"Um— yes. He wanted to go somewhere 'nice' to give me some 'big news'. The Golden Pearl is one of my favorite restaurants— the waitresses all know me. He insisted on getting a table outside because there was plenty of air and it eased his nerves." I still couldn't understand how my dad thought it was a good idea, even now over a week later. "My allergies were already acting up on the ride over, but I thought we'd be sitting inside, so I didn't take anything for them."
"You seem a lot more disturbed by it now than at the Pearl. Did something else happen this past week?"
My expression must've said it all.
Carl insisted, "Go ahead, Mel. I'm your doctor, and this is important."
"O-okay. Well... my best friend basically said it's the same as if my dad was driving and intentionally hit me with the car. It's really stuck with me."
Carl tensed, his expression freezing at the unexpectedness of my declaration.
I lowered my head into my hands to groan loudly. "I don't know what to do. He's my dad, but Terry's right. He treats me like I'm not his kid— ever since I turned thirteen and graduated middle school, he just... gave up on me."
Misery wobbled in my voice, and I frowned into my palms before threading my fingers through my hair. Inhaling deeply, my breath hitched when a strong, firm hand pressed firmly against my upper back. I hadn't even heard Carl stand up, and warmth radiated from his touch. My heart leaped into my throat as surprise slammed into my diaphragm, and I peeked up at him from under my eyelashes.
Carl's tender gaze flooded with sympathy, and, for a fraction of a second, the room around us disappeared. My heart beat wildly, intensifying the ache behind my eyes as I blinked back my sorrow and cowardice.
"It's not easy to accept how a person affects you, Melissa. Good or bad. If your father is endangering your health, I don't know if there's anything you can tell yourself to make it better— at least, not in the long run." He spoke gently, soothingly.
My throat tightened from the emotions crawling up to stain my tongue. The fine hairs on my cheek and shoulder bristled when I leaned to the side, resting my face on his broad, hard chest. Very hesitantly, he cupped my head, his other hand rubbing my back comfortingly.
And it was comforting. Taking a few breaths as my heart slowed and the ugly feelings emptied from around my lungs, I closed my eyes. Carl pressed his palm against my back a little harder, just over my left lung, as I managed a shuddering exhale.
"This is bad..." My murmur didn't evoke any reaction from him, and Carl swiped his thumb under my ear gingerly.
"This is fine. Emotional stress affects your ability to breathe, too, Mel. Since I won't knowingly subject you to your allergies, this is perfectly fine."
I didn't have a reply to that, and Carl's low tone raised goosebumps under my thin turtleneck. He might've said it was medical, but his touch lingered a few seconds too long before he very softly caressed my jaw. His fingers made their way to my chin, and he tilted my head up to catch my eyes.
He's so handsome. The thought struck me even while Carl pinched the bridge of my nose lightly, but his eyes didn't stray from mine. My mouth dried when the meaty part of his palm brushed my lips, and I curled my hands into fists between my thighs. The heat threatened to peel the skin from my fingers, only growing more intense when those luscious, dark eyes flashed with something.
"I wish you weren't my patient."
My eyes widened at his hoarse whisper, and Carl seemed to snap out of it. In a flash, his hands disappeared as he stepped back hastily, and surprise dragged down my cheeks. Turmoil rippled heavily across his strong features, and he coughed to give himself an excuse to wash his hands and face away from me.
"I apologize— that was very unprofessional of me."
"... I wish I weren't your patient, too."
Carl's shoulders stiffened under his starched, white button down at my words.
Licking my lips heavily as the steady sound of water blasting the aluminum sink filled every inch of the room, I shook my head a little. "I'd rather not die in my sleep, though."
"Yes— no, of course not."
Glaring at my knees at my own stupidity and naivety, I scowled lightly while Carl focused hard on washing his hands.
"Speaking of sleep, how has that been going?"
"Not good, to be honest. The technician for the sleep study was even surprised at how bad my asthma is when I'm lying down. That's not even counting what pollen gets into my apartment and stuff."
Drying his hands, Carl nodded and took a shoulder-heaving breath before turning to face me. His professional mask set in place, and he swiped the folder off the counter to pop it open. Awkwardness wiggled between my ribs, but I couldn't let it get in the way of possibly getting a good night's sleep.