Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

I turned slowly, fearfully, hoping it was not who I thought it was, and my eyes fell into the captivating grey eyes of Mr. Entitled, pooling with worry and an unknown emotion. He looked cooler, though, he appeared to be a bit worn out, but he retained that his same old oh-so-sexy look.

*Why was he here? Was I dreaming still? *

Memories of that night flashed through my mind and I shook my head painfully, turning away from him. Why was he so fierce in my dream, yet looking so concerned in real life? This man is after my life. Ain’t no way he was gonna deceive me.

I could feel his grey stares piercing through my frail skin, stripping me bare to my bones. What was it about his eyes? Both lethal and calm, angel-like and demon-like, two worlds caught in one. Oh my heart!

“Then why did you scream?” I could hear his cocky voice bristle in pure mockery. I realized that my reaction to my thoughts gave him a wrong impression. And I wasn’t willing to correct it.

I wanted to ask him how I got here, where I was, why I was here.

As if sensing my confusion, he soon pacified me with his usual brute words. Usual because despite all he did to me, he still called me a slut.

“I picked you up from the streets.” *What? Picked me up from the streets!?* I glare at him in horror.

“You were hit by a car.” *Jeez! Such a poor choice of words, and oh! Suggesting that I was just a slut!*

“That was a very weird way to say it.” I murmur quietly, somehow hoping he would not hear me.

“How would you like me to say it, Miss Galena?” he had towering humor in his voice. He was mocking me in plain sight.

I turned discreetly to face him. He had his head cocked to one side with an amused look on his face.

“Who hit me?” I cockily asked.

I didn’t know when the words slipped out of my mouth. My big hazel eyes were burning with curiosity into his ashen eyes. I couldn’t read his expression. It almost looked like he was dumbfounded for once in his life.

He looked suddenly exasperated, almost nervous, and he stood up abruptly from his chair, sliding his hands into his pants pockets and drawing in a deep, sharp breath.

“Worry about getting better first.” He said abruptly, taking giant menacing strides outside the room, and gently banging the door on his way out.

My throat went dry instantly. *So he hit me?* Why does my pain have to revolve around this man? I now saw why he felt entitled to watch over me, like some dutiful god or like a kid watching a fascinating object in the rain. Soon, he’d feel entitled to making me well.

I close my eyes, trying to pacify my mind, while I heave painfully. I shoot my eyes open and I catch the slender, suited guy gazing intently at me, giving nothing away. He looked nervous and his face had gone pale like he saw a ghost.

“Hi” he muttered shyly and nervously stepped out of the room without waiting for my reply.

The doctor, I suppose, entered in immediately after him, hurriedly.

“Sorry ma’am, I’m late.” He had an apologetic look. “there has been an emergency.” He explained further.

I nodded almost invisibly. He produced a file from his scaffold.

“Galena Fields?”

I nod in response.

Soon, he was done with his ward rounds and hurried back through the door.

Mr. Entitled walked regally into the room, looking worriedly at me. He slid his hands into his pants pockets and scanned me with his eyes for a moment, then he turned his side towards me with his head tilted back and his eyes looking upward, casting me a view of his side profile.

“The Dr. said you must eat.” he paused and grimaced at the words he was about to say.

“And have a wash” he added before looking at me, as if to see my reaction. I melted beneath my clothes. I didn’t know when I rolled my eyes at him. How do I wash with both hands amputated?

“Do you have a choice of food?” his deep, heart melting voice cajoled me.

I couldn’t find my voice. I wasn’t hungry, or at least, I hated this man, why should I accept any form of “entitled” kindness from him?

“Granola and milk then!” he snapped and walked out of the room again. I think he hated being ignored. Well, that works for me.

My phone starts ringing hysterically and I can only look at the purse from where it’s ringing, but cannot reach it. I wonder what day it is as I try to wrap my head around all that has happened.

Jeez! Ethan! I gasp. He asked me to meet him. Was I too late? Oh my God! I squealed in bed, brushing my feet together anxiously. Has he told Mia? Oh no! Mia! I don’t know if I should be mad at her or worry about her finding out.

The door bursts open, making me jolt and flinch, closing my eyes tightly in the process, which makes my head hurt more. Can this get worse?

Mr. Entitled walks in, closing the door gently behind him.

“Everything okay?” his cool, stilling voice, magical and indulgent raffles across the room.

*Maybe, you should learn to be more gentle.* I scowl at him.

I swallow hard, biting my lip in frustration. His jaw clenched at my reaction, and he drew his eyes away from mine, as he stalked into the bathroom.

He was one complex being. I just couldn’t understand him. If he had hit me, why take care of me, a common slut? Or does his entitling brain tell him that he has to both torture me and heal me? Gosh! This was so frustrating.

He came back into the room, looking more relaxed, as tiny streaks of clear water doted his well sculpted and beautifully veined hands.

“Time to bath.” He announced in his deep, god-like voice without flinching.

*Wait! How was I gonna bath? Was he planning to bath me?*