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“Yes, ma’am. An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Please remain on the scene until they arrive if at all possible. Are you injured or in danger, as well?”
“N-no, I’m alright,” Rose answered, shaking her head.
The man on the ground breathed shallowly, the blood smear glistening on his cheek. His fingers were still curled tightly around Rose’s hand, like something in his unconscious mind had forced him to hold onto her. She knew what it felt like to be abandoned and left out in the rain, at least metaphorically, and she was determined to stay with him until he was safe.
A few minutes later, Rose heard the welcome wail of an approaching ambulance. The white emergency vehicle pulled over and a team of paramedics jumped out of the back, bolting down the alley toward Rose and the mystery man.
“Oh, thank God!” she shouted, relieved. The guy on the ground certainly did not look good, and she had been terrified that he might die holding her hand.
“Is he your husband, ma’am?” asked one of the EMT personnel.
“What? No. I found him like this.”
“So you don’t know this man?”
“No. Not at all. Sorry.”
The team carefully lifted the unconscious man onto a wheeled stretcher, his hand never releasing Rose’s.
“Uh, he’s still got my hand,” she remarked awkwardly, still unable to pull her hand from his grasp. He wasn’t letting go, no matter what. The paramedics tried to pry his fingers off of her, but to no avail and their great surprise.
“Damn. Well, he might be knocked out but he’s still got one hell of a vice grip,” commented one of the paramedics, staring with bewildered eyes.
“Do you mind riding along?” asked another one.
“Oh! Um, I guess that’s okay,” Rose replied, still flabbergasted. She picked up her purse and ran alongside the stretcher, following the team into the back of the ambulance. When the doors shut behind them, the sirens screamed and the vehicle took off down the street, hurtling toward the nearest hospital.
“Is he going to be alright?” Rose asked nervously, still gazing down at the man’s face under the dim light of the ambulance. He was remarkably attractive, with smooth tanned skin and full lips. His hair was rather short and very dark, tousled in a way that suggested its dishevelment was not just a symptom of his attack, but a regular part of his appearance. There was a shadow of dark stubble along his jaw, and he wore all black. He looked like a renegade priest, or perhaps had ties with some dangerous people. Rose shook away her increasingly dramatic imagination. He might be just a victim of a robbery gone wrong.
“His vitals are good,” replied one of the paramedics.
“What about the—the blood on his face?” she pressed, gesturing gingerly to his cheek.
The paramedic put some gloves on and took a sanitary towel and cleaned the man’s cheek, clearing away the scarlet streak to reveal the solid, unmarked skin underneath. There was no laceration there at all. He then checked him for head wound.
“The doctor will be able to tell you after a thorough examination,” the EMT said, shrugging.
“Yeah,” Rose murmured softly, peering at the man’s gorgeous face. “I’m sure.”
When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, they managed to find a gurney wide enough for Rose to wedge herself in and sit beside the man as he lay there. She felt more than a little awkward, being wheeled around a hospital, attached to this unconscious stranger like they were conjoined twins or something. But the main paramedic insisted that his vitals had improved drastically in the time they’d all spent riding along in the ambulance, and that clearly Rose’s presence had a calming effect on the patient.
Twenty-minutes later, Rose found herself perched on the bedside of an incapacitated man in a Cleveland hospital, waiting anxiously for him to wake up. The nurses had cut his shirt and jacket off of him, so that he lay there shirtless, his muscular chest heaving. They found his wallet and pulled out his identification and registered him into the system.
A resident doctor came and examined him briefly. The nurses grilled Rose again about her relationship with the man. They also tried to pry his hand off of Rose’s, but were unsuccessful. The nurses and the doctor decided to wait until he was conscious.
So Rose sat there for almost an hour, waiting. The man still held on to her and her hand was starting to cramp. She hoped her parents weren’t worried about her taking so long to get back home. With her free hand, she sent her mother a text message:
Something came up. Please don’t worry. Tell the girls I’ll be home for a late dinner. Love you.
Rose received a barrage of concerned text messages back from both her mother and father, who had a thousand questions. She sighed. No matter how old she got, her parents would always worry about her. Rapidly firing off replies, she tried to assuage their fears and assure them that all was well.
As she stowed her phone back into her purse, the man beside her groaned. Rose yelped in surprise. He was finally waking up!
“Oh God,” she muttered. “Sh-should I get somebody? Where’s the nurse?”
Just as she was frantically re
aching for the nurse call button, the man squeezed her hand and she looked back at him to see his eyes opening. Her jaw dropped.
