“No,” the doctor asked, removing the stick. He wiped the jelly off my stomach. “You did good, Scarlett,” he told me with a smile. “You may sit up.”
Was scar tissue bad?
I slowly pushed myself up, letting my dress fall around me after Azrael lifted his jacket.“Bad?”I signed.
He shook his head. “Scar tissue happens whenever you are cut, no matter where that may be. When performing surgeries, there is either a lot or a little, but there is never none. There was a lot for what they did, meaning they made a lot of mistakes while they were in there.”
That didn’t sound good, but he said it wasn’t bad, so I believed him. I still wondered what it meant for me. Would it be something that affected me in the future? Or was it not bad in the sense that I would never have to worry about it again?
“Lastly, drawing blood.”
I turned back to the doctor. I was excited to draw, but I had never drawn a picture with another person before. How would that work? Did we both get—my eyes widening when he picked up not a pencil but a large needle.
Fear slammed through me, and I scrambled back onto the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them tightly. No. No. No. I didn’t want that thing anywhere nearme. What were they going to do with it? Where were they going to put it? It looked painful and inhumane.
“It’s all right,” the doctor said. “It won’t hurt more than a little prick.”
I’d rather slice my hand like Azrael had than have that thing anywhere near me.No.
“Scarlett,” Azrael spoke calmly. “Eyes.”
My fingers dug into my arms, my heart pounding. Fear. I felt fear for that thing, but I couldn’t ignore him.
My eyes lifted to his, albeit, flicking back to the needle every half a second.
“Sit up, roll up your sleeve, and let him take it. They lied to you; this is the only way to prove that.”
But it looked so big. How could it just be a little prick? It looked like it was going to go right through my arm. All the way through. I would see the tip on the other side, I was sure.
“Perhaps if you held her hand,” the doctor suggested.
Azrael’s shoulders tensed, his hands flexing, his jaw working. I noticed it the first time he touched me. He didn’t like touch, but he had done it. Twice now.
“Sit up,” he ordered me tightly.
I searched his eyes for another moment before forcing myself to uncurl, trying not to look at that needle this time. I didn’t want anything more to do with it.
I scooted to the edge of the table, leaning away from him.
“Roll up your sleeve,” Azrael demanded.
I did as he said, staring across the room unblinkingly. It was so long. How would it not damage some part of me?
The doctor glanced at Azrael and back as he stepped forward. “Hold out your arm like this,” he told me, showing me what to do.
I saw it out of the corner of my eye, unable to look away from the spot on the counter I had chosen to stare at. Just breathe.This was just like what they did in the Back Hall. Putting something inside of you that you don’t like, but this time, it was for my wellbeing. To prove that I was right, that the church was lying.
But a moment later, I felt his hand slide through mine, warmth flooding over my skin, my eyes shooting towards our hands.
His hand was so big, it nearly surrounded mine completely. Warm, strong, steady. His ring was gone. The ring I had seen two years ago. I could see where he wore it though. A slightly paler spot on his ring finger. Why had he taken it off?
I felt a painful prick and my hand tightened around his, my nails digging into his skin, tears burning my eyes. Ithurt. It hurt so much. It wasn’t just a prick. It felt like my life was being pulled from my skin.
“Almost done,” I heard the doctor say distantly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my lips together. Almost done. Almost done. Almost done.
Seconds felt like hours when he finally announced that he was done.
