Drawn Blood, A Broken Promise

Eliza POV

Three days later, still physically fragile but with a hardened resolve, I was completing the discharge paperwork.

My steps were slow, my body protesting with dull aches, but my mind felt eerily clear.

I just wanted to leave this place, leave this city, and leave behind every memory tainted by Blake.

As I approached the main lobby, a sudden commotion erupted.

A gurney, pushed at a frantic pace, careened around the corner.

On it lay Kourtney Murphy, her face pale, a nurse running alongside.

Trailing directly behind them was Blake, his usually impeccable scrubs disheveled, his hair askew.

He looked frantic, his eyes wide with a desperate urgency I had rarely seen, even during his most demanding surgeries.

He didn't see me, his gaze fixed on Kourtney and the medical team.

He was barking orders, his voice strained with panic.

"STAT! Get her to OR 3. We need blood, Type AB negative, immediately! She's bleeding out internally!"

The urgency in his voice was chilling. I knew AB negative was a rare blood type. My rare blood type.

A harried nurse rushed up to him, a tablet in her hand.

"Dr. Burch, we've checked the blood bank. There's no AB negative in stock. We've put out an emergency call to other hospitals, but it will take time."

Blake's face crumpled in despair. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting wildly.

That's when his frantic gaze swept over me, and he froze.

His eyes, for a split second, registered recognition, then a flash of desperate calculation.

It was a look of pure, unadulterated need, devoid of any past affection.

He strode towards me, his hand reaching out, gripping my arm with surprising force.

"Eliza," he rasped, his voice raw. "You're AB negative, aren't you? You have to donate. Kourtney needs your blood, now!"

My mind reeled. The audacity, the sheer nerve.

He was demanding I donate my rare blood, after I had just undergone an abortion, to the very woman he had flaunted in my face.

The woman he had introduced into our marital home.

"Don't tell me you're still following me around, Eliza," he snapped, accusingly, tightening his grip.

" Trying to make a scene? This isn't about us. Kourtney is truly in danger."

I tried to pull my arm away, but his grip was unyielding.

"I'm not following you, Blake. I was just being discharged." My voice was a shaky whisper.

"And I can't donate blood right now."

He ignored my words, dragging me towards the emergency entrance.

"She's losing blood rapidly, Eliza! You're a doctor, you understand this. Her condition is critical. You're the only one who can help her right now!"

He kept pulling, his strength overwhelming my depleted body.

"How do you even know my blood type?" I demanded, a desperate, almost pathetic hope flickering within me.

Was there a part of him that remembered? A part of the old Blake that still knew me, cared for me?

His eyes narrowed, impatience clouding his features.

He yanked a blood drawing kit from a nearby cart.

"Six years, Eliza! We were together for six years! Of course I know your blood type! Don't be ridiculous. Stop stalling. This is an emergency!"

He uncapped the needle with a practiced, jerky movement. The sight of it, glinting under the lights, sent a fresh wave of nausea through me.

"Blake, I can't," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "I just had an abortion. I'm not medically cleared to donate."

He froze, his hand hovering with the needle.

His eyes, typically so calm and calculating, flared with a savage anger.

"What did you say? An abortion? You're lying! You're making this up to get out of helping. You're refusing to save a life, Eliza? Is that what our years together taught you? To be so heartless?"

He was twisting the narrative, painting me as the villain, even now.

"This is why I don't love you, Eliza. This cold, selfish streak. Seeing someone die when you could help?"

In that moment, a chilling clarity washed over me.

He had never loved me. Not the real me.

He had loved an idea, a reflection of himself, a convenient partner.

The man standing before me was a stranger, capable of unimaginable cruelty.

Before I could react, he forced me onto an empty gurney, strapping my arm down with practiced ease.

The needle pierced my vein, cold and sharp. I cried out, struggling against the restraints.

"Blake, no! Don't do this!"

He ignored my pleas, grabbing a syringe from the tray.

"Just relax, Eliza," he muttered, injecting a clear liquid into my IV line.

"This will help you calm down. You're being irrational."

The world blurred, my resistance weakening.

As the sedative took hold, his face swam into view, distorted and menacing.

"Don't worry, Eliza," he slurred, a grotesque parody of reassurance.

"I'll still marry you on our wedding day. Consider this... a testament to your loyalty. A small inconvenience for our future."

The words were a jumbled mess in my fading consciousness, a final, sickening insult.

I felt the steady pull of my blood leaving my body, drained for the woman who was replacing me, in the hospital where I had once dreamed of a future with him.

My vision faded, replaced by the crushing weight of utter despair.

My spirit, already battered and bruised, finally broke.

When the world sharpened into focus again, the gurney was rolling, but this time, it was Blake pushing me.

We were outside Kourtney's operating room.

He roughly deposited me against a wall, then turned and pushed the door closed, shutting me out.

A raw, guttural sound tore from my throat.

"We're even now," I gasped, the words barely audible, but filled with a venomous finality.

My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor, the last of my strength abandoning me.

Darkness consumed me.