A lump appears in my throat. Breaking our gaze, I drop my eyes down to his hand and blink.
I’m asking him to carry on with the tube removal, but he mistakes my meaning and slowly reaches for my hand, curling his warm fingers against mine. My vision blurs as tears well up. I can’t remember the last time anyone touched me with any sort of gentleness, but just the feel of his skin touching mine makes my skin crawl.
I’m broken.
As I slip my hand out from his, he immediately pulls back from me, clearing his throat.
“Should I carry on with your tubes?” he asks softly, and I nod, turning back to the ceiling.
He starts his work again, gently probing the tube with a device that makes a humming noise. It barely registers as I stare at the ceiling. His words aren’t so easily ignored, though.
“You’ve been here for four months.”
Four months? I blink rapidly as his words sink in, but he’s already carrying on, his voice low.
“You were admitted because you had been given too many doses of codroctymal. Artificial heat hormones." His voice breaks off as he clears his throat uncomfortably.
Burning. Burningburningburningburning.
Brown eyes appear in my line of sight, a hand pressed to my cheek as I wheeze for breath. My chest seizes from the lack of air.Too close.He’s too close.
His growl is low but enough to capture my attention. “Breathe.”
I struggle to get in enough air around the tube, and he curses under his breath before continuing his work a little faster than before.
“You’ll feel better when this is out.”
He’s silent whilst he works, cleaning around my mouth gently with a suction tube. Finally, he starts fiddling with the tube, and pressure releases in my throat.
“That’s it. It’s coming out now, I’ll take it slowly. Don’t worry if you need to cough.”
He gradually draws the tube from my throat, making my eyes water. The cough builds up and explodes as soon as the tube is out, forcing tears from my eyes and down my face. I try to lean forward but the restraints pull me back.
Hands pull me onto my side, and I wheeze as I try to push them away.
“You need to be able to breathe, sweetheart. Turn on your side as much as you can. These fucking restraints…”
His last words are almost under his breath, but I still catch them.What kind of doctor curses like that?
The burning in my throat subsides when he offers me a glass of water with a straw. I slurp it down, not caring enough to be embarrassed when it drops down my chin and onto my gown. He pulls it away before I finish, my throat closing as I fight off more tears. I’m so thirsty. I needmore.
“Steady, now. Too much will make you sick.”
He holds the straw back against my lips as I sip greedily, hyper-aware of his body perched on the edge of the bed next to me. My nerves stand on end, but I want the water more. Breathing slowly, I try to push the panic back down. Exhaustion is already pulling at my bones, trying to drag me back to sleep despite apparently being unconscious formonths.
God. What happened?
Leaning back against the hard pillow once my thirst is finally slaked, the doctor gently places the glass on the nightstand next to my bed.
I expect him to leave, but he sits perfectly still for a moment, his eyes on the door. I strain to hear his quiet words.
“My name is Dr. Morgan,” he says, his honeyed brown eyes meeting mine. “But you can call me Max.”
A strange expression flits over his face. I wonder if he’ll get in trouble for telling me his first name. It doesn’t seem like something a doctor would do. But then, he hasn’t acted like I would have expected a government doctor to act.Max.
I wet my lips with my tongue, wondering if my sore throat will let me speak. Wondering if I dare to speak the word aloud, to trust him not to punish me.
“Ava,” I rasp. It’s painful and quiet, but it comes out.
