but it still doesn’t feel right. I don’t know… I just... I should be calling an ambulance or maybe my mom… I’m scared Jax. I’m trying not to freakin’ freak out but I’m fucking scared.”

  He straightens himself up as best he can and reaches his free hand to hold the side of my face, drawing me in closer.

  The energy instantly surges between us as our eyes finally connect properly for the first time during all of this craziness. There he is, my gladiator. My wounded gladiator. I’m granted access back into his beautiful soul. I see the excruciating pain he has been trying to hide from me. But what I don’t see is either panic or fear. Even through his pain, I still see and feel his powerful control, which I desperately cling onto with both hands. God I’m weak. Or am I strong and Jax is my weakness?

  The only concern in his eyes is for me. He’s not just my gladiator, he’s evolved into so much more than my original fantasies, which suddenly seem so inconsequential right now. If I doubted my love for him before, it’s impossible to dismiss in this moment.

  The swelling around his eyes is getting worse and his left eye has started to close up. I lower my forehead to meet his and shakily breathe him in. My uncertainty and fear start to dissipate. It composes me. He should be the one feeling fragile not me. Instead he still manages to cloak me with his precious force field, his strength. He still protects me. Always.

  I steal away some strength for myself, dial the number and hit ‘call’. He takes the phone and leaves my cheek tingling with the hope that everything’s going to work out.

  He clears his throat and talks with his natural air of authority. “It’s X. I’ve been stabbed. No, just need… patching up.” Patching up? Slight understatement. How is he so nonchalant about it and who is he talking to? “Home… No… Clear… One other… She’s sound. Yes I’m sure.”

  Jax drops the phone back on the side and I press the ‘end call’ button, noticing call duration; 0:14. Fourteen seconds, that’s all. I heard a man’s voice on the other end and he seemed equally as calm as Jax.

  “Doctor’s coming. We’ve… just gotta wait.”

  Jax is still wincing and fighting the pain. A trickle of fresh blood builds up speed and runs down the side of his face atop other layers of blood.

  More questions start flying into my head; why did he refer to himself as X? Why didn’t he have to give him his address? Who did this to him? How can be so controlled when he’s got a fucking knife in him? The fear’s creeping back in. Emotion is created by motion. I need to keep moving otherwise I’m going to get locked into my nerves and let them takeover and consume me. I trust him. But I can’t just do nothing, waiting around for this random, probably illegal and unqualified, doctor or butcher to turn up and take over.

  Thank God I’ve learned so much from my mom over the years. The fact that I’m not squeamish in the slightest is helping matters too. When I bought Next Chapter, I insisted all the staff have an annual course on first aid basics, which instigated an ongoing joke about being medically qualified to treat paper cuts in the shop.

  I’ve dealt with plenty of random bad cuts and scrapes but never a stab wound... and it’s Jax. My Jax, my fucking indestructible Jax. Shit, hold it together Bethany! Time to act and make myself busy until this doctor appears.

  Administering a pain killer is my priority, then I can set to work on cleaning him up as best I can.

  I read the labels on the little glass vials. There’s tramadol, morphine and oxycodone. The note states which drug to use depending on severity of pain. I decide on morphine. It tells me that an injection will take maximum effect in twenty minutes, whereas tablets are more like an hour. I know what I’ve got to do but firstly I imagine my mom’s soothing voice, “Stay focused Bethany, you can do this.”

  “Okay Jax. I’m gonna give you a morphine injection.” He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I can do this. It’ll ease the pain much quicker for you ready for when the doctor gets here.”

  “Set it up B. I’ll do it…”

  “No, you won’t. You just concentrate on staying conscious… In fact, I think you should be lying down.”

  “I can stand. I’ll… be fine as soon as you kill this bitchass pain.”

  I peel open a new needle and syringe and set up the injection.

  “Then leave it to me. I can do this.” I set the injection aside, take the black tourniquet and fasten it loosely around his bicep. “Trust me?”

  “Al…ways.” He grunts.

  “All ways?”

  My joke in poor taste rolls off my to
ngue without thinking but I’m rewarded by a comforting Jaxson smile, which I can’t resist capturing onto my own lips. It’s a delicate, emotional, lingering kiss that I will cherish. I go to move back but he doesn’t let me.

  I can't believe this man—this beautiful soul—is the man who’s stolen my heart. In fact, he didn’t steal it because he doesn’t even want it. But that miserable admission doesn’t shake how special my love for him is, perhaps it makes it even more sacred. It’s an unrequited love. It has stood the test of rejection and adversity, yet it still defiantly shines brightly in my heart and maybe always will. No matter what.

  Tears stream down my face and blend into our kiss. They're the best tears I’ve ever tasted. They taste of love, hope and promise.

  What if they’d pulled the knife out? He’d have surely bled to death. Then he would never know that as much as he has built an impenetrable fortress, like his home, around his heart, he couldn’t keep me out. I fell head over heels in love with him, all of him, dark secrets and angels and all that’s in-between.

  I reluctantly pull back again and I feel his hesitation too. My tears still fall, which is why I know he’s keeping me near. I can’t help myself and I’ll probably regret this…

  “I’m in love with you Jax.”

  I sob. It’s blurted out before I have chance to swallow the words. Jax opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes search mine but I don’t know what he’s expecting to find. He exhales and then shakes his head.

  “No Beth, you’re not.” I sniff and dash away my tears. “You’re just—overwhelmed.”

  What was I thinking? I’ve gone back on my own promises to keep my mouth shut and make the most of our time together. Telling him won’t make him feel anything other than guilt and apprehension. Didn’t I say that telling him would be the same as saying goodbye because he wouldn’t want to stay with me knowing that he’d end up hurting me? I don’t want to lose him.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Jax goes to give me a swift kiss but it feels too much like pity so I turn my flushed face away and get back to the job in hand.

  Cue autopilot mode.

  I give blood regularly and, having awkward veins myself, I’m confident in detecting a decent vein. I tighten the elastic strap and Jax automatically squeezes his fist for me. I grab the injection and hold out his arm. Immediately I feel the perfect candidate so I remove the sheath from the needle with my teeth and clear the air from the syringe. I breathe out the last of my nerves and gently ease the needle in at an angle. Ensuring I’ve aimed well, I press the plunger, administering the drug and withdraw slowly. Discarding the syringe, I stupidly kiss where the needle went and press down with my thumb whilst I check the time and make a mental note of the time twenty minutes from now.

  Now I feel less claustrophobic and lighter. I’ve actually done something to help him and the doctor is on his way. Time to clean Jax up and do what I can before this guy arrives.

  Looking at Jax, I can still see his brain ticking over, thinking about the embarrassing fact that I have just inappropriately dropped the ‘L’ bomb in the middle of somewhat of a crisis.

  “I’m just gonna stabilise the position of the knife and clean you up and maybe put some butterfly stitches on this cut.”

  Still running on autopilot. I just need to do what I’m capable of doing.

  “Beth… Stop a minute. Look at me…” I stop faffing around with packets and tape and look at him. I must look like a defeated wreck. “You’re amazing… I’m sorry Angel… I didn’t want you to be a part of all this…”

  I see the frustration in his eyes and I know that whatever lies behind ‘all this’ is part of the reason Jax doesn’t want me, or anybody else, in his life long-term.

  “Sshh. There’s no need to say anything. I don’t give a shit about anything else as long as you’re okay. I mean it. Let’s just get through this, together.”

  I return my attention back to the first aid supplies and start tearing packets open. I carefully place wads of gauze together and Jax turns to the side, resting his hip on the counter. Checking the wound again, I still can’t see any signs of fresh bleeding, which is another massive relief. I take a pair of scissors from the bag and carefully cut away his tee, revealing his muscular body. It also pronounces the actual wound as I can now see the entry point into his beautiful body.

  I throw the scissors into the sink and wash and dry my hands again quickly. I’d already put a pair of gloves to one side so I quickly snap these on and use some wipes to clean around the sides of the wound. I’m not sure if it’ll reduce the chance of infection but it only takes a minute.

  Next, I set to work sandwiching the wads of gauze I’ve prepared and placing them delicately either side of the butterfly handle, ensuring I don’t touch the handle enough to disrupt any clot formation. It makes me sick to think that not so long ago, somebody’s hand was attached to this knife, pushing it into Jax. Does he know who did it?

  I build up the padding and it secures the knife in place, making a decent job of keeping it stable. Jax puts his fingers over the top again. The blade is horizontal so it’ll allow me to negotiate some strapping around his torso to help fasten the padding in place. I unravel rolls of bandage around Jax’s ribcage, covering either side of the handle and tape it safely. All the time I mutter nonsense under my breath like questioning why a vile weapon can be named after such a beautiful creature.

  Jax stays silent.

  Once done, I test the tension by slipping my finger beneath the bandage on the other side and it’s just right. Jax has watched me intently but mainly I’ve felt the heat of his gaze remaining on my face. He can barely see out of his left eye now. Hopefully his morphine will be kicking in soon.

  I straighten myself up and push away all the empty packets.

  “Hey handsome.” We both manage smiles, his is more wonderful than mine could ever be. “You’ll be almost pain free soon. But I would still prefer it if you’d lie down or at least sit down for me… please?”

  I fetch a wooden chair from by the window and place it at his feet. Thankfully he steadily guides his colossal body down to take a seat, easing yet more of my tension. I check the time and work out it’s been nine minutes since the injection and thirteen minutes since the phone call.

  I come to stand between his knees. My anxiety easing up more now. I may be standing over him, looking down at him but his aura absolutely, utterly consumes me. Even in a crisis situation, this man has such a presence within me. I take hold of his bloodied face for a closer inspection.

  Now that he’s bandaged up, both of his hands are free so he rests his forearms on his thighs, careful not to knock the handle. He holds the backs of my legs. Albeit somewhat distracting, his touch is a welcome reassurance and more importantly, it tells me I’ve hopefully evaded making things awkward between us, for the time being at least.

  Leaning over the sink sideways, I start running the tap again and wash my hands thoroughly. I dampen another towel and clean his entire face as best I can. His warm milk chocolate complexion returns reminding me of how debilitating it felt when I first saw him tonight. Even with swollen eyes and a gaping cut, my man is still the most handsome, sexiest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. But he’s not mine.

  My head returns back to the here and now and my vision has blurred again. Tears fill my eyes, but this time I can’t blink them away. They freefall onto his lap and Jax grips my legs harder.

  “You’re doing great Angel… Please don’t cry…”

  He apologises over and over. I wipe my face with the backs of my hands. No, I’ve got to hold this together for a while longer. I can’t do this now. Physically shaking my head to banish the anxiety, I push the fear and confusion deep down for it to wallow in silence whilst I get my shit together. Another deep breath released and I’m okay again.

  I may be the one apologising in a minute though…

  Back to autopilot, I return
to his impressive first aid supplies. I grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic spray. There are some pre-cut butterfly stitches, which will save some time and hassle. I also unpack another couple of gauze pads with some tape.

  Placing everything on a sterile sheet on the work surface beside me, I double check the bandage around his ribs and thankfully there’s still no signs of fresh bleeding seeping through. Feeling a little more reassured, I set to work cleaning and treating his eye wound.

  I know that antiseptic spray can sting like a bitch on open wounds. I once treated a similar wound on a skateboarder lad who’d cut his leg open on glass over the skate park behind the shop—he screamed blue murder!

  I feel Jax brace himself, anticipating the discomfort. I give it a few sprays but he barely flinches.

  After making sure it’s dry, I carefully squeeze together either side of the cut into position and apply the sticky strips with obsessive precision. The last thing he’ll need is to get an infection so I want this to be clean and immaculate. He’s got enough scars marring him.