“Nivianne needs help,” the secretary hissed, eyes all wet and very useful. “She’s screaming, she says her hand’s useless. One of the ER doctors is with Mr. Gu’s son already and the other—” She looked at Wilbert like she was waiting for a crown. “We can send someone, but it’ll be at least thirty minutes.”
I saw it in his face then. That split second where he weighed my soaked, broken body against the idea of his favorite doctor losing her hands. He hesitated. I could see gears turning like he was choosing which piece of meat to save.
My mouth wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was. Here I was, bleeding out, and he was thinking about a hand. I tried to force a smile and my lips barely moved. The blood kept coming and I felt myself drifting.
Nivianne’s voice suddenly cracked through the noise, thin and perfected. “W-wilbert, please. I am a doctor. My hands are my life. If my hand is ruined, I’m finished. Please, save me. I’m so sorry, I should have died today, I was lucky to escape.” She sounded like she meant it. She sounded like she was sobbing on cue.