Chapter 372: Darcy, Micah, and the World’s Worst Doctor
Inside the room, Micah was alone with Silas. The air felt heavier without Darcy’s presence. Micah’s mind, still fogged from pain and exhaustion, began to piece together fragments of what had happened. He remembered the street, the fight, the fall.
He guessed, with a dread, that Silas had been the one who found him. Of course. Silas was a doctor. And he knew Micah was the Ramsy heir. That status alone might explain why he had bothered. But if Silas’s intention had been to help, why not call an ambulance? Why bring him here, to this unfamiliar, suffocating place?
Right. Silas didn’t care about him. He probably wanted to drag Darcy here, collecting some brownie points.
Micah’s mouth felt dry. His tongue darted over cracked lips, moistening them just enough to speak, but he couldn’t bring himself to thank the man. Even so, when he finally lifted his gaze toward Silas, he nearly flinched.
The man’s eyes were on him, cold and clinical. The intensity of that stare was suffocating, as if Silas were peeling layers of skin just to see what lay beneath. Micah’s body gave an involuntary shiver.
Silas opened his mouth. "Chest pain? Headache? Shortness of breath? Dizziness?"
Each word was crisp, listing like he was reading a checklist rather than speaking to a human being.
Micah shook his head faintly with every question, movements small and timid, avoiding those cold eyes.
"Just nausea?" Silas asked finally, his head tilting ever so slightly.
Micah nodded once, slow and stiff.
Silas stepped closer. His hand reached out slightly.
The subtle movement made Micah flinch. He instinctively recoiled, his body tensing.
Silas paused, observing the reaction with an unreadable expression. He neither apologised nor softened; he simply pointed to the nightstand. "I want to take the stethoscope to listen to your lungs and heart," he said coolly. "You probably have a broken rib."
The words were delivered flatly.
Micah’s eyes darted sideways, spotting a neatly arranged medical equipment on it. He gave a stiff nod.
Satisfied, Silas stepped forward at last. He pulled out a surgical glove and slowly put it on.
Then, he picked up the stethoscope, placing the rim onto his ears. But before Silas could lean in, the door opened abruptly.
Darcy returned, a glass of water in his hand. He rushed forward, crouching at Micah’s side, his worried eyes softening when they met Micah’s. He quickly lifted the glass to his lips.
"Don’t let him have too much. Just moisten his mouth." Silas ordered sharply.
Darcy stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he still complied. He tipped the glass just enough to wet Micah’s lips. The cool water touched his parched mouth. "Thanks," he whispered hoarsely. His swollen face shifted into something faintly resembling gratitude as he looked at Darcy. His cheek stung with every small movement.
Silas gave Darcy a look. "Step aside."
Darcy hesitated, his reluctance written all over his expression. With a low exhale, Darcy moved out of the way.
Silas pulled the blanket back with cold efficiency. The latex gloves on his hands were icy against Micah’s bruised skin, making him flinch with every touch. Silas didn’t acknowledge it. His focus was dispassionate and unsympathetic.
He pressed the stethoscope’s diaphragm on Micah’s heart, listening intently. Then he shifted it sideways, then higher on his sternum. "Could you move to the side?" he asked, not bothering to help.
Micah winced, teeth gritting, but obeyed, shifting his broken body inch by inch. A hiss escaped him as pain stabbed through his ribs.
Darcy’s hands reached out, wanting to assist him, but Micah shook his head. Just holding Darcy’s hand while under Silas’s cold eyes felt like losing half of his life. What if Darcy touched him more? He feared the consequences.
Silas slid the head of the instrument to Micah’s back, his tone clipped. "Deep breath in. Exhale. Again."
Micah complied, though each inhale felt like knives stabbing into his chest. Sweat beads at his temples, his body trembling with effort.
Micah felt as though he were dying.
At last, Silas put away the stethoscope. His eyes flicked briefly toward Darcy, then back to Micah. "He needs an X-ray."
"No shit? Then why did you bring him here instead of the emergency room?" Darcy retorted.
Micah raised his hand, fingers twitching.
Darcy looked at him, expression softening. "What is it?"
"What time... Is it?" Micah whispered.
"12:30 am," Darcy said, leaning closer.
"My family..."
Darcy paused, looking at Silas.
Silas gave a short shake of his head. "I didn’t have their contacts," he said, his voice dismissive. Then, without another word, he turned and strode to the door, slipping out without a backward glance.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Outside, Silas paused in the corridor. He drew a black glove from his pocket. It had small dried blood on its fingertips. He brushed it with his hand, feeling no disgust. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Meanwhile, inside the room, Darcy leaned down, whispering. "Mr Clyde called me. He sounded worried, asking about you. I didn’t know at that time that you were here. If you want, I can lend you my phone..."
Micah shook his head faintly, his silver hair brushing the pillow. "Call my mum first."
Darcy nodded, pulling up his phone. He dialled the number Micah rasped to him. The line was connected.
"Hello? Who is this?" Elina’s sharp voice cut through, full of tension.
"Mum, it’s me," Micah said, his throat tight.
"Micah? Where are you? Why didn’t you answer our calls? Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Her voice rose with each word, the edge of panic sharpening. "Driver Dan said you went inside a bar for three hours! What the hell were you doing there? Why are you calling from this number?"
"Mum, sorry. I lost my phone in the bar. I just called to say I’ll crash at my friend’s home tonight. Both of us are drunk." Micah managed to sound normal. "Don’t worry about me."
"Don’t worry? You brat! Your damn stomach is ruined! And now you have gone drinking?" Elina’s voice exploded through the receiver.
Micah winced, pulling away the phone from his ear and sighing silently, then pressed it back, his voice low and sad. "Sorry. I was upset at the party... let me cool off a bit...okay?"
Elina paused. She didn’t know what had happened, but she had seen Willow’s stressed face earlier. Her tone softened slightly. "Fine. Tomorrow we’ll talk," she said and ended the call.
Micah let the phone fall onto the blanket, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
"Why don’t you tell them the truth?" Darcy asked, frowning.
Micah turned his head slightly, his hazel eyes dull with exhaustion. "Let them have a good night’s sleep," he mumbled.
Darcy pressed his lips together, looking at the beaten-up Micah on the bed with complex emotions in his eyes.
He was a wreck. Who had done this to him? Why had he fought with them? He opened his mouth to ask, but held back again. If Micah wouldn’t even speak to Clyde... then what chance did he have of getting answers?
He was here... but not by Micah’s choice.