He got to his feet, unbuckled his belt, and pulled down his shorts. When Halleck nodded impatiently, Emmett slid his boxers down too.
He couldn’t see his penis over his belly, not without bending forward, but he could feel it: scrunched, sluglike, stuck against his scrotum. He could smell his sweaty musk.Fat boy stinks.
Halleck turned his head away as he conducted the examination. He couldn’t rip the gloves off fast enough once he was done.
“Have you been fasting?”
“Yeah.” Emmett cinched his belt, avoiding Halleck’s eye.
“No food? Nothing but water for the last twelve hours?”
“I’ve been fasting,” Emmett said.
“Fine. While you’re here, we should take some blood. Monstera wants to run a full panel. We should probably also check your A1C to make sure you’re not diabetic. Someone will be in.”
“Hopefully with warmer hands,” Emmett tossed out. To his surprise, the doctor looked back and laughed.
Emmett’s satisfaction curdled as he noticed Halleck’s teeth: stained red at the gums, bloody, as if he’d been flossing. Or like the receptionist, eating raw meat.
Strawberries, Emmett told himself.He said he likes them.
But the initial shock of it remained, his appetite gone.
Appendix E—Instagram Post
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