Here’s chapter 62 of the new book, Dr. Clay, I’ve been writing since NaNoWriMo 2022. Enjoy reading. Let me know your thoughts in the comment section below.
“Why did you do it?” Clay screamed after receiving a punch from Alain. When his knuckles hit his skin, he didn’t have the qualms to grab his brother’s collar and tug him as he repeatedly screamed the same question at the same speed as his hand landed on his brother’s head. He was furious. And he used every ounce of his strength to tackle Alain, a bigger man, to the ground.
He sat on top of him, locking him into his stance. He took the gun out of his hand and threw it away. He landed a punch. Another punch. And another one. And the last one. Then, he found solace. It was as if he had found the needle in the haystack. He felt a deep sense of relief. A relief tied to his gut. He lowered his head and stared back at him.
What was this feeling? He asked himself.
He spat and rubbed his forehead down to his chin. As he pulled away, he stared at his face, swollen and covered with blood. Instead of feeling terrible for hurting his brother, he felt empty. He slowly crawled away, limping. He gulped. “You should have killed me instead,” he muttered, watching Alain roll his back.
Alain spat blood as he stood, grunting. “We’re fair now.” He giggled, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped off the blood stains on his face and his neck while eyeing him. “We both lost everything.”
Then, there was silence.
And then the sirens came. And they were getting louder and louder.
Clay swiveled his head and scoffed. “I trusted you, Alain.”
“I trusted you, too. But what did you do in return?” Alain said with conviction in his voice. Loving but commanding.
Clay refused to speak, turning his back on him while watching the police coming in. He paused and watched them dragging Alain in handcuffs to the police car. His heart sank when he saw him being shoved into the backseat. After the policeman slammed the door, Alain gave him the last bittersweet look in his eyes.
Clay was becoming more hopeless, swallowed by his fear of losing Valon. He knew the areas where the wounds were critical. He was unsure if he could survive the surgery. If he would, it would be a miracle. God. When did the time run so slowly? He checked his wristwatch and watched it tick.
He sighed, ignoring everyone around him. Nothing filled his mind except for a big wish that Valon would live. Nothing else mattered to him anymore. Not his prestige as a doctor. Not being an Elizondo.
God, if he died…
Clay inhaled. Frowned.
While staring into the distance, reality struck his head. He felt betrayed, thinking life had been unfair. Valon was gone when he was ready to start over. Even as a skilled surgeon willing to play god for him, he couldn’t save the man he learned to love.
His senses returned when he saw Rafael approaching. He stood and approached him. “How is he?”
Rafael nodded and sighed. “Be glad he’s stable now.”
Clay expelled a loud sigh of relief. “How did it go?”
“You’re one lucky bastard, Clay. Because Valon fought for his life.” He paused and sighed, crossing his arms. “We tried to resuscitate him a couple of times. We all thought we had lost him during the operation. It was tricky because the bullet wounds damaged the critical areas. Though you managed to do the first-aid, he still lost a lot of blood. Still, he miraculously survived.”
“Thank you,” Clay muttered under his breath. He smiled when Rafael patted his shoulder.
“He’s going to be alright,” Rafael said.
Clay nodded.
“He’s in the ICU now,” Rafael continued while glancing at the others—Elizabeth and Agatha standing near him. “Gotta go.” He tapped his brother’s shoulder and left.
Clay went into the room and saw Valon in an unconscious state. IV lines surrounded his body. His mouth with a breathing machine.
His heart sank as he watched how this man looked so pale. The peachy cheeks were gone. When he touched his hand, it was ice-cold. His eyes ran over him, from his feet to his head. As soon as he moved his attention to his face, he couldn’t stop caressing the outlines, shoving the strands of his curls covering his face.
He sighed, lowering his head. His eyes slowly turned red as he felt choked. He wanted to lash out. Yet, at the back of his mind, doing it didn’t make sense. Even if he shed a tear, it wouldn’t be enough to see Valon open his eyes. Knowing that he was stable was enough for him reassurance. Unless he would finally wake up, there’s no guarantee he would survive.
Hours later, Albert arrived, sprinting to where his son was. After running the halls to where Elizabeth and Agatha were, he stopped.
“Dad!” Agatha ran to him, throwing him a hug. “Kuya….”
“Oh, my dear,” Albert said in his comforting baritone. Just as he stood outside the room, his feet slowed when he saw Clay watching over Valon. He gulped, trying to catch his breath while feeling the air sucked out of him. Though he looked unaffected from the outside, he felt otherwise. Imagine how terrible he must have felt watching his son grieving for the other. Let alone accept Valon was fighting for his life. And this was because of him.
He shouldn’t have meddled. He shouldn’t have intervened. He wouldn’t have to be there if he weren’t being nosy about his sons’ private lives. He wouldn’t have to feel this horrible feeling of guilt. He wouldn’t have caused this tragedy.
But who would have thought it would end like this?
As much as he wanted to stay in denial, the longer he watched Clay frowning, the longer he saw suffering in Clay’s face, the more bitter he felt. The worst thing was it was increasing. When he was too uncomfortable to stay, too vulnerable to remain stoic, he left and let Clay remain undisturbed.
Besides, he couldn’t do anything now. He was powerless.
Author’s Note:
Thank you so much for spending time reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did when I wrote this part three months ago. This chapter, in particular, reminded me of those times when I sat before my desk, seemingly prepared to type in words, but I struggled to keep it up.
It took an external motivation to get it through, and, at that time, the NaNoWriMo event was upcoming. At that time, I thought, “This could be a great opportunity to try and give this a shot one more time. You’d done an excellent job with ‘The Rival,’ so you could do it, Mecyll.”
You know, it’s easier said than done because writing a chapter with a clear intent to finish it requires more than just a skill. Since I started writing fiction, I realized how much this work demands my ability to be naked and the guarantees to answer whether I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually prepared to face my fears, conscious or unconscious.
So, being able to write this down meant I managed despite the countless times dancing around with depression and enjoying the roller coaster rides my anxiety provided me.
This is why I don’t know how to thank you for your support, regardless of the scale or contribution size, from sharing my work with others or buying my books. It doesn’t matter because, for me, every small act you show is appreciated.
Again, thank you, and have a great day!
If you like to support my writing life, here’s what you can do:
- Get a copy of “The Rival” Uncensored Gay Romance Novel.
- Check out my upcoming book, “Non-Native Speakers Only.”
- Find more writing tips on my website (i.e., content writing, freelance writing, copywriting, self-publishing, novel writing, and many more!)
Leave a Reply