Chapter 161
The young man was Andrew, and when I got a clear look at the injured person's face, my heart nearly stopped.
It was James.
His face was deathly pale, his left shoulder covered in blood, his right hand pressed against the wound as blood kept seeping through his fingers.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up for a moment, then he weakly lowered his eyelids, pretending not to know me.
"What happened?" the old doctor asked.
"We ran into a wild animal in the mountains. My friend got bitten," the young man said anxiously. "Doctor, please save him!"
The two bodyguards stared at them warily, hands already moving toward their waists.
"Quick, help him inside!" the old doctor said hurriedly.
Andrew helped James in and got him onto another hospital bed.
As James lay down, he glanced at me, his eyes sending a reassuring signal.
The old doctor began treating James's wound.
"It's pretty bad, needs stitches," the old doctor said as he cleaned it. "You guys go outside and get some hot water."
The two bodyguards didn't move, looking toward Ernest.
Ernest stood in the doorway, coldly sizing up James and Andrew.
"Well, what are you waiting for!" the old doctor shouted. "You want him to die here?"
"If there's an investigation later, not only will I be in trouble, but you won't escape either."
Ernest finally nodded.
One bodyguard reluctantly went out to get water.
Taking advantage of this moment, Andrew suddenly moved.
He rushed at the remaining bodyguard, punched him in the face, and grabbed for his gun at the same time.
They wrestled together.
Seeing this, Ernest also pulled out his gun, aiming at Andrew.
"Stop!" James leaped from the hospital bed and lunged at Ernest, ramming into him hard with his injured shoulder.
A gunshot rang out.
James's body shook; he staggered, but he threw himself at Ernest, gripping him tight, and they fell to the ground together.
"James!" I screamed and tried to rush over, but the old doctor grabbed me.
Andrew had already subdued the bodyguard, taken his gun, and was pointing it at Ernest: "Don't move!"
Ernest was pinned under James, unable to move.
James was breathing heavily. He lifted his head to look at me and managed a weak smile: "Don't be scared, it's okay now..."
His left shoulder now had another bullet hole.
Police sirens grew closer, and officers rushed in, quickly taking control of the scene.
Andrew hurried to help James up.
The old doctor rushed over to treat the new wound.
"How are you?" I knelt by the bed, holding James's uninjured right hand.
His hand was ice cold.
"I'm fine..." James's face was as white as paper, but he still tried to smile. "Just a flesh wound, don't cry..."
Only then did I realize my face was covered in tears.
An ambulance arrived to take James to the big hospital in the city.
Before getting in the ambulance, he gripped my hand tightly and wouldn't let go.
James's eyes were pleading: "Don't leave, okay?"
His shoulder was wrapped in thick bandages, still bleeding. I finally nodded.
In the ambulance, I sat beside him, holding his hand.
He was a bit out of it from blood loss and pain, but he refused to close his eyes, just kept looking at me.
"Sophia..." he said softly, "now you owe me your life."
My tears fell again: "Yes... I owe you my life."
He smiled, closed his eyes, and passed out.
At the hospital, James needed to be wheeled into the operating room.
But he was gripping my hand so tightly that they couldn't pry it open no matter what.
"He won't let go of your hand, so we can't operate on him."
"Why don't you try saying something to him, get him to let go?"
I pressed my lips together and leaned close to his ear: "James, it's Sophia. I won't leave you."
"Just go in for surgery, okay? If this keeps up, you'll die. And if you die, who am I going to collect all those debts from?"
James's hand moved, and he actually let go.
The doctors rushed him into the operating room.
Although the bullet hadn't hit anything vital, he'd lost too much blood and gone into shock. Any further delay would be dangerous.
The surgery took over two hours.
The doctor came out and told us the surgery was successful, but he needed to stay in the hospital for observation for a while.
When James was wheeled out, he still hadn't woken up.
He lay quietly on the bed, like a fragile porcelain doll.
Never thought the day would come when "porcelain doll" could be used to describe James.
I sat by the bed, looking at his pale face, my hand unconsciously reaching out to smooth his furrowed brow.
He suddenly moved, but didn't open his eyes.
He kept mumbling: Sophia, don't go.
I held his hand: "I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here with you."
"Sophia." Andrew came in, saw our clasped hands, and pressed his lips together. "Don't you want to go rest for a bit? I can watch him."
Andrew placed a thermos on the bedside table: "I brought some porridge. You've been keeping watch for so long, you must be tired. Have some porridge in a bit to keep your strength up."
I'd barely slept since yesterday, and I really was exhausted.
But looking at James's bloodless face, I still shook my head: "I can't eat..."
James still hadn't woken up. I really wasn't in the mood to eat.
"If you don't eat something, how will you hold up?" Andrew sat down in the chair next to me, his voice gentle. "Sophia, have you forgotten about the baby?"
"Even if not for yourself, think about the baby."
His words hit home.
I looked down at my swollen belly.
"Okay." I gave in. "I'll go rest next door. If he wakes up, call me right away."
"Don't worry."
I got up and gently pried James's hand from mine.
His brow furrowed, but he didn't grip tight like before to keep me from leaving.
Andrew got me a bowl of porridge. I ate a few bites but couldn't eat any more, then lay down on that narrow bed. My body was exhausted, but I couldn't fall asleep.
Half-awake, I seemed to doze off, but slept poorly, my dreams full of gunshots and blood.
I don't know how long passed before I was gently shaken awake.
"Sophia, he's awake. He wants to see you." It was Andrew's voice.
I got up immediately and opened the door: "How is he?"
"Just woke up, still a bit out of it." Andrew paused. "He keeps asking where you are."
I walked quickly toward the hospital room.
When I pushed open the door, James was propped up against the headboard, his face still pale, eyes open. When he saw me come in, his eyes clearly brightened.
"Sophia..." his voice was hoarse.
I walked to the bedside, poured a glass of warm water, put in a straw, and held it to his lips: "Drink some water first."
He obediently took a few sips, but his eyes never left my face.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice urgent. "Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine, the baby's fine too." I put down the water glass. "It's you—the doctor said, although they got the bullet out, you lost too much blood. You need to rest and recover for a while."
He breathed a sigh of relief, his whole body relaxing against the pillow: "That's good then."