You can view Part 1 by clicking this post: Elevator Guy
I wake up squinting to white lights and the smell of antiseptic. White light. Antiseptic. Some red strap is binding my left wrist. Okay… It must be one of those times where I had a panic attack. I relaxed in the hospital bed. Sighs.
Slowly, the horrible moments before my blackout emerged in my head. Nooooooo.
I tell myself: Relax, it’s just a dream. How can hot elevator guy be real?
A husky voice interrupts my self-talk. “Oh, and she is finally awake! How are you feeling, Miss?” I almost jumped out at the realization that it was not a dream, that elevator guy was in fact, primary witness to my humiliating collapse.
There he was, all muscle and brown eyes and perfectly chiseled nose. He looks larger here than when we were in the elevator, with his face so close to mine. His breath smells like peppermint and I find it hard to continue breathing in the same space with this much proximity. I wanted to say Thanks. This is not my usual grind. I only managed to blink and hold back a cat-like cough or mewl that is embarrassingly dying to fly out of my mouth. More peppermint is going to make me faint.
I mentally restrained myself. Don’t. Do. Anything. Stupid. Now. It’s quite embarrassing to note that he even has the caramel smooth complexion that Europeans are usually trying to achieve when frequenting Philippine beaches. And I noticed it despite my woozy feelings from fainting in the elevator.
He scrutinized me, like I was some sort of intriguing line of code in his Git repository, an anomaly to an otherwise normal elevator ride.
While he was feeling my forehead and checking the syringe, I took the chance to slightly examine him from the corner of my downturned eyes. I had to look somewhere else so as not to collapse again. His hair looks quite nicer, up close. It did not have the hard gel that make other guys’ hair look like pointed and painful spikes. It was just naturally laid down to frame his face. I surmise that he looks more of an artist than a programmer. But what do I know about programmers, anyway? I resisted the urge to run my hands through his hair.
He looked down and he caught me staring. I was left a bit open-mouthed for a moment. I was going to drool and I will wish the ground to swallow me up permanently.
The nurse cleared her throat and he immediately backed off to the side of the bed. She took my pulse and asked me how I was feeling. I’ve always hated nurses but this one really saved me from a mortifying moment.
“I… I’m fine.”
I lied. Truth be told, I was actually panicking with the presence of an ultra hot guy while I am in a very medically compromised position. I bet my hair has taken a mind of its own and is in complete disarray. I dread to imagine if I had dried drool on the side of my lips, like I usually do when I pass out after a panic attack. I try not to think any further in an effort to thank my handsome savior and compose myself, or whatever dignity was left of me at the time. The nurse stepped out with a very smug look about her, typical of compassion fatigue besetting most overworked medical care workers.
“Thanks for taking me to the hospital. I am really sorry.” I looked at him, half-flinching in case he flashes that blinding smile of his. I try to steel myself as he responds.
“Well, this is not exactly the best place for introductions. But you’re welcome and my nickname is K.D. The first name is King., in case you are wondering” He extended his hand and raised his eyebrow at my half-grimacing face, prompting me to answer back.
“”Isis,” I managed to blurt out as I sighed out. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Isis Fuentes. K.D. is an… interesting name.” I managed to say.
He crinkled his nose at the name reference. “My parents are Bible buffs so they decided to name me after a psalmist, King David. I wish I had a very archeologically nice name like yours.” he explains. Then he chuckled, peals of angel laugh disconcertingly inappropriate in an emergency room. “Oh, yeah, I got your full name and other details while you were passed out. I’m sorry for going through your things, I had to take a look at your wallet to fill out the form. I also called your sister, who is already on her way, I think.”
“Oh. That’s okay.” For the second time in the span of five minutes, I lied. I was actually horrified and mentally recalling if I left tampons or that stupid Spongebob kiddie coin purse beside my wallet. His look did not betray any discovery of my SpongeBob frenzy.
A moment of silent awkwardness ensued. Strangely, this was not my first hospital visit or emergency room trip but K.D.’s presence made it all like a brand new experience. While I silently ruminated on the horrible things I stupidly have in my shoulder bag, he was just as clueless as I was on how to proceed.
Fortunately, as if on cue for a teenybopper show episode, I saw the familiar face of my sister Ivy.
“Isis! Oh my goodness!” She rushed to me and halted at the sight of K.D. “Ooooh. Okay. You were the guy who called me, right?” she pouted her lips a little, the way she usually does when she sees a cute guy. “Funny. Isis never mentioned every having a boyfriend…” she trailed off, emphasizing the last word.
“Oh, no. We were just actually in the same elevator.” K.D. ran his hands through his hair nervously. Something about the word boyfriend suddenly made him stiffen up. I mouthed “Shut up!” to Ivy while K.D. looked down and checked his phone. It was a neat Google Nexus. Not a Mac fan but adores good specs. This guy really knows his gadgets, I thought admiringly.
Ivy shrugged her shoulders, with a mischievous grin that indicates how long I will suffer her teasing about this incident.
K.D. looked up and settled into a smile, but it was not as wide or as relaxed as it was before Ivy arrived. “Well, now that you’re here. I guess I can take off.” He nodded to Ivy politely and looked back at me. “Feel better soon, okay?” He said warmly.
I memorized every line that outlined his face and gazed back at his perfect chocolate brown eyes. And I said, “Okay, thanks again K.D.” I tried to mask the sadness. I will not be seeing this stranger again. Forget that I looked like shit and all that.
Something in his eyes seemed impenetrable. He winked and said, “Hope to see you in better shape sometime, Miss Fuentes. You hold the throne for intriguing panic attacks.”
I smiled at the mythology reference and froze for around 10 seconds.
“Likewise, Mister…” but I trailed off because he was already stepping away.
And ugh. I did not get his last name.
But something about his look made me a bit hopeful that this was not going to be the last time.
Or maybe it was just a concussion from my elevator fall.
I hear my sister Ivy sniggering in the background. And that dispelled my hope into elevator guy, back into the reality that she will tease me ceaselessly about how I fainted in the presence of a hot, mocha-colored guy.