Once his laughter dies down he explains, “No, she's not a harlot.” He faces me and runs his thumb across his bottom lip. “I didn't think anyone said harlot anymore. It's very 1920's,” he pauses a beat then goes on, “some women don't adhere to the sex before marriage clause that society forces on them. They prefer sexual gratification and for men who aren't interested in marriage and children that is a blessing.”
His comment baffles me. “You don't want those things?” I guess I assumed most people did. I try to picture what his child might look like and it saddens me to think he never wants one. I happen to think Dr. Watson would have beautiful children.
“No.” He stares at me, deadpan. “You of all people should understand. I know you're not innocent.”
At first, it takes me a minute to register what he means. Mainly because I’m wondering exactly how many women have experienced his sexual gratification. But when I finally ge
t that he's talking about my shattered virtue, I scowl and want to slap him. “How dare you?” I balk and then ask, “How do you know if I’m innocent or not?”
“How dare I what?” he shoots back. “Tell you the truth?” Both eyebrows are raised and there's a questioning look on his face. “God forbid.” He shakes his head. “And I think you’re forgetting that I was the first resident to come to your aid when you arrived. I had to give you an examination.”
I blush and press my lips together, thinking of him looking at what is underneath my hospital gown. “Just like you and being arrogant there's a difference between me and women like, Gretchen,” I bark out. “I didn't just go sleeping around with whomever. I was with one person. It was only a handful of times and it meant something to me, okay?” In my head I see those blue, blue eyes and see the words I love you as he mouths them from his full, lush lips. I take a deep breath and close my eyes to keep the tears from welling in them.
I open my eyes when we stop in front of my door. Dr. Watson is staring again. He's watching me. Trying to analyze me. I watch him watch me, finding myself wondering what he's thinking. Wonder what's going on behind those glimmering warm eyes of his. I've noticed that sometimes they shift in color. Some days they are more golden and some days they take on a bronze cast. On most occasions they're like a set of gold nuggets glittering in a radiant beam of sunlight.
He startles me his hand caresses my cheek. I jump and tense up, but within seconds I completely relax. His warm palm molds to my face and I close my eyes, my breathing shallow and raspy. He moves his hand to the right and his thumb caresses my bottom lip. I know he's still staring, it’s like I can feel his eyes puncturing the skin on my chest, bleeding right through my heart, and piercing the very depths of my soul. “You're too good for someone like me,” he says softly. “I knew that the first time I saw you.” He smiles softly. A soft buzzing hums in my mind and my heart begins racing. “You opened your eyes, you know. And even though I know you’re far from innocent…” he trails off. “I just knew there was something different about you. I just knew that you weren’t like most women. There is something pure and selfless about you. Those are rare qualities.”
My eyes snap open and before I can say something in response to that he abruptly drops his hand from my face. My stomach bottoms out. The beat of my heart lulls. It felt like we were having a moment and I'm disappointed that he ended it. He looks away from me and ushers me into my room. Then he helps me get settled back into my bed.
After he wheels the IV stand back into place, he checks my pulse quickly then stalks to the door. Our eyes lock and his gaze is smoldering, intense. I can't look away. I won't dare. “Goodnight, Dr. Watson,” I say with a hint of a smile.
He lowers his gaze and puts his hand on the door handle. “This isn't goodnight, Adelaide. It's goodbye.” He opens the door and stops, half of his body out the door. “Take care of yourself.”
Less than a second later, he's gone.
Chapter Nineteen
~Before~
Weeks pass.
And with every passing week, Aurora and I add another accessory to plan. “Money,” I throw in, scanning the list of items Aurora has jotted down on a piece of paper with a deep, blue crayon. The color reminds me of Damien’s eyes and how stormy they’ve been lately. He’s resorted to shouting at me most nights instead of quietly lying beside me because I’m almost off my meds all-together.
I only take them at night every other day now.
Next week I’ll subtract another day.
Damien gets the sense that I’m trying to erase the illusion of him that my mind creates.
And he’s right.
Aurora taps the green crayon that’s been whittled down to a nub against her cheek. “What else?”
The green smudges of scribble blur in my vision so I ask, “Can you read what you have so far?”
“Clothes, shoes, money…”
“What about food and water?”
There’s a green crayon pointed at me. “Excellent observation, Adelaide. We can’t survive without those things.” Aurora adds those items to the list.
My eyes find the men’s’ ward again. The crisp black and gray peaks of charred remains poke my eyes through the wide window. Now there’s a crew of men outside cleaning up a lot of the debris. I’m glad. The decayed building reminds me of death. In fact, Oakhill in general reminds me of all things dead and dying. I’m tired of death. I’m tired of watching people wither away and rot. I’m ready to start over. I’m ready to go out and live.
I face Aurora. “You still haven’t told me how you’re going to create this diversion so we can break out.”
A smug grin crawls across her freckled lips. “And I’m not going to.”
My mouth opens. “But—”