Chapter 163 In the Throes of Pain
Zachary Bailey emerged from the steamy warmth of his shower to find an unexpected visitor sprawled across his bed. His countenance shifted immediately, "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
Matthew Watson, engrossed in a high school chemistry textbook, didn't even glance up as he retorted, “She didn’t want to stay with you.”
“I have no desire to share my space with you either. If you insist on being a pest, take your place on the floor,” Zachary retorted.
Only then did Matthew divert his attention from the text, casting a casual glance at Zachary before lying down on the floor, closing his eyes, and feigning sleep.
Zachary was plagued with insomnia that night. He found himself perched on the balcony sofa, silently puffing on a cigarette as he took in the nocturnal view.
Silverton, although warmer than New York in the winter, was not without its own harsh weather. The damp chill and biting wind were unyielding. A sliding door separated the balcony from the bedroom, now closed, keeping the warmth of the heater inside. The hand clutching his cigarette was numb from the cold.
After extinguishing his cigarette, Zachary retreated to the bedroom. As he passed the vanity, his gaze fell upon the hairdryer, causing his eyes to darken.
In the depth of the night, a faint noise from outside stirred Zachary from his half-slumber. Rising, he opened the door and discovered a hunched figure rummaging through the drawers of the TV stand.
The figure's other hand clutched a smartphone, its flashlight feature activated. The hand trembled slightly, causing the light to waver. It was well past two in the morning, and the apartment complex was shrouded in darkness, aside from the weak illumination from the streetlights. Living high up, the light that managed to infiltrate Isaac's apartment was dim, barely enough to see clearly.
Zachary squinted at the figure. Her hair was in disarray, her back turned towards him, and she was clad in a familiar cream-colored fleece nightgown. It was Winona Sullivan. What could she possibly be doing at this ungodly hour?
Zachary approached her. "What on earth are you up to in the middle of the night?" His footsteps were deliberate, the slippers on his feet amplifying his presence, yet Winona was still startled.
She gasped, collapsing onto the floor, her phone clattering beside her. The flashlight's harsh white beam illuminated her face, accentuating her pallor and the large beads of sweat dotting her forehead and nose.
Zachary's expression softened as he reached out to touch her forehead. "What's wrong with you?" It was highly unusual for someone to sweat profusely in the dead of winter.
Winona, too weak to rise and with a tremor in her voice, implored, "My stomach hurts so bad. Can you help me find some medicine?"
Zachary's hand rested on her clammy forehead, feeling the cold sweat. Her skin was icy, akin to touching a slab of ice.
"We need to go to the hospital."
He scooped up the car keys from the table, bent down, and hoisted Winona into his arms. She attempted to resist, but the pain was too intense for her to even shake her head. She could only nestle into his embrace, gripping the collar of his pajamas tightly.
The cramping pains monopolized her focus; she didn't have the energy to struggle.
As he opened the door, the cold draft from the hallway made Winona shiver, jolting her somewhat out of her stupor. She nudged Zachary. "Go put on some clothes."
He was clad only in a thin silk pajama set, almost as if he was exposed.
Disregarding her suggestion, he carried her to the elevator, which arrived promptly, and pressed the button for the underground level.
Once nestled in the car, Zachary gently swathed Winona Sullivan in a fleece blanket he retrieved from the back seat. He then navigated his way around to the driver's side, started the engine, and smoothly maneuvered the vehicle out of the parking space. His arms and chest were damp with her perspiration, causing dark patches to bloom starkly against his slate-gray pajama top under the harsh glow of the streetlights.
As Zachary continued to drive, Winona curled up in the passenger seat. She spoke with a strained effort, "Hand me your phone; I need to check the GPS." Her own phone had slipped to the car floor earlier, and she hadn't managed to retrieve it.
Silverton had undergone significant changes over the years, with development cropping up everywhere. Isaac had only purchased his place a couple of years prior, and she was not familiar with this area. If she was unfamiliar, then Zachary Bailey, a first-time visitor, was undoubtedly more so.
Zachary, however, did not turn his head. His knuckles blanched and slightly protruded as he maintained a firm grip on the steering wheel. Hearing Winona's pained voice, his brows furrowed in concern. "Shut up, don't talk," he commanded.
Winona fell silent. A sudden sharp pain hit her and she immediately lost the strength to speak. She realized that Zachary had no intention of aimlessly cruising through Silverton, relying on sheer luck. Despite not being a metropolis, navigating the city would take several hours. If her luck was poor, she might succumb to her pain before they even located the hospital. She regretted not insisting on procuring some painkillers at home before embarking on this journey.
Zachary skillfully navigated the city streets, eventually bringing the car to a halt at the entrance of the city hospital. He bypassed the parking lot, opting to park outside, and swiftly carried Winona straight to the emergency room. The pain was becoming unbearable for Winona.
As a distraction, she focused on Zachary's sharply defined jawline, attempting to strike up a conversation. "Are you familiar with Silverton?" she asked, noting that he had driven straight here without any detours.
Zachary, cradling her in his arms, walked towards the triage desk. After a brief pause and a swallow, he responded with a simple, "Yeah."
"Have you been here on business before?" she ventured.
Zachary looked down at her, and just when Winona thought he would reply, he retorted curtly, "How much longer are you going to cling to me?"
A soft chuckle from a woman nearby drew their attention. Winona realized they had reached the triage desk. She was still clutching Zachary's pajama collar so tightly that two buttons had popped open, revealing his firm, taut chest. The chuckle had originated from the on-duty nurse, and everyone was observing them with a range of expressions.
At that moment, Winona couldn't afford to focus on her pain as she hastily extricated herself from Zachary. As soon as she straightened up, a severe abdominal pain caused her to clutch her abdomen in agony, her already pale face turning a shade whiter. The emergency room nurse inquired about Winona's symptoms and began to palpate her abdomen. "Does this hurt?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"And here?"
"It hurts..."
Zachary, already looking particularly ashen from worry, grew even paler at the sound of Winona's discomfort. His face hardened, and he snapped at the nurse with the fury of a tyrant, "Go easy on her, would you? A bull wouldn't stand for pressing like that. She's got a stomachache; just get her to a doctor who deals with that."
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