The man nodded, but he didn't return the greeting. He seemed reluctant to engage and came directly for me before instructing me through the usual check-up preliminaries while Jerry and Carter watched from a few feet away. The whole thing was uncomfortable with the tense atmosphere in the room, but not too long after, he had me move to lay on the bed and started an IV.
When he had the bag of yellow-tinted fluid hanging from the headboard, he cleaned up and told me to stay there until it was empty. After Jerry reassured him that they could handle the rest, Dr. Wright left just as quickly as he'd come.
I trusted Jerry, for the most part—after all, he was a member of the household of horrors—but I was about at the end of my rope with being treated like a marionette.
"Thank you for all of your help, but could you please tell me what I'm being given now?" I should have asked before, but I hadn't had the courage in front of Winston Sr.'s personal physician.
"It's just something to help counteract what's already there and to get your levels back to normal. It won't take long, and then I'll get it out and you can get ready to go." That was all clear as mud to me, but the reminder of dinner had me glancing at the clock. "We have about an hour," Jerry confirmed when I looked at him apprehensively.
The medication did help me feel better, but I was from my best as I shuffled into the dressing room. Soreness radiated from my crotch, making it extra difficult to walk normally, and I worried about having to wear heels. I’m going to faceplant in front of Dirk’s dad and the entire restaurant. I dreaded to contemplate the punishment that would ensue if that happened and determined that I’d do whatever necessary to avoid it.
Thankfully, Jerry had picked out a modest dress with matching kitten heels, which I thought I could manage okay. The fabric was light enough to not overheat, and the sleeves would cover the small bandage on my inner arm while the high-neck would keep any marks from showing. I hated that I was one of those women. The ones that dressed with covering up abuse in mind. I’d never have thought that I’d be one of them, but there I was, doing just that.
And awkward couldn’t begin to describe having Carter help me into everything. I’d been too out of it in the shower and hadn’t cared that he’d been there, or had cared too much, but it hadn’t been due to embarrassment. No, whatever cocktail Winston had given me had had me trying to refrain from rubbing on him like a cat in heat. Now, it was all plain uncomfortable, but better than Jerry seeing the marks too. He felt like a kindly uncle, and that gave me the willies to think about. But Carter was no-nonsense and had me dressed in five minutes flat. He even turned his back for the parts that I could handle myself, which was really only my underwear, but it was something at least.
Finally, he called the all clear to Jerry, and I sat in front of the vanity while Jerry fixed my hair in a simple but elegant bun. He just smirked and said he was a man of many talents when I asked about it. Soon enough, I was ready to go, yet at the same time, I dreaded having to face Dirk or endure the car ride to the restaurant. But Carter saved me that time, insisting on riding along as he had paperwork to deliver to Winston Sr. after dinner, and Dirk didn’t say a word when Carter escorted me to the vehicle. His eyes though, they promised retribution for avoiding him, making me cling that much more tightly to Carter’s arm.