A strand of his perfectly polished hair has flicked down to his furrowed forehead and is almost grazing the top of her head, as they stand there, huddled together.
I swallow but I can’t get my throat to work. It’s jammed up with so many emotions. Thoughts. Wonderments. So many things.
Most of all, it’s jammed up with the urge to know the feel of his touch. I want to know what it feels like to be touched by him, his hands that clearly carry some sort of ancient charm. Healing powers.
Angry Annie is completely still, entranced by him. Apart from a few sniffles, she doesn’t make any sounds, and neither do the others. Slowly, the chaos is getting under control. A lull is settling over the room.
I don’t protest when Hunter steers me back to my table.
Once Angry Annie goes easily with the techs and sits back down, Dr. Blackwood turns to face the room. “I’m aware that many of you are not happy with me being here,” he begins, and the residual chatter dies down. “And I’m also aware that some of you have been with Dr. Martin for a long time and I know change is difficult.”
He sighs, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and in the back of my mind, a voice protests at those healing hands being hidden from view.
“Now, there are two ways we can do this. One, we can fight and argue, but we all know that I’m not going anywhere. At least, not for a little while. Two, if you all promise to behave, I have something that might interest you.” He pauses to let it take effect, before continuing, “I’ll arrange for you to see Dr. Martin and he’ll tell you himself he’s doing fine and will be back to work very soon, if you promise to cooperate. You’ll finish your lunch, take your meds, do the groups and generally, stop giving the staff a hard time.” He raises his eyebrows, his hands going to his hips. “Deal?”
“And how you gonna do that?” This comes from Roger.
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Dr. Blackwood raises an arrogant eyebrow.
“Yeah, right. How do we know you’re not bluffing?”
With a slight smile, he dismisses Roger and runs his eyes across the room once again. “Before this day’s out, you’ll get to talk to Dr. Martin. If not, then one of you can personally…” He shoots a look at Roger. “Bust my balls in front of everyone.”
People chuckle, including Roger.
Dr. Blackwood throws out a small nod, but before striding out of the room, his eyes find me again. It’s short, momentary. His gaze. He basically flicks his eyes up and down my face, and my body, as if checking for something, as if making sure that I’m okay, as if he’s concerned about me. Though, I can’t imagine it being… right.
Right?
When he gets his answer, he leaves.
“Oh man, he’s good,” murmurs Renn in the wake of his departure.
“I like him.” Vi smiles.
“I deem him qualified enough to fix me,” Penny declares.
Me? I don’t say anything. I’m still feeling his perusal. It brought back the little tingling and flutters from this morning when we bumped into each other in the hallway.
All I do is watch him walk away, turn the corner and disappear with his wide shoulders, dark hair and healing hands.
Hands that saved someone from the needle.
My fear of the needles isn’t irrational.
In fact, I didn’t have a fear of them until the day after my eighteenth birthday, aka The Roof Incident.
When I woke up in the hospital, the walls were closing in already. When they looked at me like there was something wrong with me, those walls collapsed. I couldn’t breathe. My panic was a living thing inside my body. A creature inhabiting me.
I remember screaming, and shouting. So much shouting and all of it was coming from me.
I knocked down the machines. I ripped out the tubing attached to my veins. They wouldn’t stop getting closer though. Closer and closer. Descending. The nurses and the orderlies. Like they were going to suck my soul right out of my body. Like they were dementors – the soul-sucking creatures from Harry Potter.
Instead of performing the Dementor’s Kiss, however, those creatures stuck me with a needle. It came out of nowhere. Not in a million years would I have imagined ever getting stabbed by a sharp object like that.
It felt like such a betrayal. Such a knife in the back.
Of course, I didn’t trust them after that. Of course, I ruined that therapist’s charts when she told me that all they were trying to do was help me. Fix me.
I did not need fixing. I still don’t need it.
My first week at Heartstone, they kept a close eye on me. They would check up on me every twenty minutes, even when I was with a provider. They thought I’d pull another stunt like that and attack someone.