I swallow the hard lump in my throat. “If you’ll follow me, please?” I indicate, leading him to the CT room. My internal fight-or-flight war battles in my brain as I try to remain professional.
I flip his patient form as we walk; he has a suspected fracture to his eye socket, which explains the blackened eye and swelling. I lead him to the changing rooms to brief him.
“If you can, please change into the gown and leave everything metal here with your belongings. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take you through.”
“Your boyfriend isn’t here? You’re not staying to watch?” he jibes, beginning to undo his trouser zipper.
I stare him down, trying to feign a polite, professional smile. “As I said, let me know when you’re ready. I’ll return to collect you,” I repeat, closing the curtain.
Once in the CT Room, I allowed myself to exhale the breath I’d been holding and busy myself prepping the bed. A few moments later, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. I turn to see him standing directly behind me.
I startle and swallow hard trying to contain my nerves. The asshole looks pleased to have rattled me. I’m low-key pissed he has. Jerks like him feed off that shit.
“If you would please lie down head toward the gantry. We’re injecting a contrast dye today via an IV. Do you have any allergies?”
“No. Just a bunch of STIs,” he replies flatly, leaning in as he sits on the edge. His breath grazing my flesh makes my skin crawl. I can’t tell if he’s joking, but he gives me a solid case of the ick anyway.
I clear my throat. “I need to put your head in the immobilizer cushions. Can you please lie down?” I repeat.
He ignores me. Looking around the room, his eyes trace the IV line to the tray of instruments beside the bed. Without warning, he lurches at me, grabbing me by the throat, spinning me, and pinning my back to his chest. He grabs the IV needle from the tray and drags it down the side of my face before holding it to my neck.
“You stupid little whore. Nobody rejects me! You should be thanking me for even noticing you. You know who I am? Did you think I’d just forget and walk away?” he growls against the shell of my ear. He licks my cheek. A sob escapes me as I feel the cannula needle graze my flesh, but I’m frozen against him. “Hmmm, you smell so good. Are you going to squeal for me? Squeak like a little fucking mouse as I crush your windpipe while I fuck you? What will your boyfriend think of you when you’re nothing more than a common slut?”
He squeezes my throat tighter, and his words circle my head.
Squeak like a mouse?
No.
He can’t be. Is he my DystopiaNet appointed hunter? Is he the one who has infiltrated my life to get close to me just to threaten me? Assault me?
Oh, Jesus Christ, he’s been inside my fucking house!
That realization sends a sudden surge of anger, momentarily eclipsing my fear. I thrust my arm up between my neck and his hand holding the needle, forcing it away before snapping my head back into his face.
“Argh! You stupid fucking bitch!” he screams, backhanding me hard across the face before grasping for his own.
I fall back onto the ground and quickly crawl to the door. Before he has a chance to follow me, I lock myself in the console room and call for security.
What feels like an eternity must’ve only been a few minutes. My lungs burn, my hands ache from gripping the desk, but I don’t move. I can’t. I stay crouched low, barely breathing, listening. Sirens wail. Distant shouts echo through the corridors.
When the commotion settles, my supervisor, security, and police finally enter the console room to find me.
“It’s ok. You’re ok! He’s gone. Are you hurt?” they ask.
My jaw hurts like a bitch, but I shake my head, holding a tissue to my throat and dabbing the graze.
“Police are reviewing the surveillance footage. What happened?”
The words come out in pieces. The Friday night altercation. The appointment. The shift in his eyes when he realized I remembered him. The way he lunged. The way I didn’t even have time to scream.
They nod. They confirm my story matches the surveillance footage. But none of that makes my heart slow down.
My supervisor sighs, rubbing their temples. “Take the rest of the week off.”
I nod numbly.
“Can we call someone to come get you?
