Page 11 of Satan's Naughty List
“Is that normal?” Short one whispers, catching the attention of Dr. Solla. She nods, writing stuff on her notepad. Another fuck expression I can’t read.
You’ve been isolated. They’ve trained you.
“We better give you some time to rest,” she suggests, standing from the rolling chair. “Just know, there’s a guard at the door and the window is locked. This is simply for your protection. I’d like to keep you overnight, then you’re free to roam with these two.” She points at gruff and gruffer with a smile.
With no clock in sight, I can’t even try to create a sense of time. Something I lacked prior to this bullshit.
“How long have I been out?” I mutter, pulling the sheets over my exposed lower half. Bruises that I didn’t realize were on display are now covered. The tattoo I forgot about pulses on my thigh like a second heartbeat. Probably from infection.
“Techy found you about a week ago,” the gruff guy, Nomad, replies softly. He looks to his counterpart with tender eyes, kissing his forehead lovingly. My throat grows tight at the sight, tears threatening to overtake me.
“A week?” I hoarsely whisper around the lump sitting in my airway. “Has anyone…” I can’t even finish the sentence.
“No,” Nomad barks, taking a step forward then stopping. He huffs out, sliding a large hand through the unruly hair. “We can talk about it once you’re better.”
With that, he turns on his heel leaving the room like it’s on fire.
Chapter Nine
“Howareyoufeelingtoday?” Dr. Solla asks, sitting on the stool and gliding right up to me.
“Physically?” I ask, turning my head to look at her. She’s got my upper body propped up slightly and my leg hanging from this ceiling contraption thing. It’s like a sling, except it’s not. Even the slight movement of my head makes my body feel ten times its normal weight.
“Whatever your interpretation of the question is,” she returns, leveling me.
Overnight was fucking awful. After finding out that I was in a sort of medical induced coma, it’s been a rollercoaster of pain and emotions. At some point in the middle of the night, there were ghosts taunting me and warning me about the bounty laid out for me. I may or may not have panicked enough to get a shot of some good shit.
Okay, it wasn’t good shit, but it took the mean people away. That’s all I truly care about.
Besides the mental turmoil my brain decided I needed to endure, it also put my body through the ringer.
“I feel like a mac truck ran over me, realized it only got my upper half, then backed up over my legs and went forward again over my leg.” She chokes back a laugh before turning to the paper chart.
“I’ll write down that you’re in pain,” she quips, flicking her eyes up to me for a moment. “Do you know when your pain starts? How long between medication rounds?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t think to time it between all my loony episodes.” She releases a heavy sigh, placing the documents on her lap and lacing her fingers.
“Look, Aspen. I know this isn’t ideal. You’re safe here with the guys. Yes, I’m new to the club. My husband was recently patched in, and I knew I could be of service to them. The things they do to protect their own,” she pauses, a look of longing on her face.
“But that’s the thing,” I interrupt before she can continue. “I’m not one of them. I don’t have anything to offer to the club. Shit, if it makes matters worse, I can’t even be in a room with a guy without feeling as if I’m going to pass out. You’re grouping me with people who are at least semi-normal. Just let me go, and I’ll figure it out.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, staring at me with a look I can’t quite decipher. Narrowing her eyes, she nods.
“Then let’s talk about it,” she says, leaning back against the wall. “You don’t associate yourself with ‘normal’. Let’s unpack that a bit.”
Without thinking, I laugh.
It’s like a reflex I can’t stop now that it’s started.
“You think,” I pause, catching my breath, “that talking about it is going to make it go away?”
“Isn’t that how a lot of people overcome trauma? There’s also exposure therapy,” she points out, crossing her legs over one another, fingers crossing again.
“You think talking about it is going to magically make me be able to be in the same room as another guy? Let alone multiple?” I retort, irritation festering in my chest. She’s not getting what I’m saying. The shit I went through…the only reason I’m not shitting bricks is because she’s not threatening.
You can never be too certain…maybe she’s here just for you.
“Is that what I said?” She quips, tilting a brow at me. “I’m not asking you to overcome your biggest fear within a conversation. Hell, Aspen, I’m not even asking you to talk about your fears right now. We’d love to be able to help you. I only know your name because…” she trails off, looking down for a moment.
