I can't look at him.
I can't.
No...
I have to be strong. I have to fight off the urge because as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I know not looking at him is the only chance I have to make it out of this place.
Not looking at him is the only chance I have at a future.
Chapter Eleven
~After~
The sound of papers rustling pulls me from my deep sleep. I feel tiny tubes attached to me as my hands glide up my bare skin beneath my hospital dress.
Why am I still in a hospital dress?
Oh no.
Did they find me?
Am I back at Oakhill?
Please.
God.
No.
My eyes snap open and I try to sit up. A stab of pain vibrates through both on my rib cages and I groan. The pain intensifies and for a moment I think I'm about to be sick. Pale blue walls surround me and I'm in a comfortable bed that's nothing like my thin cot. I try to move one of my arms, but I can't. I'm wearing a sling.
Am I in the infirmary?
“Easy.” There's a deep, baritone voice at my side. I roll my eyes upward and stare. Words escape me and my eyes widen. The man before me is beautiful. “You need to do things slowly. You’ve got a lot of injuries.” The man beside me is dressed in a white lab coat and he coaxes me backward, gently propping a pillow up behind my head.
I recognize him.
I thought he was an angel.
My angel.
I can't find my voice. I think it might be tucked in a deep dark corner of my brain, hiding from me. My mouth gapes open as I take inventory in my surroundings. Charts hang on light blue walls. There's fluid dripping into my arm through a tube, a needle inserted into one of my veins. No... No! Not another sedative. I claw at the tube and the man next to me takes both on my hands in his and pins them down. “Don't pull that out.” His voice is stern. Authoritative. “You need that.”
I clear my throat and find my voice. “I don't want any more drugs.”
The man beside moves across the room and picks up a chart from the wall. He scans it briefly then focuses his attention on me. “They aren't drugs.” He hangs the chart up on the wall and walks back over to me. “They’re fluids. Potassium. Saline. When you came in you were severely dehydrated and malnourished.” He produces a stethoscope from his right pocket. “You were bleeding internally. We didn’t think he you were going to make it.” He dips the end of the stethoscope beneath my gown, but doesn’t touch my skin with it. “This is going to be a little cold.” He puts the two prongs in his ears and places the flat part beneath my skin. I twitch when I feel the icy metal on my chest. Something about this man’s actions seem mechanical. Like he’s so used to checking heartbeats he could do it in his sleep.
While he's listening to my heartbeat, I avert my attention to a wide rectangular window, watching as nurses pass in their uniforms. White dresses. White caps. I even see a few more men wearing lab coats. “I'm in a hospital.” Like a normal hospital with people who are actually here to help me.
“You are,” says the man at my side. “Do you know why?” He removes the end of the stethoscope from my chest and tucks it back into his pocket.
I know he's staring at me. I can feel his eyes touching me in various places. Arms. Cheeks. Lips. My gaze locks with his and breath escapes me. My heart hammers and I can feel it in my throat. My angel is so handsome—no—more than handsome. My angel is ravishing. “Yes and no.” I drop my gaze and play with the edge of the sheet I'm covered with. “Are you a doctor?”
“Yes,” he says shortly.
I think about my childhood and how I always hated going to the doctor. Mostly because I hated getting shots, but as I observe the man next to me I have a funny thought. Perhaps I wouldn't have minded going to the doctor so much if my doctor looked like this one.
“Are you my doctor?” I press on.