I nodded, staring at him.
A smile touched his lips. “Where?”
“My side.”
Ronan rose to his full height. As he and the doctor spoke, a boy—the one I saw carrying a crate of liquor—entered the room with my duffle bag in his hands. He dropped it beside the couch and sent a glance of disgust my way.
Ronan eyed him in silent warning. The boy swallowed and turned to walk out of the room.
“Kirill would like to take a look at you, if you will let him.”
I nodded.
When Ronan headed to the door, I got to my feet, fighting a spell of dizziness at the sudden move.
“Wait,” I blurted. “Where are you going?”
He turned his head to study me with cautious eyes. “Giving you some privacy, kotyonok.”
I chewed my lip, not knowing what compelled me to ask that. I was confused. And I really didn’t like doctors.
“Please, stay.”
Kirill sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
After a pensive moment of silence, Ronan inclined his head and walked back to his desk. I was oddly comfo
rted he would stay.
Kirill stood, pulled a flashlight from his dress shirt pocket, and checked my pupils. He listened to my heart, my breathing, and examined the back of my head. My gaze kept landing on Ronan, who leaned against his desk doing nothing but watching the scene.
When Kirill spoke, I pulled my eyes to him. He must have noticed where my attention was during the exam because his expression was tight with disapproval.
“He needs you to remove the jacket.”
I loosened my grip on the lapel and shrugged it off my shoulders to the floor. A red bruise, the shape of a hand, marred my waist, which explained why my ribs ached. But what I focused on was the dried blood on my stomach. Now, I noticed it was underneath my fingernails as well.
All of the warmth inside me went ice-cold, sending prickles down the back of my neck.
I didn’t do blood.
A shaky exhale escaped me. My stomach turned. The room began to blur. I swayed, blackness tugged on my subconscious, and then it dragged me all the way under.
When I awoke, it was to a dry mouth, Kirill’s frown, and Ronan crouching next to where I lay on the couch.
Realizing I’d fainted, I closed my eyes again.
As a child, I had anxiety attacks before getting a shot or having my blood drawn. Papa used to hold me down for my vaccinations until I eventually passed out. Even now, I’d rather cast my own broken arm with duct tape than go to the doctor’s office.
Ronan held out the green can of soda Kirill handed to him. “You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”
I sat up slowly, closed my blouse with one hand, and took the can from him with the other. Nobody but a small few knew about my phobia. I forced myself to watch gory horror films to get over it, but it only desensitized me to Saw movies, not real life.
“I’m not the biggest fan of blood,” I admitted.
He eyed me with curiosity, like I said something amusing. “Interesting.”
“I’m sorry. You look like a busy man, and I’m sure I’ve ruined your entire night.”