Just the mention of the word makes me want to pull the thing from between my legs, and I feel a phantom burning there.
I put myself through the first year of nursing school, did all the things I needed to do, and I have the debt to prove it. But I passed out in clinical every time I had to draw blood, let alone insert a catheter.
Tears flood my cheeks at the rage and humiliation of having such an intimate procedure done while I was unconscious.
Worse things have happened, and yet it doesn’t dull the anguish of this violation.
“It's not permanent.” He assures me, and I fix my eyes on him to assess that claim.
He doesn't look like a doctor.
He looks like the fucking devil... suave, sophisticated, everything you expect from a man who has enough money and charm to do whatever he wants to people. He’s gorgeous, too. Dark hair that isn’t styled, the edges just barely brushing the collar of a starched shirt, and a beard that’s just past the point of stubble. He has a presence that leaves no doubt in my mind that this is the kind of man who can do whatever he wants. If his good looks can’t get him out of something, his money certainly will.
“Please…” I plead, trying to free my hands from where they're tied down beneath the blankets.
I realize now the reason I couldn't move when I first woke up wasn't because he was sitting on top of me. I realize now he's straddling me, none of his weight on me.
But beneath the blankets, I'm tied down and completely naked.
“It's all right.” He soothes, not for the first time.
But nothing is all right. I don't know who he is or where I am, but I know where I came from before this.
And there's zero chance that anything is all right.
My lashes flutter, a tear clinging to them as I stare up at the ceiling, where a large chandelier glows with all the bulbs half-lit.
“Stay awake.” The man urges, his hand on my cheek, trying to rub some life into me.
But it's a moot point. Even if I could, I don't want to.
I want to die rather than face whatever hell he has prepared for me.
The lights blur together and begin to spin like I’m on a merry-go-round.
And then my eyes close.
16
Cal
Dex has reaffirmed his loyalty. Despite our arguing over whether I should just re-dose her and let the drugs take her back under, he convinced me to let nature guide her consciousness. The antibiotics I ordered to be placed into her I.V. worked miraculously to knock out whatever the source of the infection was, and she did so well.
She's slept through the last few days, even without me drugging her. I guess it's the best thing for her, to heal. He's refused to leave my side, and I suspect it's because he thinks I'll murder her the minute he's gone.
I thought about it, honestly. Stabbing her in the chest when he leaves me to go to the bathroom, fucking her one last time as her blood pools out around us. I meant it when I said I'd sooner do it myself than let illness claim her.
But the antibiotics worked so fast, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't grateful that my little doll has been spared for a while longer.
I'm not done with her.
She's woken a few times for short moments in between, and we've monitored her well enough to realize the infection has subsided. I'm going to make her take oral antibiotics just in case, but there's no reason for her to stay in my bed any longer.
Dex thinks she's faking sleep at this point, like a little opossum playing dead rather than facing me. It's why we've removed all of the medical interventions and disconnected all the wires. She's needle-free now, which means she's going to have to start eating and drinking to stay alive. It's why I made her bone broth soup. It's supposed to be great for healing, and she's got a smoothie to wash it down with.
Dex gave me the recipe, and it looks revolting, but she's got to catch up on her nutrition.
“Come on, Little Doll. I know you're not asleep.”
