Chapter 5 - THE SPASM AT 3 A.M.
The bedroom door clicked open instantly.
Emma, who was staying in the adjacent caregiver suite on overnight rotation, moved into the room with swift, practiced efficiency. She wore simple gray cotton lounge pants and a dark t-shirt, her hair down over her shoulders. She didn't hesitate or stall in the dark.
She quickly crossed the hardwood floor, moved to the side of the king-sized mattress, and climbed onto the edge of the bed.
Positioning herself beside his thrashing lower body, Emma leaned forward and braced both of her hands firmly against his thick, seizing thigh. She locked her elbows and leaned her full body weight downward, using targeted manual pressure to overcome the intense neurological spasm that was locking his muscles into a agonizing knot.
"Breathe, Desmond," Emma commanded softly but firmly, her face inches from his chest as she held his leg stabilized against the mattress. "Don't fight the muscle. Let the breath out."
Desmond’s broad chest heaved, sweat glistening on his tattooed skin in the dim blue light of the room. His icy eyes were wide, dark with frustration and raw physical discomfort.
"It... won’t stop," Desmond rasped through his gritted teeth, his fingers digging deeper into the bedsheets as another wave of involuntary tension rippled through his quad.
"It will," Emma replied, her voice an unwavering anchor in the dark room. She adjusted her grip, shifting her weight to apply firm, steady friction along his femoral tendon. "Give it ten seconds. Breathe in through your nose."
Desmond closed his eyes, taking a long, ragged breath of the cool night air. Under her steady, heavy pressure and calm guidance, the chaotic nerve firing slowly began to subside. The intense rigidity in his thigh muscle dissolved, leaving his leg relaxed and limp once again beneath the white sheet.
Desmond let out a long, shaky exhale, his broad shoulders sinking back against the soft pillows.
Emma slowly removed her weight from his leg, sitting back on her knees on the edge of the mattress. She wiped a light sheen of sweat from her forehead and glanced toward the small walnut medicine cabinet positioned beside his bed.
"You need more baclofen," Emma said, reaching her hand out toward the glass bottle containing his prescription muscle relaxants. "The current dosage isn't holding through the night."
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Desmond lifted his head slightly from the pillow, his icy eyes fixing onto her hand. "One pill," he grunted softly, still breathing heavily. "I'm not floating through tomorrow on narcotics."
Emma nodded, adjusting the dosage carefully, respecting his boundary without argument.
