Scars All Over

Despite her distaste for his cold, domineering manners, Callie couldn’t stand by and watch him bleed to death.

Besides, there was a certain fearlessness in his actions, a determination to shield her from harm.

Callie sighed, giving in to her better judgment.

Suppressing the urge to leave him behind, she decided to carry him back to her place.

Despite the cool, drizzling autumn night, beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she struggled under the weight of his unconscious body.

By the time she manoeuvred him onto the bed, her face glistened with perspiration, and she was panting heavily.

But Callie didn’t allow herself much rest.

She bent down, pulling out the emergency medical kit stowed beneath the bed.

Initially, she had planned to rip open his blood-soaked shirt just as he had done to hers, but her strength failed her.

With a sigh, she resorted to cutting his shirt open with a pair of scissors.

As Callie glanced down, she was met with a sight that almost drew a wolf whistle from her.

From a doctor’s perspective, the man’s physique embodied near perfection, a testament to dedication and hard work.

His shoulders were broad and muscular, with well-developed deltoid muscles giving them a rounded appearance.

His arms showcased strong biceps and triceps, exhibiting a noticeable size and definition.

The forearm muscles were well-toned, displaying strength and muscularity.

His chest was broad and well-developed, with sculpted pectoral muscles that were firm and toned.

The abdominal region featured a defined six-pack, with an enticing V-shape tapering down to his waist.

However, the otherwise perfect body was marred by at least half a dozen scars etched across it, with a two-inch long gash below his left sternum, still bleeding.

Old wounds, now healed, but still visible, spoke volumes about the tumultuous experiences he had endured.

Callie’s eyes were drawn to a gunshot wound, a mere half-inch from his heart, a perilous reminder of how close he had come to losing his life.

The bullet must have torn right through his body, leaving a star-shaped scar both front and back.

Despite working at a hospital affiliated with the army, she had never personally treated a patient with a gunshot wound or witnessed such an injury before.

All her knowledge was limited to what she had read in medical textbooks.

Callie couldn’t fathom who had tended to this wound, but one thing was certain: even with a skilled surgeon, this man’s survival was nothing short of a miracle.

The scars raised more questions.

Within the borders of Engalia, guns were strictly prohibited for civilians.

For this man to be tangled up with folks who had firearms, he was either one of the angels—law enforcement or military, or one of the bad guys.

His ambush of her pointed the possibility to the latter, but the lack of any real harm done to her pointed to the former.

For some inexplicable reason, Callie couldn’t resist the compulsion to touch the star-shaped scar.

Her fingertips tingled from the warmth radiating from the man’s chest, as a fever coursed through his body.

The man was an enigma.

How did he end up with such a severe abdominal wound, likely made by the tip of a sharp dagger?

Who were those assailants after him, and why?

A barrage of questions swirled in Callie’s mind, her suspicions growing with each passing moment.

Despite her doubts, though, Callie’s duty as a doctor overrode any judgments.

Regardless of his past, she was determined to do her best to treat him.

She brushed aside thoughts of his identity, focusing on her role as a healer.

With steady hands, she applied a clean gauze to the bleeding gash, desperate to stem the flow of blood.

The pain from her action failed to rouse the unconscious man or elicit even a groan, but his hand instinctively gripped her wrist with a strength that felt capable of crushing her bones.

Callie winced, but didn’t pull away.

She continued to apply pressure to his wound, determined to save his life.

Only when she removed the blood-soaked gauze did he release his grip, allowing her a brief respite.

Massaging her sore wrist, Callie continued her task, threading a needle and skilfully stitching up the wound.

Luckily, the man remained still this time, allowing her to swiftly close the wound and wrap it with a bandage.

Exhausted, Callie slumped against the edge of the bed, gazing at the unconscious stranger.

He had a handsome face, but she was in no mood to appreciate its striking masculine beauty.

‘You had the nerve to assault me and ruin my clothes!’ Her voice, hoarse with fatigue, held a mix of annoyance and weariness. ‘If you weren’t injured and passed out, I’d send you straight to the police!’

Her body ached from the ordeal of carrying a man twice her size and treating his wounds.

Callie couldn’t fight off the urge to rest any longer and soon succumbed to sleep, her weary body finding solace on the edge of the bed.

***

The moment dawn broke, Elias jolted awake, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the unfamiliar sight of pastel pink walls.

A touch to his bandaged abdomen confirmed that someone had tended to his wound.

Turning his gaze, he discovered Callie slumped against the bed, sleeping soundly.

Her breaths were even, and her long lashes fluttered with each inhale.

There were dark circles under her eyes; last night’s events must have drained her.

Without any makeup, her lips, slightly swollen, retained a captivating cherry-red hue, enticing him to lean closer and steal a taste.

In slumber, her face lost the guardedness she displayed when awake, revealing innocence and vulnerability.

She must have foregone involving the police, instead taking it upon herself to nurse him back to health.

Which was just like her, Elias thought with a smile.

She was the kind of woman who would go out of her way to save a stranger, just like she did the first time they met.

Scoundrel Supreme

Elias’s eyes zeroed in on a dark bruise marring her pale wrist.

It was a stark reminder of the pain he had caused her unintentionally, when his mind was fogged by agony.

Elias touched her wrist, feeling guilty.

Though she didn’t recognise him, he remembered her very well.

He couldn’t resist the urge to caress her lips gently, savouring the memory of their sweet taste from last night.

But his touch interrupted Callie’s peaceful slumber, and she responded by biting down on his finger in annoyance.

Surprisingly, the sensation sent a jolt of arousal through Elias, his body instinctively responding before his mind could process the complex mix of emotions coursing through him.

Reluctantly, Elias withdrew his hand.

He got out of bed and stood.

She was still wearing the same blouse from the night before.

Its back was ripped open, exposing her fair skin to his view.

Elias swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, a difficult task.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a little exasperated.

In her eyes, he was but a stranger.

Did she always let down her guard like this in front of strangers?

Baffled by her audacity, Elias frowned, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her rest.

Gently, he lifted her and settled her comfortably onto the bed, draping a cute quilt with little pandas over her.

Her petite frame felt light as a feather in his arms.

Glancing at the drizzle outside, Elias knew the rain last night had likely erased his tracks and thrown off his assailants from the Misehell Organisation.

Yet, he couldn’t stay here.

Her safety was at risk if he lingered.

Just as he was about to leave, a photo frame sticking out from the trash can caught his eye—a picture of Callie with another man, leaning into his arms, looking radiant with joy.

A feeling Elias had never experienced surged within him, and he longed to know what it was like to be genuinely happy like that.

With a final look at Callie, Elias left, closing the door gently on his way out.

***

Callie awoke in a daze, only to find herself in her own bed.

The stranger was gone, leaving her both puzzled and relieved.

But something bothered her more—how had she ended up on the bed, covered with the quilt?

She couldn’t remember doing that herself, which meant the stranger must have done it.

As she pulled away the thin quilt, she realised the sorry state of her clothes, barely hanging onto her body.

Her frustration grew at the realisation that the stranger might have seen her nearly n*ked.

‘Ugh! I’m never buying anything from that online boutique again!’ Callie ground her teeth, furious.

Why were her clothes so easy to tear, while his seemed indestructible?

Right then, Callie’s phone rang, jolting her from her thoughts.

Callie dug around the pile of quilts until she’d unearthed her phone.

‘Hey, Cece, I’ve set up a blind date for you. You better go and give it a shot!’ The voice on the other end belonged to Lily Hartwell, Callie’s best friend and a B-list actress.

‘Hey, Lilypad!’ Callie made a valiant effort to change the subject. ‘So, what exotic location are you off to this time for your ad shoot? Can you hook me up with some freebies? I need them for the orphanage—’

Lily cut her off with a booming voice, ‘Quit dodging the topic, Callista Hawthorne! I’ve set you up on a blind date. You better show up, got it?’

Callie yawned and grumbled, ‘Lily, seriously? I’m only twenty-five. Why do you always act like my mom and meddle in my love life?

‘If I had a clueless daughter like you, I’d give her a good shake.’ Lily’s words dripped with sarcasm. ‘How can I meddle in your love life when you don’t even have one?’

‘I had one,’ Callie protested.

‘Notice the use of past tense.’ It sounded like Lily was grinding her teeth. ‘That jerk Simon cheated on you, and now he has the nerve to invite you to his wedding. Don’t you think it’s time to show him what he’s missing? Going alone would be admitting defeat. Not going is even worse, and I know you’re better than that.’

Simon…

The name brought on a fresh wave of pain Callie thought she had long put behind her.

Simon Moncrieff was her colleague at Rosedale Hospital and her boyfriend for three years.

Well, ex-boyfriend now.

He also held the dubious title of ‘jerkwad,’ in Lily’s words, which had been upgraded to ‘Scoundrel Supreme’ status after he broke up with Callie, betraying her trust by having an affair with the hospital director’s daughter.

The wounds were still fresh, but revenge wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

Callie struggled to find the right words, but Lily seemed pressed for time. ‘Listen, I have to go now. I’ll have my assistant send you the details for the blind date later. You may act tough, but don’t think you can hide under your covers and cry just because I’m out of town. Stay strong, my girl!’

With that, she abruptly hung up, leaving Callie with teary-eyed frustration.

How did Lily always manage to see through her defences when she wasn’t even in the room?

Callie fell back into bed, staring at the ceiling.

She had turned down other blind dates in the past, but this time, she couldn’t refuse.

It was Lily’s way of looking out for her.

***

Time marched on.

The enigmatic stranger from that fateful night had vanished without a trace, as if he were a figment of Callie’s imagination.

Her demanding work as a surgical resident left her no room to dwell on him anyway—morning rounds at 6:30 am, assisting in surgeries from 7:30 till 11:30, afternoon clinics and consultations from 1 pm, then afternoon rounds at 3:00, followed by medical conferences at 5:00…

Meanwhile, Simon and Abby, his fiancée, seemed to revel in flaunting their relationship in front of Callie.

Critical Condition

Callie made a conscious effort to focus on her work, refusing to engage with Abby’s taunts.

At least she had the satisfaction of not giving Abby the reaction she desired.

But fate had a way of throwing unexpected challenges her way.

One day, after finishing her gruelling morning shift, Callie was looking forward to heading home and catching some shut-eye.

Just as she was about to change out of her white coat, she received an urgent notice, summoning her back to duty.

The hospital had received an order from the military, requiring all available doctors to attend to a group of patients.

These were no ordinary patients—they were soldiers wounded in a daring mission, their injuries severe and their lives hanging by a thread.

The army made it clear that every effort must be made to save them.

Callie hurriedly donned a pristine white coat and dashed into the bustling emergency room at Rosedale Hospital.

Inside, she found a total of nine patients being triaged.

Four soldiers were in critical condition and required immediate surgery, while the remaining five faced less severe injuries.

Simon was there, issuing instructions to nurses to wheel two of the four critically wounded soldiers into an operating theatre.

Abby was by his side, seemingly ready to assist.

Simon, already stretched to the limits by taking on two surgeries, couldn’t handle the load alone.

Meanwhile, the other board-certified surgeons were still on their way back to the hospital.

Callie, though just a fifth-year surgical resident, had to step up.

Simon’s voice was grave as he addressed Callie, ‘Dr Hawthorne, you’ll have to do this without an attending surgeon. Can you handle it?’

‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ Callie was already checking on the third soldier in critical condition, getting him prepped for surgery.

‘I’ll leave it to you, then.’ Simon jogged off towards the suite of operating theatres.

‘What about the fourth one?’ a nurse asked anxiously. ‘He won’t last long out here.’

The soldier was lying on a gurney.

One glance told Callie that he was suffering from penetrating thoracic trauma.

His chest and possibly his lungs were punctured by a sharp object, likely a projectile.

His breathing was becoming increasingly laboured.

‘Just keep him alive for as long as you can,’ Callie said to the nurse. ‘Control external bleeding, if any. Try emergency decompression if you see signs of a collapsed lung. I’ll come and get him after I’m done with my patient, or hopefully one of the other surgeons will have come back by then.’

Abby interjected, ‘Dr Hawthorne, there isn’t enough time to wait for either you or the other surgeons. We have to operate on him right now, or he dies. How about I take him?’

‘You?’ Callie felt her temples throbbing at Abby’s ridiculous request. ‘You are a first-year resident, practically just out of medical school.’

‘So what?’ Abby raised her chin. ‘You are a resident as well.’

‘I’m fifth year, and I’ve performed almost two hundred supervised surgeries. If I remember correctly, that number for you is…what, two, three? All I can recall is it’s a single digit.’

Abby opened her mouth, about to retort, but Callie cut her off. ‘Just stay here and keep an eye on Number Four. Monitor his condition. Stop the bleeding. Administer pain relief if needed. And I hope you still remember how to perform an emergency decompression. Brief the other surgeons once they’ve arrived.’

Then she dashed off into Operating Theatre Two, where patient Number Three was already prepped and waiting.

Abby shot a venomous glare at Callie’s back.

How dare that woman call her incompetent?

And in front of so many other people?

She was the hospital director’s daughter.

So what if she was just a first-year resident?

She practically grew up in a house full of doctors!

She’d show that woman that age and experience meant nothing!

Abby scoffed, turning to the nurse by her side, Wendy, and ordered brusquely, ‘Fetch me a set of scrubs. I’ll perform Number Four’s surgery.’

‘Um, Dr Colman, Dr Hawthorne explicitly said that...’ Wendy, aware of Abby’s position as the director’s daughter, tried to reason with her. ‘You can’t perform the surgery without the permission of a supervising surgeon.’

‘I can’t?’ Abby sneered, her tone laced with derision. ‘Wendy, do you even know what you’re talking about? If I say I’ll do it, then I will. I’ll take full responsibility for the operation. Enough with your nonsense, come and assist me.’

As a seasoned nurse, Wendy understood the impropriety of the situation, but then, she had limited power compared to Abby, who could get her fired with just one phone call to Director Colman.

Reluctantly, she helped Abby change into a set of scrubs, and they entered the third operating theatre together.

Abby confidently took charge of the surgery on the anesthetised soldier.

To her, the emergency thoracotomy wasn’t that challenging.

Though she had not personally performed one before, she had watched plenty of training footage.

With a scalpel, she made a midline incision on the patient’s chest wall, then gained entry into the thoracic cavity with a pair of retractors.

She evaluated the lung injuries, deemed them to be manageable, and confirmed her suspicion that Callie’s denial of her request to perform the surgery stemmed purely from personal bias.

She was doing fine, wasn’t she?

Wendy stood by her side, watching with bated breath, handing her the necessary instruments as they were needed.

The surgery progressed relatively smoothly.

Despite some minor flaws, Abby managed to stop the internal bleeding and repair the lung lacerations.

However, just as Wendy began to relax, bright red blood squirted from the patient’s open chest, splattering onto Abby’s face and hands.

Abby gasped, feeling the warmth of the blood against her skin despite the protection of the mask.

The patient’s face rapidly turned pallid, his breath growing shallow and rasp-filled.

‘Dr Colman!’ Wendy’s voice trembled as she observed the alarming drop in the patient’s vital signs on the monitor. ‘His blood pressure is plummeting! Heart rate’s spiking! He’s in severe tachycardia! We have to stop the bleeding!’