He won’t look me in the eye once I’m out of the bedroom, now wearing jeans and a sweater. “Everything fits?” he asks, heading for the door.
“Yeah, it’s great.” Once we’re out of his apartment, my apprehension swells. I can’t help but feel like there’s a target painted on my back, even down here, away from the students, on the faculty floor.
This place is a maze. I want to memorize the layout so I know where to go if I have to run, but he’s walking too fast. We take the elevator, and he practically runs me down a wide hallway where—thank god—we’re the only two people walking. Is everybody in class? Maybe he chose this time specifically with that in mind.
There’s a pair of doors at the end of the hall. He opens one and steps aside so I can enter the room, where a woman with brown hair and a friendly smile is waiting.
There’s an exam table waiting, too, telling me what I have to look forward to.
“Dr. Lauren, this is Delilah.” Lucas waves a hand between us. “She’s here to get checked out, as we discussed.”
He’s a real charmer. The way her lips twist in a tiny grin suggests she’s thinking along the same lines. “Hi, Delilah. I’ll put you through your paces today, but it won’t take long. We’ll start with drawing blood.”
I pull the sweater’s sleeves over my fists without thinking about it. “Really?”
“It’ll only take a minute. I’m a pro at finding a vein on the first try.” She waves me over to where a syringe is waiting, along with a handful of vials. The woman wants to bleed me dry.
But there’s something about her that makes it easy to be trusting. She seems kind, which I’m not used to always seeing from doctors. So it’s not so nerve-wracking, pushing my sleeve up so she can stick me with the needle.
“There. All done.” She places gauze and tape over the prick from the needle before marking the vials. Once she’s finished, she looks up at Lucas with a smile. He hasn’t moved since we came in. “Thanks, Lucas. I think we can take it from here.”
It’s obvious from the way he hesitates that he doesn’t want to leave me on my own in here. He’s afraid of what I’ll say. The doctor clears her throat. “Privacy, please,” she murmurs, raising her eyebrows. They stare at each other for a long moment—then he sighs and turns on his heel, marching out of the room and closing the door with a loud click.
She shakes her head, snorting. “Men, right? Always thinking they know what’s best.”
“They do that,” I agree in a soft voice.
“Why don’t you get undressed for me,” she suggests, though it’s not a suggestion. I know I don’t have a choice. “There’s a gown on the table. Meanwhile, now that we’re alone, I’ll move on to the personal questions.” She checks out her tablet, scrolling with the stylus. “Do you have a family history of any major diseases?”
“None that I know of.” Unless she wants to count being a bunch of insufferable assholes as a disease. “Though I didn’t have a close relationship with my family. I didn’t know a lot of them very well.” Though after the way my father treated me all my life, I wouldn’t mind finding out he had ass cancer.
“Fair enough. What about your personal history?”
“I’ve never had any major diseases.”
She gives me a gentle smile. “What about the not-so-major things?”
“I’ve been pretty healthy, really.”
“Heavy periods? Migraines? What about anxiety or depression?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?” I turn to her, now wearing the paper gown she left for me. There’s a chill in the air, and I shiver from the cold.
She lowers the tablet, frowning at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend or overwhelm you. These are standard questions asked of all incoming students. It helps if I know what to expect—or whether students need medication, so I can have it on-hand.”
Of course. I’m being an idiot, looking deeper into things than necessary. “Sorry. I’ve—”
“You don’t have to apologize. We all have our reasons for keeping our privacy. But it would be helpful if you’d answer my questions.”
So I do while climbing up onto the table. “My periods are pretty regular. I’ve been taking birth control since I was sixteen. The depo shot. Occasional headaches but nothing severe. No history of depression or anxiety.” At least nothing that’s ever been officially diagnosed. It’s not like my aunt had the resources to take me to specialists, not that she needs to know that.
“Lucas filled me in on what happened to you, but he didn’t give me a lot of details. Were you sexually assaulted while you were held captive?”
“No one fucked me against my will.”
Dr. Lauren raises one eyebrow at me, and I immediately regret not simply saying no. “Did they do anything else to you?”
“I’m fine.”