Shit.
I quickly start struggling to free myself, but this only has him snapping at me. "Don't be stupid. You know you'll only fall flat on your face if I let you down."
I want to tell him that he's the one being stupid, and a few hours ago, I would have. But because I know who he is now—-
"People are looking at us, Professor."
"So? Shouldn't you be used to it by now?"
His answer is so completely unexpected I can only choke back a laugh, more impressed than distressed or even offended by his rudeness. He's a jerk of the highest order without a doubt, but at least he's consistent and straightforward about it, which is more than I can say for most people.
When the professor glances down at me with a raised eyebrow, I simply raise my brow back at him.
"Any other pointless questions?" he asks silkily.
I make a face, which I'm thinking would make him smirk, but it doesn't even make him crack a smile. Instead, I only see his jaw clench, almost as if he's controlling his temper.
Huh?
I don't get what he's so angry about, but before I can even ask, he's speaking again, and this time his voice is cold and hard.
"Who told you about me?"
I just look at him. Take a fucking guess, Mister.
A muscle starts ticking in his jaw. "Isabella then."
Hearing him refer to her by name is strangely annoying. Isabella, huh? That implies some kind of relationship, doesn't it?
"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I can already tell she's found out about your visit to the gallery."
She...found...out? Does that mean he wasn't the one who told Dr. Foames?
"Did you by any chance tell her yourself?"
I can't help rolling my eyes at this, but my exasperation fades into confusion when the professor's expression turns even darker.
"What are you so angry about?" I finally burst out. "I didn't do anything—-"
"We're here," the professor interrupts me brusquely, and I'm momentarily caught off guard when here turns out to be a two-story structure with ivy-colored walls. It's very much in keeping with Rosethorne's whole dark Victorian theme, but once we're inside it's like we're suddenly back in the 21st century, and the change is a little jarring.
This is the first building on campus that hasn't anything in stone or wood. Instead, all I see is glass and stainless steel...but I guess I shouldn't be surprised about that since this does happen to be Rosethorne's infirmary?
"This is overkill," I mutter under my breath, but the professor simply gives me a bland look and acts like he's forgotten basic English.
The guy behind the counter greets the professor in Greek, and the professor replies in the same manner. Both speak too fast for me to understand what they're saying, and next thing I know, the professor has taken me inside what looks like a private consultation room and is now lowering me gently on a hospital bed.
I cross my hands over my chest and glare up at the professor. "My knee doesn't need any medical attention—-"
"I'd rather take the doctor's word for it, if you don't mind."
"Well, I do mind—-"
"Then you should've taken better care of yourself—-"
"No fighting please," a cheerful voice interrupts just as an auburn-haired doctor joins us. She's wearing a lab coat over her scrubs, and as she comes closer, I'm struck by how ravishingly pretty she is...and how utterly unaffected she appears when the professor meets her gaze.
"Keia, this is our new student Halyna." His lip actually curls as he gestures towards me, and I'm tempted to hit his face with my pillow. "Ms. Mariposa, this is Rosethorne's head doctor Keia."
Keia? Did I hear him right? Is he saying I should just call the doctor by her first name?
The redheaded physician smiles at me, and I guess my confusion must have shown as she goes on to explain, "The professor knows I'm not big on formalities. So yes, just call me Keia. Everyone here does. And now that we've got the introductions out of the way..."
Keia starts asking me questions in rapid-fire succession. Does this hurt? How about this? And this? Did you do anything that could have put pressure on your knee? Did I have an old injury before? How long? What happened?
While her voice is calm and her manner pleasant, I also get the feeling that she can be mean as hell if she wants to. It's motivation enough for me, and so I answer her as honestly as I can.
"There's nothing here a good night's rest won't cure," she says finally, "but since Professor Lucious is notoriously paranoid, I'll have you take a painkiller as well."
I open my mouth to argue, but when I see the way the professor's eyes are suddenly boring into mine, I decide to prioritize keeping my head connected to my body. "A painkiller would be nice, thanks."