HAZEL DREAM 1/4
Desperation is when morals comes loose.
How much further down shall she be dragged for her to notice the loose morals she carries on her shoulder?
It is rather obvious. Anyone could see it— not all the time, but sometimes, how the sad glow in her irises cries for help.
It is difficult to withhold her misery in absolute when she smiles brighter than her soul, unless prompted to such misery, personally.
"As you can see, this is where things become complicated." A doctor explained in monotony, pointing his pen at the X-Ray of a human brain, at a dot of some sort indicating what appears to be— brain tumor.
Valerie sat there across his desk in shock, her face morphed in terror and devastation within a second. "W-Will she…live?" She stammered, every inch of her body trembling, hugging her purse closer to her chest.
"Fortunately, if we begin the therapy now as the tumor is puny, she may have a couple of years left to prevail." The doctor continued, adding layers and layers of distress.
"She's only 67!" Valerie jolted from her seat in pure disarray, slamming her fist onto his office desk, expression torn between grief and vexation.
"Yes, but—" he stopped reasoning with her when he noticed her body trembling, her fists clenching, fingernails probably digging into her palms, marking whites.
"D-Do it!" She murmured hopelessly, biting back her pink nether lip, drawing blood.
"Uh, Valerie, we need to consult her first—"
"No!" Valerie cried, "If I consult granny, she'll refuse the therapy. She'll say she's already old, no need to waste resources on her." Upon reflecting her grandmother's words, Valerie sighed, collapsing back into her seat, calming down after a few deep breaths. She must have learned this from a psychotherapist, taking deep breaths for serenity— how often would she need serenity for her to practice it here so diligently in all crises?
"…" What was he supposed to say? The elderly wasn't his grandmother, she was Valerie's, and apparently, her only guardian left. If she perishes, Valarie will be alone with not a single shoulder to lean on, and her poor younger siblings. As her family doctor, he was disquieted by her destitute state.
"Please, doc, tell me! What is the rate of success for this procedure?" He didn't want to calculate, didn't want to make it worse, but honesty scored his vitality as a doctor. He must be honest, even if it hurts both of them.
He grasped his hands together into one ball, exhaling an emotionally exhausted snore, "85 percent." He drooped his head, pursing his thin lips, wallowing within the spread paperwork of Mrs. Hazel's X-rayed tumor. After the calculation, unable to meet Valerie's eyes. It was tricky to sketch out what kind of expression she was making in the midst of her dated silence.
"What happens to the rest of the 15 percent?" She finally inquired, voice cracked, tremulous, cursed to break down into a fountain of tears anytime soon.
God, Valerie, stop asking painful questions that would be countered by painful answers! He cannot handle it. He should lie. However, to honor Valerie, to honor her family, his duty was to explicate the littlest of details, whether or not it might ruin her right then and there.
He peeped up at her to lock their eyes, her eyes which were passive, strong, as glossy as they were from her incoming tears. It was as if she was strutting on the tightrope and it might just snap the further she strutted it. "The insurance payment," Valerie froze, and he cringed upon her reaction, as he would've frozen the same if money alone took 15 percent of his bereavement into ignominy. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"I'm…I'm not changing my mind. We're doing the therapy!" Valeria finalized, her fists were quivering like crazy.
"Where will you get that kind of money, Valerie?" As soon as he interrogated, Valerie blenched as if she had figured something out, alarming an epiphany. Should he be concerned?
"I have my ways." She rummaged her purse and fished out a burner phone, and in a haste, in her platform boots, she glanced at him once last time with a lovely and scenic grin. "And don't worry, it's not anything illegal." She then disappeared from his office, back to the seclusion of her agony, regardless, she was hopeful.
He felt icky to leave her alone in such turmoil, like he should follow her and see her out and wish her luck. So, without hesitation, he trailed after her from his desk.
When he made it to the hospital's lobby, briefly greeting the bowed multiple passersby nurses and rookie doctors-in-training on the way, he aimed for the exit, and once he was in the courtyard, he trotted around warily searching for Valerie's whereabouts and where she could wander off to, if not for the bus top, as she had no other transportation than the public ones.
After turning an uncounted corner of the courtyard, the parking zone for the disabled, where it is currently despondent, he caught a glimpse of Valerie's familiar wavy blonde locks fluttering after her as she halted her steps in front of an elaborate gray Bentley Mulsanne pulling over. How shady, with the license plate covered by a sticker or a line of tape, parked right there by the disabled lot without a care in the world for integrity.
Whose car was this? Discreet, and obstructive. Someone rich whom Valerie knew? Perhaps, Valerie's new boyfriend?
However, much to his absolute shock, the driver's door popped open, and a towering man with such a domineering aura emerged from within, sculpting on a smug and knowing smirk, journeying round the car to open the door for Valerie in the passenger seat.
Woah…a celebrity? Or not? The strain of that silken suit hugged his body so well, his macho Greek statuette body anyone could see from a mile away as modeling, six foot something.
A man of striking good looks.
His identity must require a tough deal of security, huh. To cover his license plate and park in a reserved zone, he must be hiding from the crowded parking lots. Either a celebrity or a CEO, either of those would be plausible.
The doctor thought he might let it slide, as he would understand the situation and the precatory measures the man was taking.
The man was embellished in mirrored sunglasses after all, screening half of his artificial face. Yet, the reflection of Valerie's warmed expression upon his unexpected stopover was painted there, alongside his smugness. The doctor was warmed as well upon knowing someone's comforting her, at least. A handsome one in fact, like he transmigrated straight out of a magazine. He must be Valerie's type.
A beautiful guy for a beautiful girl, huh.
She tiptoed over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a peck on the cheek as thanks before she climbed in. He slammed the door shut gingerly, his smirk flattering for a split second, then, unbeknownst to anyone, the handsome chary man turned over his shoulder and locked eyes with him.
What a fright!
Such an icy and indifferent look…
The doctor gulped, feeling shivers running down his spine, the tips of his body trembling in consternation.
Why?
He had no idea why.
The man was drop-dead gorgeous in a rather dark, brooding, and mysterious fashion. The looming bad-boy type. Nevertheless, the fear inside was something else, rather than jealousy or petty natural dominance between standard men, it was something else…something else of death.
Through those mirrored shades, he could tell those irises were piercing through his soul, which meant threatening. 'If you tell anyone about what you saw, I'll know where to find you, man in a laboratory coat.' Broadening his smirk at the doctor as if winking at him with a conclusion, he climbed into the driver's seat and curbed away at a very unsafe screeching pace with no parallel caution.
He could've hit someone.
Even so, distracted, the doctor could only care for one thing— that glare: it wasn't a challenge or a placement of ownership on Valerie. It was a threat, a fatal threat.
Why?
Why would he threaten him? He hadn't done anything deserving of the treatment, he shouldn't even know him!
No, wait, was he threatening him as a sign of pressure? Manipulating his emotional security? Those eyes of a predator about to eat his prey, the predator, and the prey…
Shit. That man was fucking dangerous.
How could it take him this long to figure out? This wasn't a puzzle game, you know! How hard was it to identify a dangerous being about to scar Valerie?!
The devil was a gentleman, indeed. Disguised itself as a human in the meanwhile…
Oh.
He had to contact Valerie STATS!