Page 23 of Deranged
From inside a muffled voice. “Go away.”
“Please. I need to speak to you.”
“I said go away! I don’t have my own free will in a lot of things, but I can tell you to stay the fuck out.”
I sighed and pressed my head into the door. I dragged my hand down the steel and pushed off. I had a lot to make up for, but there was no way I could do it if she refused to let me. She’s spoken to me like a friend only hours ago. She only pushed me away now trying to protect me from her mother’s special form of crazy.
I went back to my office and looked at the roses leering at me from inside the trashcan. I plucked one from the plastic wrapping and stared at the sharp thorns along the stem. If she didn’t want me to talk to her, then I’d show her I knew the truth. I knew what she faced, and I knew she’d no longer be alone in this.
I plucked one of the sharp thorns with my index finger. The scratch of it soothed me. Penance. If only it were so easy.
We’d slept together. She became my patient. But now…I couldn’t treat her after confirming the truth. I didn’t even know if I could look her in the eye.
She deserved so much better than her mother. She deserved so much better than me.
Chapter Nine
Kory
Asingle rose lay in the middle of my bed. The petals shone carmine in the slatted afternoon sunlight. Along its stem were two small leaves and a neat row of thorns. Beside the flower lay a note with two words.
I’m sorry.
I drew a full breath for the first time in days. He believed me. The jagged edges of those thorns told me so.
A vice loosened from around my torso. I sucked in air like it might constrict again any second. I fumbled down on the edge of the bed and tears started hot and wet down my cheeks.
He believed me.He believed me. Hefuckingbelieved me.
I picked up the note and brought it to my nose sniffing it, hoping it held the subtle scent of his cologne and soap. I’d pushed him away last night, hoping I might protect him from her. Keep him out of her crosshairs, ride out my time, and then he could move on with his life completely oblivious to Demeter and her plotting.
I shoved the rose away. It was from her, but the note… I lay back on the bed and cradled it to my chest. I wished it was his head I tucked against me. We were keeping things professional, and I agreed out of fear of losing even the few moments I got to keep of him. But now he believed me. Things were different.
I grabbed a copy of Persuasion from the stack by bed and settled in. I tucked the note between the pages toward the front and started reading the book from the middle. A distraction until he came to speak with me.
“Do not say that man forgets sooner than women, that his love has an earlier death.” I read my favorite quote out loud and closed my eyes.
I was never a woman who took to fancies. Imagining men felt one way, imaging the elusive spark existed when it didn’t. No. That wasn’t me. But something about the doctor felt different. Like we did have that damn spark, and something instinctual inside told me to protect it, nurture it, and cut down any bitch in my way who thought to extinguish it.
I hugged the book tight and waited. He’d come to me soon enough, and we could talk about this. The night decanted, and I waited. My senses attuned to every single sound emanating from the hall way. When he finally arrived, it was with head bowed, eyes somber. He swallowed heavily, and I simply opened my arms to him. Praying he’d walk into them. Accept them. Because if he didn’t, I’d have nothing else left.
He walked to my bed until his shins and knees knocked against the wood. Then slumped down the no doubt chilly linoleum. His eyes searched mine. “Can you forgive me?”
I reached out, but he flinched back. “No, I need to hear you say it.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You were doing your job. I can’t blame you for that.”
“You can blame me, and rightly so. I should have listened. That is my job. Hearing you. I don’t know why I wasn’t.”
His hands shook as he molded them to the mattress and slid them achingly slow toward my legs. When he reached my shins, my heartbeat sparked harder in my chest. Something delicious shimmered between us. He climbed from his knees and planted himself on the bed beside me, never taking his finger from my skin.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
I countered. “Are you? You’re shaking.”
He cleared his throat heavily. “I’m nervous. All my medical training is screaming at me to get out of here. To not let this happen. And yet, my—I don’t want to stop. All I’ve thought about since I saw you at the bar was touching you. And the one time wasn’t anywhere near enough.”
I reached out and traced the arch of his neck and down where his Adam’s apple stood pronounced. I met his eyes while I wrapped my fingers around his neck. There were pale against his slightly sun kissed skin.
