Page 6 of Their Darkest Needs
The nurse places her hand on my shoulder, her eyes softening slightly.Gotcha.
“Don’t worry, dear, it happens more often than you think after a head injury like that. She just needs time. Don’t force too much on her.”
I brush the tear away with the back of my hand, making a small sniffing sound. The nurse brushes her hand over my backa couple of times and moves over to check my wife.I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of that word either.
She winces at the touch of the nurse’s hand when she touches her arm to wake her. A pang of anger resurfaces from the small action; I should’ve knocked the fucker out to then torture him instead of beating him to death. My anger rarely gets out of hand like that, but when it comes to my little doe, it’s like I have no control over myself. Like there’s something darker that takes over, like I’m possessed or something.I should probably not use that term when explaining things to Felix.
A moan of pain leaves her beautiful lips and my cock already hardens at the sound.Down boy, this is not the moment.
I get up from what I’m sure is the world's most uncomfortable chair and go to stand next to her. She’s trying to get up, but the nurse is scolding her and trying to make her lie back down.
“You know, love, if you keep moving like that, you’ll end up here longer than necessary.” I raise my eyebrow at her and smile lazily. She doesn’t answer me at first, staring at where my sort of-boner is slightly tenting my pants.Don’t worry, little doe, you’ll get your fill soon enough.
I clear my throat, getting her attention back to my face. She scoffs, but I can see her face turning slightly red.Satisfaction fills me.She wants me.
All I can think of now is having her bent over this ridiculously small bed, so I can fill her up and mark her as mine.
“I have to pee, unless you want me to pee on this bed instead.” She's staring, throwing daggers at me. I love how ballsy she can be. There's nothing I love more than a woman who says what she thinks, I hate it when people are without a personality.
I place my arm behind her and one under her leg, swooping her up from the bed in one swift movement.
“AAAH, what are you doing?” she squeaks out in surprise while grabbing my neck like her life depends on it.
“Bringing you to the toilet. I thought you had to pee.” I move her onto the pot in the tiny bathroom—if I could even call it that—linked to her room. She glares at me, her neck and cheeks turning red.
“I’m not peeing if you keep standing there,” she tells me, crossing her arms. It’s adorable how she raises her nose a little bit when she’s mad. I’ve seen it on the cameras and from afar so many times, but seeing it up close. I can’t help the smile that pops up on my face.
“Why? What if you fall in or hurt yourself again? I don’t care if you have to take a shit. You are in pain, and you will have to do it in front of me. You're my wife. I’m just ensuring your wellbeing.” I honestly never cared about those things; it's a basic need. I never got why people always use those stupid synonyms for going to the bathroom. Why try to keep it a secret? Everyone does it.
She opens her mouth a few times, and her face is turning redder and redder with each second that passes. She looks like the most adorable tomato I’ve ever seen.
“Because it’s creepy and disgusting. Go. Away.”
I sigh and move out of the room. I really want to keep the door open, but I think it’ll only anger her, and I don’t want to fight after just being officially married.
I wait until I hear the flush of the toilet, and I knock on the door and ask if I can come back in. She grunts her answer, but doesn’t fight me when I enter and pick her back up, then tuck her into bed again.
Her eyes are sleepy and heavy, but she’s visibly fighting it. “Go back to sleep, love,” I murmur into her hair, giving her a soft kiss.
“I don’t want to miss Mara coming to visit,” she murmurs. I frown at her.
I liked her friend, and I knew it was going to hit her hard once she heard the news, but denial is not the right way to deal with it. I swallow some saliva and open my mouth, thinking about how I should word it to her.
“Babe, I know it’s hard and it's not fair on you, but she's not coming back.” She flinches at my words, small tears leaving the corners of her eyes.
“She wouldn’t leave me like that,” she sniffs. It takes a while before she finally falls asleep, her cheeks still damp from the tears. I keep my fingers tangled in her hair, massaging her scalp to comfort her.
All I can think of now is all the ways I should have killed that bastard over and over again.
The nurse is finally removing the tubes after the last checkup, I am finally released from the hospital, and I couldn’t be happier. I hate it when people constantly fuss over me, and Ryan—my stranger husband—hasn’t left my side this whole week.
His devotion to my well-being is driving me crazy, but also making me feel bad about not remembering him and for having this feeling like I shouldn’t trust him. It’s all so weird and confusing, and I just don’t want to overthink too much of it now.
It’s been a week of recovery and a week without Mara. I keep waking up hoping to see her at the end of my bed, but I only see him, and I feel so sad every time.
Not only that she's not there, but also that I’d rather have my friend there than my own husband. It’s not fair to him after all he’s done for me.
He seems excited about my discharge, saying he’s going to take care of me—as if he hasn’t been doing that already—and that I shouldn’t worry. Everything about him feels too good to be true, but maybe it’s because of this stupid amnesia.
