Watching Chloe pass out was a twist to the jagged knife in the gut that was this entire ordeal. Oleg did not care about his own pain. That did not matter. It was worlds away from mattering. The guilt he felt was a burden he would struggle to bear, but right now he pushed past that. There would be time to wallow in it and to beat himself up and to be lost in the desire for punishment later on. He took some of Chloe's clothes - she kept lots here, it seemed - and dressed her in something loose and easy to put on. Sweat pants and a loose shirt. At any other time, seeing her naked body would be Oleg's greatest dream come true, but now he could scarcely look at his skin without feeling a pang in his gut from how badly he had failed her. Lifting her up in his arms, Oleg carried her, carefully and gently, out to his truck. He placed her in the passenger seat and secured the safety belt, and drove quickly to the hospital.<br/><br/>When he arrived, after driving faster and with less concern for proper road etiquette than normal, he carried her inside. Oleg walked up to the receptionist in the emergency room, holding Chloe's smaller body against his big chest, cradled in his powerful arms like she was the most precious thing in the world to him and he was trying for all it was worth to try and hold her together. "My friend," Oleg began, feeling unworthy of using the word but having nothing else to use, "she was assaulted. Sexually assaulted. She needs . . . she needs doctors." Oleg said, having a hard time keeping it together.