Chapter 30: Eclipse

< Shirley >
My eyes fluttered open only to see a sharp jawline and a handsome face. I blinked a few times to adjust my vision, realizing it was Dylan, and I was in his arms, my feet dangling in the air. It felt like I had woken up from a long nightmare, but it seemed only a minute had passed in the real world.
I tried to speak, but my throat hurt like hell, leading me to cough. "Don't worry. I have called the doctor," Dylan assured. "Don't speak until then."
I nodded weakly and clutched a handful of his fabric in my fist, trying to peek over his shoulder. I instantly regretted doing so as I ended up seeing the pool of blood of those two men who had held me. I hid my face in his shoulder, locking an arm around his shoulder.
I felt a hand softly patting my head, helping me relax my nerves. "It's okay," Dylan assured.
Hearing many footsteps approaching, I tried to sneak another peek to find many men in white shirts and black pants, armed with many weapons, and quickly surrounded us. I whimpered seeing a submachine in someone's hand. Was there going to be a war between gangs?
"Close your eyes," Dylan said, and I did as he told me to.
"What happened here, Boss?" I heard Riley's voice inquire to Dylan.
"Someone planted a bomb in my car and took Shirley hostage. Make sure to find out who was behind the attack. Leave no one alive," Dylan commanded, and everyone started running around in a fit of urgency.
"Boss, the doctor's here," informed someone.
Dylan hummed and started walking somewhere further from the scene. He made me sit on a chair near the security guards' desk. Soon, a doctor came and bandaged my wound on my throat, saying it wasn't much deep, and I could speak but shouldn't try to raise my voice.
Once he left, Dylan scooped me up in his arms again, even though I could walk. "I don't think you still have the strength to walk on your feet," he said and made his way to another of his car that was parked there. The whole way I stared at his emotionless face. However, his eyes were telling a different story. There were traces of worry in them.
Dylan made me sit on the passenger's seat and got inside the car as well. He grabbed a few paper tissues from the box and said, "There's blood on you." He leaned forward to touch my cheek with the tissue when I spoke up.
"Why?" My voice was taut and breathy.
"What why?" he asked and proceeded to cleanse the fresh blood on my skin.
"Y-you did-didn't ha-have to ki-kill th-them," I managed to say, having difficulty speaking. Tears slid down with every word I spoke.
Dylan showed no reaction to it and simply replied, "If I hadn't killed them, they would have killed me. Would you have been happier then?"
I pursed my lips and lowered my gaze, letting my tears fall on his hand that was wiping the blood on my chin. Two people died in front of my eyes, and someone tried to kill Dylan because of me. How could I live with that guilt?
"Is this a scratch wound?" Dylan tried wiping the blood from my forearm, which turned out to be an actual wound. It probably happened when I was struggling. I nodded my head, and he sighed. He opened the glove box and took out a first aid kit to take out some antiseptic and cotton whereas I just stared outside the window.
"It might hurt a bit," Dylan warned before applying the antiseptic to my hand. I winced a little, and he blew some air to ease my pain, which sent bone-chilling shivers down my body and made my stomach flutter, but I wasn't in a situation to enjoy them. Once he was done, he gently wrapped a bandage around it, so I decided to ask the question I was dying to ask.
"How did y-you know the-there was a bomb in your car?" My voice was so timid and low; it almost went unheard. However, he magically managed to hear it and started replying.
"I'm not some newbie, you know. I don't fall for such stupid tricks. I'm the leader of one of the most powerful Mafia organizations. I lead a whole gang. I have been attacked many times, in many ways. Bomb planting isn't something new. I'm used to having bombs in my car, so I always park my car 1 cm away from the borderline and leave the door handle a little bit upwards, so if someone were to tamper with it, I would know."
"H-how did you see me?"
"I saw the papers I gave you on the ground, so I assumed you were taken hostage, and I saw the reflection of you guys in the corner. Therefore, I didn't waste any time shooting them dead."
I nodded, understanding his point of view. Still, it didn't justify him killing those two guys in front of me. He made me traumatized. He should have killed them somewhere else, out of my sight.
Dylan leaned forward to help me put on my seat belt, bringing his face too close than necessary, letting his hot breath fan on my cheek. His fingers brushed against my waist in the process of fastening the belt. "Sorry," he said and settled back in his seat, driving off.
If it were some other time, I would have teased him so much for caring about me, but talking hurt and my mind wasn't functioning properly, only the moments I was held hostage and they were shot by Dylan kept flashing in my head, leading me to keep my eyes shut.
I felt Dylan's gaze linger on me before he said, "I will take you to my personal psychiatrist. She will make you forget everything about this."
I wasn't aware of Dylan having a psychiatrist before. It got me curious why he needed one in the first place. Did he have psychological trauma he was having a hard time dealing with?
An uncomfortable silence settled over as neither of us was speaking. Usually, I would blabber, and he would give short replies. Buy now that I was silent, he didn't utter a word either. I was watching the rain patter on the windshield as the wiper did its job.
It would have been nice if Dylan tried to make a conversation with me, no matter what the topic was. At least, it would keep my mind preoccupied. However, an eclipse would happen if he were to speak up first.
"So, how are you feeling now?"
And Eclipse just happened.
Seeing my quietness, Dylan let out a huff. "Geez, you always blabber so much. Being a kind person, I always reply, though it might be short, sarcastic, and insulting." Wow, he was self-aware. "But when I ask a simple question, you don't even bother nodding your head. Nice," he complained, pulling the gear lever, increasing the speed, his eyes fixated on the road ahead of him.
"I'm feeling good. Thanks for asking," I replied to his earlier question.
"That's not like you," he murmured, and I glanced at him in question. "Oh, I forgot to ask, do you have any idea who could have held you hostage?" he asked, and I averted my gaze back.
"I don't know them," I answered curtly. I did know that it was Mr. Creepy Stalker, but I had no idea who he was. I would rather have Dylan him out for me.
Dylan heaved a sigh. "Lying to me isn't gonna help."
"I'm not lying," I said, crossing my arm firmly against my chest.
"Whatever you say," Dylan said and kept on driving silently afterward without uttering a single word. After a while, the car came to a stop in front of Dylan's mansion.
"I thought you were taking me to your psychiatrist," I spoke up.
"She is inside," Dylan told me and got out of the car to open the door for me. "Can you walk now?" he asked in an unbelievably polite tone.
I shook my head and stepped out, only taking his hands as support, in case I felt dizzy.
"Boss, are you okay?" One of Dylan's men asked from the threshold while the others nodded.
"Yes, I'm perfectly okay," Dylan assured them and tossed his keys to someone to park it as we both went inside.
"Sir, are you fine?" Trisha asked worriedly.
"I'm fine, Trisha. Where is Sie—"
"Dylie dear, are you fine? I heard someone again planted a bomb in your car." Sienna came running to him and ran her hands over his cheeks with motherly affection, checking for any wounds.
"Sienna, if I weren't fine, I would be in the hospital, lying dead—"
"Don't you ever say that." Sienna gave him a stern look. "I was so worried about you, Dylie. Riley is just like you. He didn't explain anything. He just said 'someone planted a bomb in Dylan's car' and cut off the call. I'm going to teach him a lesson for that," she said, her voice being soothing and caring. Dylan was lucky to have a foster mother like that, yet he behaved so rudely with her. I hope he could learn someday.
Dylan took her hands in his and assured her, "Don't worry now. I'm alright, so calm down." Sienna took a sharp breath at his words. "But for now, you have to look after Shirley. She's been suffering from PTSD."
"Really?" Sienna gasped seeing the bandage around my neck. Dylan explained everything that happened to know. "Gosh, I wonder what horrifying sight she must have witnessed because of your ruthlessness, Dylie. Why did you do it in front of her?" Sienna scolded Dylan, who just shrugged.
"What else could I do? She had a knife on her throat. If I didn't kill them right away, they could have sliced her throat o—" Dylan stopped midway and shook his head, not wanting to picture whatever that was flashing in his head.
"You idiot," Sienna rebuked him and took a hold of my arm, starting to pull me along with her. "Trisha, open the door of my medical chamber."
"Dylan told me that he would take me to his psychiatrist," I let out.
"I'm his psychiatrist," Sienna replied, kind of startling me. As far as I knew, she was an actor. "I may not look like it, but I'm a licensed psychologist." She took me inside a room, filled with a few medical pieces of equipment, two single couches, dart boards, and many other things. It didn't look like it was used that much. "Dylie, go to sleep," she ordered Dylan, who had been tagging along with us. She made me sit on a chair.
"Why?" he asked.
"Just do as I say," she commanded.
Dylan gave her a look 'when did I ever start to listen to you?'. Sienna huffed and threw a bottle of tablets in his way, which he caught and started observing thoroughly.
"I didn't give you poison. These are sleeping pills. Just take one," Sienna told him.
"I don't want to sleep right now. So much is going on. Someone tried to kill me and I need to find out who did it. I don't think I can even sle—" He was cut off when Sienna forcefully made him gulp the pill. "What the h—" He was again cut off with a bottle of water, which she made him drink against his will.
"What the heck, Sienna? What did you give—" He couldn't speak anymore as he tumbled back.
"Instant sleeping pill," Sienna answered and smirked.
"You b—" Dylan was about to fall on his back, just then someone caught him.
"Gotcha, bro," Xavier exclaimed, appearing out of thin air, catching Dylan from falling.
"Take him to his room," Sienna ordered, and Xavier nodded.
"Why did you force him to sleep?" I asked once they left and closed the curtains.
Sienna turned to me and smiled. "Otherwise, Dylan might have overstressed himself and wouldn't sleep either," She replied and sat in front of me. "You know why I studied psychology?" I shook my head in denial. "It was so that I could have a better understanding of him so that I could try to feel what he feels."
"Why, though?" I really couldn't help but be curious about his family background.
"I heard from Riley that Dylan seemed rather upset, which I noticed as well. Actually," she played with her fingers, looking down. "Dylan tends to blame himself if anything goes wrong because of him. He becomes all depressed over it."
Was it regarding the hostage incident? But that wasn't his fault. It was all my fault.
"And when he tries to sleep that night, he starts digging up his past wounds and doesn't sleep at all. He never tells me anything about this so whenever I think that he might get depressed, I make him take a sleeping pill with his food. If he falls asleep, he wouldn't think about it and the next day, he wouldn't have time to think, considering he is so busy," she admitted to me in a sad tone.
My heart clutched hearing about him. Dylan must have gone through so much.
"But don't think he is crazy or something. He is perfectly fine. It's just—It's been such a long time since he suffered from this." Sienna didn't say anything for a while, just stared at her desk sadly. "Gosh, I'm such a bad psychiatrist. I'm talking about my son when there is a patient in front of me. I'm really sorry. Let's start your treatment," she said.
I closed my eyes, ready to forget everything about the horrifying incident? But would I also forget the way Dylan held me in his arms, wiped the blood from my skin, treated my scratch, and assured me that it was okay? I didn't want them to fade away, rather I wanted to cherish those little moments of his kindness.