Dr. Alana Geri Blair

ALANA POV

"As a surgeon for pets, let us delve into the intricacies of the procedure at hand, Lana."

Repeating the mantra to soothe my frayed nerves and preserve the gentleman's existence has become my steadfast practice. Placing my palm on his forehead, I noted the gradual rise in his temperature. With scarce resources at my disposal, I knew I had to act swiftly to prevent the infection from spreading at an alarming pace. Lacking a thermometer to obtain an accurate reading, I proceeded to scour the contents of the restroom cabinet. To my delight, I chanced upon a first aid kit replete with a handful of essentials that could serve my purpose. In the unsanitary room, there was little I could do to assist him as he required urgent medical attention.

Abe! I need him. A sense of urgency gripped me as I realized that the safety of this man was in jeopardy. I knew that I had to exercise utmost caution in order to prevent any harm from befalling him. With confident steps, I approached him and carefully examined the wound. The bullet had penetrated deeply, and as I ran my hand over the back of his thigh, I could feel no sign of an exit wound.

FUCK!

The bullet has become lodged within and I am left with no alternative but to extract it from him. Without the aid of anesthesia, and with only an iodine swab to stave off harmful bacteria and germs, the dire consequence of sepsis and potential loss of limbs loomed ominously over him.

With haste, I made my way to the landlines resting upon the nightstand. Alas, our cellular service was naught but a fleeting dream, yet the trusty landline persevered through its connection to the entire ship. Through this conduit, I was able to procure a select few items to be delivered unto me. It is a well-known fact that every ship cruise is equipped with a physician on standby and an infirmary.

As I dialed through the front desk, my mind was set on obtaining some alcohol. The essentials for any first aid kit include ibuprofen, bandages, scissors, and antibiotics.Sufficient unto my needs. As I prepared for my journey to the capital, I carefully retrieved my trusty stethoscope from my baggage. Anticipating the need for my veterinary medical expertise, I made the wise decision to bring along a select few items from my kit, rather than leaving them behind. A bespoke item crafted by my father, intended for my exclusive use in caring for my patients. The patients in question are animals, not a human beings.

As I press my ear against his chest, I sense the faint throb of his heartbeat. As an animal doctor, my expertise lies solely in the realm of animal health. Therefore, I must humbly admit that I do not possess knowledge in the field of human medicine. In such a scenario, my approach towards him would be akin to how I handle cases of pet emergencies.

In no time at all, the doorbell chimed and I hastened to answer it, eagerly retrieving the items I had ordered.

"Ms. Wyatt, are you doing well? Is medical attention required?"

I pause for a moment, considering the possibility that the physician present may be better equipped to assist him than I. Nevertheless, I am aware that it would be unwise to take such a chance. The mere presence of another individual may trigger him to open fire.

"I'm alright, just a minor cut. I have a bit of a fear of doctors, so I'll be taking care of it myself," I said, fluttering my lashes at him and employing my signature doe-eyed look that has been known to send people into a state of blissful euphoria.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his cheeks turning a faint shade of red. "Please don't hesitate to ask if you require any assistance," he said politely. As I had suspected, it indeed functions properly.

"Gratitude fills my heart as I express my sincerest appreciation for your kindness. Your presence is invaluable and I am truly grateful."

Unbeknownst to me, I engage in playful banter with him, causing him to become flustered and prompting his hasty departure. Impatient to proceed, I gave him another sly wink before firmly shutting the door and ensuring it was securely locked.

With a deep breath, I knew what I had to do. Before attempting to extract the bullet with my trusty tweezers, I carefully disinfected the wound. The projectile narrowly avoided piercing the femoral artery, coming within a mere inch of its intended target. The sight of the blood loss was alarming, and the thought of his potential demise in that very room was a cause for concern. Shall I bear the responsibility? Traces of my fingerprints can be found all over his body.

"Come on Lana!"

As I poured the alcohol onto his wound, he convulsed subconsciously, his body writhing in agony. I could only imagine the searing pain that must have been radiating through his body at that moment. The scorching sensation penetrated his skin, permeating through its crevices.As I inserted the tweezer to extract the bullet fragment, a squishy sound emanated from the flesh. With bated breath, I pray to the Almighty to prevent the bullet from disintegrating as I delicately maneuver my tweezers. The metallic clink reverberates through the air as I carefully position the tweezers once more, determined to extract the bullet in one piece. I brought it closer, examining it with keen interest.

With a sense of accomplishment, the task was completed.

Gently placing it atop a clean paper towel, I ensured its safekeeping. Once more, the wound ought to be cleansed with alcohol to ensure proper disinfection. As he started to feel feverish, I quickly took action to reduce his body temperature. I carefully laid my suture kit on the crimson-stained sheets, preparing to delicately close the wound. Prior to suturing, I meticulously flushed the area to prevent any debris from obstructing the healing process and causing potential infection. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips as he writhed in agony.

"Shhh...shhh," I whispered, pressing a towel into his hand. "Bite down on this."

As I worked, he struggled to suppress any sign of discomfort, clenching the towel between his teeth as I deftly inserted the compound curve needles from my case into his skin. His weakness was palpable, but he remained resolute in his determination to endure the procedure. Groans muffled by pain emanated from him, yet he persisted in remaining conscious despite the absence of lidocaine. After completing his task, he succumbed to unconsciousness once again. As I tended to the surroundings, I delicately nudged him aside and proceeded to replace the linens in a rotating fashion, ensuring that he would not have to rest upon the stained fabric. As I watched my hard-earned cash slip away to cover the damages, I couldn't help but think of the best way to recoup my losses. Perhaps I'll send him a bill once he's awake and alert. The opulence of his appearance was unmistakable; the mere sight of the watch on his wrist was enough to make me ponder how many years' worth of my earnings as a veterinarian it could represent.

With a gentle yet firm grip, I raise him to a leaning position. A soft tap on his face prompts him to slowly open his eyes, his gaze fixed on me. It's clear that he's searching for his gun.

There exists no necessity for such an action. With a menacing tone, I uttered the words, "If I had intended to end your life, you would have been long dead by now." Meanwhile, I meticulously prepared the required medications for his consumption.

As I gaze into his captivating eyes, I sense a fragility that renders him unable to respond. Despite his unwavering facade, his vulnerability is unmistakable. The demise of a man's pride is often the precursor to his downfall. Those were the words my father always imparted to me in the past.

I shoved the pill inside his mouth and push him to drink the water.  

The vacation I had envisioned was not meant to transpire in this manner. The intention was to enjoy oneself, not stumble into a blazing inferno. As of the moment, I am practically burnt to a crisp.

As I reached out to touch his drenched garments, I proceeded to meticulously extract each fragment with care. Even the weighty bulletproof vest he donned was not spared from my deliberate disrobing. Gratitude fills me as I observe the presence of a clamped mechanism on the side, which allows for effortless unfastening. Without the ability to cut through it with ease, I am unable to proceed. The material is expertly pleated and reinforced with padding to effectively impede the penetration of bullets.  As I tended to his wounds, carefully wiping away the blood that had stained his skin, my hand hesitated when it came to his abdomen. He stood there, clad in nothing but his boxer shorts. My chest tightened and my breath quickened at the sight of the muscular thigh. "Alana!" I exclaimed, frustrated on myself.

He possesses a level of fitness that can be described as remarkably high, almost to the point of being exceptional.I gaze upon it for a moment, marveling at the exquisite beauty that has been bestowed upon this individual by the divine. With a trembling hand, I dabbed the towel on his wounds, inch by inch. A nagging thought crept into my mind - what was I doing here? Fear should have gripped me and forced me to flee, but I couldn't bring myself to abandon him. He lay there, his body limp and unresponsive, leaving me to take charge of the situation.

A faint voice emanated from him, startling me. "Like what you see," he whispered. With a tinge of irritation, I met his smug stare.

I have had ample opportunity to witness it.

"It failed to strike me as particularly noteworthy."

I swallowed hard, concealing my apprehension. I must confess, I derive pleasure from viewing it. His abdominal muscles are sculpted to perfection, resembling a work of art. As my gaze fell upon the intricate web of ink that adorned his arm, the sight of the vein snaking through it sent a shiver down my spine. In this moment, I find myself in a state of slight inebriation and unattached to a romantic partner. As such, I must attribute any sentiments expressed to the influence of alcohol and solitude, rather than my true self. With his departure soon, it became clear that he was not one to be trusted and our paths would hopefully never intertwine again.

As I retorted back to him, his eyebrow raised in response.

With a nonchalant tone, he uttered, "You know what, you're not really my type." And with that, he shut his eyes once more.

I sat in silence, My thoughts swirling around me like a tempestuous storm.

The sudden exclamation and subsequent expression of surprise and offense suggest a lack of civility on the part of the recipient. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps it would have been better to have left him to his fate and send him back to JESUS.

I protrude my tongue and surreptitiously extend a certain digit in his direction. The intensity of my disdain for this individual is quite profound. He not only managed to spoil my vacation, but also harbors the delusion that I have feelings for him. Dream on, buddy!