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"What's your name?" I found myself asking, though I had no clue why. I didn't give a crap what his name was. He didn't need a name for me to tell him to get the hell out of the room. Not my room, but the room. Hell, it wasn't even a room, it was a prison cell.
"Dr. Brower."
"Your first name," I responded. When he didn't answer, I found myself unreasonably irritated. I shouldn't have cared what his name was, but the fact that he wouldn't tell me bothered me.
A lot.
"I need you to follow my finger with your eyes. Don't move your head, just follow it with your eyes." The man leaned back just a little and held my gaze as he put his finger up between us. He moved to his left, but my eyes stayed locked on him, not his finger. I wanted to pretend it was some kind of rebellious act on my part, but the reality was that I was completely caught up in his pretty blue eyes.
"Jett, I need you to follow my finger," the man reminded me. My body was going haywire on the inside, though I managed to keep myself quiet on the outside. For the first time in a long time, whatever current of emotion was flowing through me had nothing to do with rage. I didn't feel the need to lash out at anyone and anything. I wasn't focused on making everyone around me hurt the way I hurt.
There was only one thing I wanted. I actually found myself leaning forward. "What's your name?" I repeated, though this time I barely recognized my own voice. The man seemed startled as he truly focused on me rather than whatever physical response he was expecting.
"What's your name?" I asked again. I didn't understand the desperation that was consuming me. For the moment, I didn't care either. I wanted the man's name like I wanted my next breath. It was utter insanity, but I didn't care about that either.
"Sawyer," the man finally breathed.
"Sawyer," I said, testing the name. A strange wave of relief washed over me. But it wasn't until Sawyer's eyes dropped for the briefest of moments to my mouth that something else washed over me altogether. I knew in that instant that he was gay. Straight guys just didn't look at another man's mouth with that kind of… hunger.
Whatever spell was weaving itself between us was broken when Sawyer's phone rang. He ripped his eyes from my mouth and sucked in a breath before fumbling to find his phone. If I hadn't been so overwhelmed by my response to the man, I would've smiled at his awkwardness as he searched all his pockets. When he finally found the offending device, he took one look at the screen and then frowned.
No, not frowned… it was something else. Something… darker.
Sawyer hit the button on the side of the phone to momentarily silence it and then turned it over as if he didn't want to look at the screen anymore. He held still for a moment as the phone continued to vibrate in his hand. Only when it stopped did he tuck it back into his pocket. But just as his eyes met mine, it began to ring again.
"Do you need to get that?" I asked. It wasn’t really any of my business either way, but I felt this strange need to keep him talking. To get that look of despair off his face.
Sawyer shook his head and then reached into his pocket. He took the phone out only long enough to silence it for good before dropping it into a small black bag next to him on the floor. I hadn't even noticed it but when he pulled out some more gauze, I realized it was likely some kind of medical bag. His touch was strangely impersonal as he pressed the gauze to the injury and secured it with medical tape.
"Follow my finger with your eyes, please," he murmured, and this time his eyes didn't waver as he waited for me to follow the order. I did so but as soon as I was done, my eyes were back on his. His voice was hollow as he asked me about any potential pain I was feeling anywhere else on my body besides my head. After the ambush in Afghanistan that had taken my legs, I'd seen countless military and civilian doctors alike, so it was no lie to say I wasn't a fan. But while my instinct was to shut down and just ignore Sawyer, my brain had other ideas and I found myself hyperfocused on every move he made, every word he said. When he moved behind me to mop up the blood that was dripping down the back of my neck, I couldn't help but flinch.
