Sweeping Him Off His Feet Chapter 55: The death of Charles Donald

Charles and Augustine lay on the ground, barely conscious, their vision hazy. Through the blur, they saw a group of ard n storm into the room, guns trained on the four n.

The unbearable pain clouded Charles and Augustine’s senses, leaving them barely aware of their surroundings.

Their swollen eyes struggled to remain open, their bodies too weak to move, yet a fragile sense of relief settled in—the nightmare was ending.

Charles swallowed hard, the tallic taste of blood lingering on his tongue as he struggled to breathe, his face still pressed against the cold floor.

anwhile, Augustine, despite his own pain, dragged himself toward Charles, his trembling hands wrapping around his waist. "Hey... hey, keep your eyes open, okay?" Augustine stamred, his voice unsteady as he tightened his grip, desperate to hold Charles more closer to himself.

Augustine’s chest tightened with fear. If Charles lost consciousness, things could take a turn for the worse.

"I... I am sorry," Charles whispered, his voice weak, each word fading as if slipping through his grasp.

Augustine shook his head sideways. "Yo... you don’t have to be sorry Pookie," Augustine whispered. "I am... I am the one who should be sorry,"

Charles didn’t utter any words as his eyelid began to feel heavy.

Blood from the wound on Charles’s forehead trickled down into his eyes, blinding him.

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered shut, and Augustine’s breath caught in his throat. Panic surged through him as he stared at Charles’s motionless body.

Just as Augustine was about to scream, several n lifted Charles off the ground.

"Please... please wake him up," Augustine pleaded, his voice trembling as he watched them carry Charles out of the room.

Augustine was soon carried out of the room by a group of n and placed in an ambulance.

All through the ride to the hospital, Augustine kept asking about Charles, requesting that he see Charles first unless he won’t received any treatnt.

With no other option, as soon as the ambulance arrived at Augustine’s private hospital, he was taken out and rushed to the ergency room.

"D-Don’t... don’t treat until you treat Charles first," Augustine gritted out, his voice strained with pain.

Despite the searing agony that pulsed through every inch of Augustine, his desperation was clear. He l refused to accept care until he was certain Charles was being helped.

The doctors exchanged hesitant glances before finally carrying Charles’s motionless body into the ergency room.

Only then did Augustine stop resisting.

Augustine kept his eyes open through the pain he was receiving from the treatnt and his gaze locked on Charles, refusing to look away as he tried his possible best to ensure that the doctors were doing everything to save Charles.

’I’m never going to take my eyes off you, Charles,’ he vowed silently, his fingers twitching as if reaching for him.

Unbeknownst to Augustine, one of the doctors had already injected a sedative into his system.

Ans suddenly.... A wave of drowsiness washed over him, his eyelids grow heavier while he fought to stay awake, but within a minute, the exhaustion won.

His body relaxed, his grip loosened, and he finally drifted into unconsciousness.

****

Hours later, Augustine woke up to an intense throbbing pain in his head that made his temples pound.

A distant ringing filled his ears, as if a bell were chiming inside his skull.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut before slowly opening them.

His vision was welcod with a bright white light, prompting a scowl to form across his face as he fluttered his eyelashes.

The sterile scent of antiseptics filled his nostrils, but none of it mattered.

His first thought... his only thought—was Charles.

Augustine’s eyes flickered around the room until they landed on Derrick, who was hurrying toward him, his face lit with excitent. "Wher..."

Augustine opened his mouth to speak but his throat felt soar and it made his words trail away.

"Hold on, let get you a bottle of water," Derrick mumbled, rushing to the bedside table. He grabbed a bottle, swiftly twisting off the cap before bringing it to Augustine’s lips.

"Here, drink this," he urged, his voice laced with concern.

Augustine lifted his head from the pillow, taking a few sips from the bottle.

"Hmm... umm," he mumbled, and Derrick took it as a sign that he was done.

Derrick pulled the bottle of water from Augustine before letting out a loud sigh. "How are you feeling?" He questioned with a concerned expression.

Augustine parted his lips to speak, but before a single word could escape, Derrick bombarded him with questions.

Derrick’s voice was laced with frustration, his concern bleeding through each syllable.

"Why on earth did you fight all those n alone? And why did you go against your mom? Do you even realize..."

"De... Derrick, where is Charles?" Augustine questioned, his words cutting Derrick off from completing his phrase.

Augustine head was still throbbing and he could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him.

His mother’s betrayal, the brutal fight, and most of all, Charles lying unconscious sowhere in this very hospital.

Derrick scoffed, shaking his head. "Charles? You an your lover boy?" he probed, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

Augustine, however, remained silent, his jaw tightening.

He wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Augustine patience was thin, his body still aching, and the only thing on his mind was Charles. He stared at Derrick expectantly, waiting for answers.

Sigh!

"Well... according to the doctors, Charles didn’t make it. He died three hours ago while they were operating on him," Derrick explained, his voice laced with hesitation.

Augustine’s breath caught in his throat. His body froze, his fingers gripping the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

The world around him seed to blur, his ears ringing as if reality itself was slipping away.

"No..."

The word barely escaped Augustine lips and they weak and broken.

He had fought, endured, and bled for Charles, only to lose him in the end?

Derrick watched as Augustine’s expression shattered, his usual composed deanor crumbling into sothing raw and devastating. "I’m... I’m sorry," Derrick muttered, but the words felt aningless against the agony tearing through Augustine’s heart.

"Charles Donald can’t be dead!" Augustine spat, refusing to believe the obvious truth.