She relaxes into my hold. “I’ve had exams before, this one feels wrong. I’m stupid for getting so worked up about it.”
I tighten my arms around her. “It’s not stupid.” The words come out more clipped than I intend but I hate hearing her downplay this. “This isn’t some routine checkup. Not after what those fuckers did to you.” I shift my hand to cradle the back of her head, tugging her hair a little to make her look up at me. “And if I have my way? You’ll never have another reason to feel like this again.”
The doctor knocks a short while later, entering with a clipboard and a few papers. “Results are in.” His tone is professional with no hesitation. “Pregnancy test is negative. Rapid STI tests are all clear. But like I said, we’ll have more results for you in a few days and in a week or so. Then you’ll need to come back in three and six months to be absolutely certain.”
I relax visibly when I hear the results. I squeeze her hand in reassurance. “Good.”
“Thank you.”
I hate how broken she sounds.
The doctor nods and offers a small smile that holds no pity. “Of course. And if you need anything, follow ups, questions, you have my direct line.” He glances briefly at me before continuing.“And I’d recommend therapy. Trauma like this doesn’t go away on its own.”
She flinches and I stiffen at the suggestion but we don’t argue. My thumb continues to trace slow circles over her knuckles.
“You’re free to go whenever you’re ready.” He hands me discharge papers and a business card for counseling services and leaves.
She looks down at the floor, probably wondering if she’s wearing an ‘I was raped’ sticker on her forehead. I step between her and the door.
Curling two fingers under her chin, I tip it up so she has to look at me. “Doctors see this shit every day. Patterns stick out when it’s their job to look for ‘em.” I bend down to her ear, my voice dropping lower. “Nobody knows unless we tell ‘em. And nobody’s ever gonna find out unless you want ‘em to.” My thumb swipes under her eye, catching the tear before it falls. “You hear me? This shit stays yours.”
I wait for her to nod before stepping out of the way and gathering her papers. We step out into the hall and I put my arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here and get that dinner I promised you.”
~ Seriphina Joseph ~
GRIFFIN HOLDS ME UNDERhis arm the entire way out of the clinic and I’m grateful for it. He is like a solid weight, anchoring me when the walls around me feel claustrophobic. He guides me into the jeep with his hand on the small of my back.
“Seatbelt,” he murmurs, reaching across and clicking it into place. He closes the door and sprints around to his side, getting in and starting the engine. He grips the steering wheel for a moment looking straight ahead before shifting it into gear.
“Italian or burgers?” His tone is casual, like he’s trying to remove the weight of the last hour. “Because I swear to God if you say ‘whatever you want,’ I’m takin’ you to that shitty place near your store that puts raisins in their potato salad.” This isn’t an offer of food, he’s offering me control, a choice. Something small but mine.
“Burgers sound good.” I almost laugh, except I’m not fully back from the haze of the clinic.
He grins, slow and lopsided. The corner of his eyes crinkle. He pulls out of the parking lot. “Good choice, Sunshine. I know somewhere that makes the best milkshake you’ll ever have.”
Twenty minutes later, we are pulling into the parking lot outside what looks like an old school roadside diner. The neon sign flickers, ‘Maggie’s’ and he nods to it as he kills the engine.
“This place doesn’t look like much,” he admits, shooting me a sideways glance, “but trust me, best damn bacon cheeseburger of your life.” He hops out and rounds to my side before I can unbuckle. He opens my door with exaggerated chivalry. “After you, milady.”
I snort, taking his hand, letting him help me out of the jeep. “This is the first time we’ve gone out somewhere together. I think we may have skipped a few steps.”
“Gotta admit,” he drawls, “I imagined our first date bein’ somewhere fancier than this.” He tugs me to him, his voice dropping quieter. “But I like it better this way. No pretenses, no ceremony, no expectations... Just us.”
He leads me inside, the bell chiming softly, warm lighting and the scent of sizzling beef wash over us. He guides me to a corner booth, strategically picked so his back is to the wall, giving him a clear line of sight to the door. When he slides in across from me, the tension in his shoulders is gone. All that’s left is a smile as he flips open the sticky menu.
“Milkshake first,” he declares, like it’s non-negotiable. “Strawberry or chocolate? And don’t think about sayin’ vanilla, that’s not a real flavor.”
The waitress, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a nametag reading ‘Georgia’ approaches, setting two glasses of water on the table. “Well, hey there, Griff. Who’s this pretty lady?”
He doesn’t blink at her teasing tone, obviously used to it. “My better half,” he replies smoothly. “Who I was just tellin’ needs strawberry syrup in her veins if we’re gonna make it through this meal.”
Georgia laughs and scribbles on her notepad before shooting me a wink. “Strawberry milkshake comin’ right up then, sugar.”
“Guess that answers the strawberry or chocolate question. Could this place be a bigger cliché?” I smile, while looking thoughtfully out the window. Despite what I said, I’m enjoying myself.
“Knew you preferred strawberry.” He nudges my foot with his boot.
I’m surprised he remembered.
