I squinted at the anatomy manual in front of me and the surgical devices that cluttered my desk.
“I can do this.” My eyes drifted from the scalpel in my hand to the torso, placed in front of me like a sacrifice to the god of medicine and progress.
These torsos had once belonged to the good souls who had signed a contract stating that they wanted to donate their bodies to science once they’d died.
Dealing with pieces of meat who had once been real people who had walked, breathed, and loved was not my forte. Unlike most of my colleagues, I always imagined the face or the story behind the organ or specimen we were practicing with.
“Need help?” Sillas Wilder had asked me the same question about my orgasm a month ago. I bit my lower lip, raising my eyes to meet the moss-green pair already on me.
“She sure does!” Tiziano coughed from my side.
I swallowed.
“No, thanks. I’ve got this.” My posture screamed the opposite. “The first incision is always the hardest.”
The deep chuckle at my side wasn’t enough to distract me. My brain sizzled with concentration.
Seconds later, a large gloved hand swallowed mine, guiding the scalpel, demonstrating how to make a perfect incision over the left lung. Then he let me try it.
“That’s very good.”Is he talking to me? Or them? Because sometimes he does.I never wore bras. I was training my boobs to deal with gravity on their own. Today, I regretted that life choice, because my nipples were basically breaching my cotton shirt.
“Let me know if you need any more help, Miss MacKenzie.”
Formality was a requirement within the school walls. Still, his eyes lingered before a small smile appeared.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Damn, I felt like I was watching the opening of a porno there,” Tiziano said as I tried not to look at Sillas’s butt enclosedin light brown pants that reminded me of an archaeologist’s attire.
I extracted half a lung from the torso.
“And I bet he prefers to be called Professor over sir.” Tiziano’s snicker was interrupted by a muffled groan. “Oof, your sharp elbows are matching your personality today!”
“Thank you,sir,” I joked, sticking out my tongue.
CHAPTER 6
YVAINE
Home is where the heart is.Although, the truth was that my love muscle had been dissected, divided into several pieces, and scattered everywhere.
One bit stayed with my parents. Another was thousands of miles away, in the Scottish Highlands, with my grandparents and uncles. Another belonged to my little brother in his hospital room, fighting against an evil bigger than all of us. Thankfully, I was lucky enough to have a piece of my heart with me, in my everyday life: Tiziano, Amaia, Makena, and of course, Lachlan.
At that precise moment, I was with a fragment of that particular piece, enjoying a night out with friends at the university bar…excluding Amaia, who hadn’t joined to exploit the rare solitude of the fortress, and without Lachlan and his gang, who had canceled at the last minute with some silly excuse. I knew it was just becausesomeonedidn’t want to be in the same room as Makena.
A body hurled itself against mine.
“Sorry—Oh, Yvaine! You’re here.”
I glanced at the girl who’d fallen on me. Sitting on a stool by the window—between Tiziano, slobbering over his fourthmargarita, and Makena, palming a physiotherapist’s bicep—I said, “Hello, Ludmilla. How have you been?”
“Oooh, look! A radiologist!!” Tiziano’s filter never worked on that huge mouth. Whatever he thought, the boy had to say it aloud. “I think I broke my nail lifting this drink! Could you check if there’s some internal bleeding?—”
I pasted on a practiced smile for Ludmilla. Tiziano disliked radiologists, physiotherapists, or anyone that “pretended to be a doctor” without going through medical school. His words.
I whacked his shoulder. “He’s just kidding.”
“I certainly wasn’t?—”
