Love Unspoken

Quinn was in the throes of a fever. Her temperature had skyrocketed to an alarming 108.5 degrees, leaving the doctor utterly horrified. In a desperate scramble, they managed to lower her fever using a combination of physical cooling techniques and fever-reducing medication, throwing every possible solution at the problem.

Alexander, meanwhile, stood quietly to the side, his gaze fixated on her wrist. A ring of broken skin encircled it, blisters creating a stark contrast against the pale flesh. Deep indentations from a tight grip were clearly visible, a silent testament to her ordeal.

After two hours of relentless work, the doctor finally saw the temperature drop on the thermometer. Exhausted, he slumped into a chair, "Mr. Kennedy, the fever has subsided. It's now 102 degrees. We'll check again in the middle of the night to ensure it doesn't flare up. If it remains stable, she should be out of the woods."

Alexander nodded in acknowledgment before asking, "Does she have any other injuries?"

The doctor paused, taken aback. In the rush to cool Quinn down, he hadn't checked for other injuries. "I'll do a thorough check now," he said, his gaze immediately drawn to the wounds on Quinn's wrist.NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

He gently lifted her hand and pulled back the blankets to inspect her ankles. "This... It appears Quinn was restrained. These marks suggest she was struggling against bindings. The rope has nearly cut into her skin."

He continued, "There are bruises, too. I'm not certain if they're from being hit or from a fall. They look like the result of a tumble."

Alexander remained silent, his gaze fixed on the person in bed. The doctor continued his examination, "There's a cut on her head and some bleeding at the scalp. It seems her hair had been violently pulled." His voice trailed off, the implication of such torture weighing heavily on him. He glanced back at Alexander, whose expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a complex mix of emotions. "Mr. Kennedy..." "Make sure she gets proper care, otherwise... it's on you," Alexander interjected, his words heavy with unspoken threats. The doctor, taken aback, hastily stood up and fumbled with his medical kit. "Y-Yes, I understand," the doctor stammered nervously.

Alexander sat nearby, watching the doctor like a hawk. Even when there was nothing left to do, the doctor had to appear busy, so he checked Quinn's pulse, pressing on her wrist.

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But the pulse check was alarming. Quinn's condition was far worse internally than she appeared. She seemed hollowed out, as if she'd recently had a miscarriage and failed to recuperate properly, allowing various complications to creep in unchallenged.

She now looked like a mere shell of herself. The doctor glanced cautiously at Alexander.

"Speak."

Alexander's abrupt command startled the doctor, making him withdraw his hand, the unspoken thought "This doesn't bode well for her longevity" swallowed down in silence.

He feared what Alexander might do if he couldn't cure her. The doctor spun a little white lie. "Quinn's just got some scratches, nothing serious. She's in pretty good shape." Alexander eyed him intently, as if trying to see right through the doctor. After a moment, he diverted his gaze down to his phone, which had just started to ring.

It was Getty. "Alexander, you gotta save me. Some producer's trying to screw me over! The jerk, he doesn't even know who I am."

"Hand him the phone."

"I can't, I'm in the bathroom. I think I drank something sketchy... I'm feeling all messed up. You have to come get me..."

Alexander glanced at Quinn, resting in her hospital bed, then after a somber pause, he said, "Text me the address."

Getty's location came through shortly after. Alexander stood up and made his way out. At the door, he looked back at the doctor and said firmly, "Take good care of her." The doctor nodded blankly.