She sat still, staring out the windshield at the sign with DR. VINCENT DEMARCO written on it in blue. “I’ll be good, sir.”
Haven followed him into the building, keeping his pace so as not to lag behind. They headed straight for the elevator and despite the fact that it only took thirty seconds, her anxiety tripled during the ride to the third floor. Logically she knew Dr. DeMarco wouldn’t hurt her in public, but it wasn’t easy being rational when confined in a small box with a man capable of harm.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the doors opened, and she followed Dr. DeMarco down a long corridor. Watching her feet, she didn’t notice he’d stopped until she ran into him. Gasping, she took a few steps back and held her hands up to shield herself. Dr. DeMarco stood in place, his hand twitching at his side. He balled it into a fist, fighting to keep his temper in check.
Pulling out a set of keys, he unlocked a door and flicked on a light inside the room. “Sit down. I’ll be back.”
As soon as she stepped into the room, his footsteps receded down the hallway. She stood in one spot, reading his nameplate on the desk, before surveying the rest of the office. It was orderly, books lining a shelf and folders neatly stacked on his desk. There weren’t any personal items, no family pictures or WORLD’S GREATEST DAD coffee mugs. The walls were white and plain, everything wooden except for the black leather chairs.
It looked like the house—sterilized.
She sat in one of the chairs and folded her hands in her lap, picking at her fingernails. Dr. DeMarco returned eventually and sat down behind his desk, putting on his glasses. She risked a peek at him and saw he was reading a file. He sensed her eyes again and sighed dramatically. “Ask.”
“I was wondering why we were here, sir.”
“I needed to get back to work, and you need a shot.” He pulled a book off a shelf and handed it to her. “A nurse will be around in a while, but other than that, you’re going to be sitting here most of the day. May as well entertain yourself, since you apparently know how to read now.”
* * *
Dr. DeMarco’s office was silent, except for the sound of the occasional turning page. Haven fidgeted as the minutes slowly passed. After a while there was a knock at the door, and Dr. DeMarco stood up to answer it. “Good afternoon.”
A young blonde-haired woman walked in, smiling sweetly at Dr. DeMarco. “Happy birthday!”
Haven froze. No one had told her it was his birthday.
“Thanks,” he said, not sounding enthusiastic as he turned to Haven. “I’ll grab some lunch.”
He narrowed his eyes in a silent warning before walking out.
“I’m Jen,” the woman said once he was gone. “It’s nice to meet the girl who whipped Carmine into shape. How did you manage that, anyway?”
Her heart rate spiked as Jen pulled out a needle. “I don’t know . . .”
“It’s unexplainable, huh? That boy used to land himself or someone else in the ER every week with all the fighting he did. It’s been months since it’s happened. Dr. DeMarco has to be happy.” She paused, smiling widely. “Turn around and unbutton your jeans. This has to go in the rear.”
Haven did as she was told, wincing as the needle penetrated her skin.
“It’s hard to believe the worst medical attention Carmine causes anyone these days is for his girlfriend to get birth control.”
Birth control? She pulled her pants back up as the door opened and Dr. DeMarco walked in. He set two food containers on his desk, pushing one toward Haven as she retook her seat. Haven opened her container and poked at the food.
“You two enjoy your lunch,” Jen said. “Once again, it’s nice to meet you, Haven. Don’t let those DeMarco men give you too much trouble. Sometimes you have to show them who’s boss.”
Dr. DeMarco let out a laugh at those words.
Jen started to walk out but paused in the doorway. “Plus, I’ve heard Carmine likes kinky girls.”
The amusement died in Dr. DeMarco’s eyes, his expression twisting again to aggravation. As the door shut, Haven’s hand trembled and shook the fork.
“Eat,” Dr. DeMarco said forcefully. She flinched from his harsh tone and took a bite, so nauseated she had a hard time swallowing. After about ten minutes of thick tension and forcing down half of her food, she set her fork aside, hoping that would satisfy him.
He grabbed her container and dropped it into the trash can with a thud. She watched as he picked up his office phone and dialed a number, putting it on speakerphone as it rang. Dread rocked her when the familiar voice answered the line.
“Yeah?” Carmine said. “Why are you calling me at lunch?”
“I need to see you at the hospital as soon as you get out of school.”
There was a pause. “I didn’t do it.”