8
Monroe
Indefinitely? Did he just sayindefinitely? He can’t be serious. There is no way he expects me to stay here. My mouth opens to say something, but I can’t think of an answer to that. What the hell do I tell him? A simple no is obviously not going to work with this man. So instead of saying anything, I simply sit there with my mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.
I’m so lost in my own head—trying to make sense of this situation I’m in—that I almost jerk myself off the chair when a loud ringing fills the room. I clutch my chest as my heart beats furiously against my rib cage in shock.
“It’s just the doorbell. Calm down, sugar.” Alaric gets up from the chair and pats my shoulder as he passes me.
Twisting in my chair, I follow Alaric with my eyes and watch him open the door as if he was expecting someone. An older man with gray hair matching his gray coat appears on the other side. A tight smile presses on his lips as Alarice waves him inside.
“Dr. Houseman, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Doctor?
I scan the man from head to toe. He is as tall as Alaric but is thin with lanky limbs instead. The pair of thick-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose seems slightly too large for his face. Besides his gray coat, he is dressed all in black. When he gets closer and turns slightly, I notice the leather bag he is carrying.
“Of course.” The doctor gives him a quick nod before his eyes fall onto me. “This is my patient, I presume?” the man asks, pushing his glasses up his nose using his middle finger.
“Oh, no. No, I’m not sick,” I blurt out.
“Where do you want me to set up?” Dr. Houseman asks, ignoring me completely.
“Right here in the living room will be fine. I just need you to take a few blood samples and administer some kind of birth control. No need for a full exam.”
“Very well.” He nods and walks into the living room area.
Blood samples? Birth control?
“I need you to go and sit on the couch. Let the doctor take some blood and choose birth control.”
“Is that really necessary?” I ask even though I already know the answer. I don’t even know why I’m fighting this other than I don’t like that I’m forced to do it without him so much as telling me beforehand.
“Yes, this is necessary, and you will do this. Now be a good girl, and don’t make me carry you over there.”
A tiny part of me wants to tell him no, just to see how far I can push him, but the rest of me is way too nervous to even dare. Pushing myself off the chair, I stand on unsure legs and force them to carry me into the living room. Alaric follows close behind, which both calms and scares me. At least he can catch me if I pass out.
The doctor flips his bag open, and I can’t help but inspect everything inside. Most of it looks like regular medical stuff—gauze, scissors, tape, alcohol wipes, and Band-Aids—but there are definitely things in there you can’t find in a first-aid kit. A row of pill bottles and vials are lined up on one side, rolled-up tubing and an IV bag on the other.
“What exactly are we doing? I’m healthy, I promise.”
The doctor glances over at Alaric as if to ask permission to talk to me at all. When Alaric gives him an approving nod, the doctor turns to me.
“I’m going to take some blood samples so I can test you for sexually transmitted diseases and other general health concerns.”
“But I—” The words get stuck in my throat. I’m about to say I’m a virgin, but then I realize if I tell him now, that would change things drastically. The way I see it, two things could happen.
One, he’s not going to believe me and think I’m a liar. Or two, he is going to ask the doctor to check if I truly am untouched. The thought of my stripping bare in front of these two men to spread my legs and have one probe into my vagina—doctor or not—causes my stomach to churn.
Then there is the after. If Alaric is certain I’m a virgin, he would not wait another day to have sex with me, and I still don’t know what this kink of his is. All I know is that he won’t take no for an answer if I don’t like what he wants me to do. I might not have much of a choice in the end, but at least I can buy myself some time. So my smartest choice will be to just play along and let him think of me whatever he wants.
“Please, take a seat,” the doctor nods to the spot in front of him while he lines up a few empty syringes and a needle head on a silver tray he pulled from his bag. “Lean back and relax.”
I almost scoff at the word relax. As if.
I take a seat and fold my hands in my lap, waiting for him to put on a pair of latex gloves before I actually lean back into the soft cushion. He wraps a band tightly around my upper arm and turns it so the inside is up. After he thoroughly disinfects the skin where my arm bends, he uses his index finger to find a vein.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had my blood taken, so I’m positively relieved when he finds a vein on the first try without having to dig the needle around. Quickly, three vials are filled with blood, and the needle is pulled from my arm. The doctor puts pressure on the tiny wound before simply putting a Band-Aid on it.