He looked up. Dougal was looking down at him. Dougal wasn’t sweating. He wasn’t breathing heavily. His heart rate hadn’t climbed above 80 beats per minute.
His expression remained utterly unchanged, bored almost. “You’re very strong,” Dougal said quietly, his voice a calm murmur in the quiet room. “You have good technique, but you fight like a man who knows there’s a referee to stop it if things go wrong. ” Crofton stared at the nurse, his mind frantically trying to process the data. This wasn’t happening. This middle-aged guy in scrubs couldn’t have just taken him apart like a child’s toy.
“Who What are you? ” Crofton wheezed, the bravado entirely stripped from his voice. “I’m the guy trying to keep your father alive for another 72 hours,” Dougal replied softly. “I’m the guy who’s going to change his catheter in an hour and turn him so he doesn’t get bed sores. That’s who I am. ” Dougal leaned in slightly, shifting a fraction of his weight onto the knee pressing into Crofton’s ribs. Crofton let out a sharp gasp, his eyes watering.
“Now,” Dougal continued, his tone conversational, “I’m going to let go of your arm. I’m going to stand up, and you are going to stay on the floor for exactly 10 seconds to catch your breath. Then, you are going to stand up, pick up your gym bag, and go down to the cafeteria. You will drink a cup of coffee. You will realize that the anger you are feeling right now is actually grief, and you will stop trying to hit people who are just trying to help.
Do we understand each other, Mr. Gibson? ” Crofton, trapped, humiliated, and suddenly profoundly aware of his own mortality and frailty, could only manage a frantic nod. Dougal released the lock. He stood up in one smooth motion, stepping back instantly out of range of any counterattack, his hands returning to rest easily at his sides. Crofton lay on the floor for a long moment.
The mahogany felt cold against his flushed cheek. He rubbed his numb arm, pushing himself up slowly, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. He didn’t look at Dougal. He couldn’t. The shame burned hotter than the physical pain.
