"To your knowledge, have you had any prolonged exposure to scent-altering industrial chemicals, hygiene products, or foods known to tamper with glandular health?” Beta Love was nearly to the bottom of the page he was filling with neatly scripted words.
“I’m homeless,” I said stupidly.
“Yes, and?” Beta Love glanced at me for a heartbeat, then back at his paper. He expected an answer. Okay, I’d give him one.
“Beta Love, I have cleaned my body with anything available. I have eaten out of dumpsters. I have slept near a literal chemical spill when a tanker overturned on Broad Street. How am I supposed to answer that?” I didn’t let my tone shift to anger. I controlled each word. But, God, I wanted to scream at the stupidity.
The Beta pursed his lips, face scrunching as he considered my feedback. Yet, he was still the emotionless clinician. That singular spark of excitement at discovering I was a virgin must have been really out of character.
"Let me rephrase, Miss Fortune. In the pastweek, have you consumed or applied anything that you believe might interfere with your scent profile? This could include perfumes, scented soaps, or foods with high concentrations of garlic or other strong-smelling ingredients."
"No. I haven't had access to anything fancy like that." Now that Josie seemed more herself, I pulled her into my lap. The weight of her against my thighs was grounding. "The shelter soap is hospital grade, though it does smell like baby powder. The clothes they give out are usually a bit musty, but otherwise scentless. And I eat whatever I find that isn’t obviously rotten, unless it’s Wednesday and the soup kitchen is open. As you can imagine, they don’t usually spring for expensive seasonings.”
He nodded, making another note. "Very good. A few final questions before Doctor Swann arrives. Are you currently taking any medications, prescribed or otherwise?
"No medications." I laughed bitterly.
“Do you currently have a primary care physician from which we can pull your records?”
“No.” I didn’t laugh this time. I was getting tired of the charade. A free clinic opened once a month near 11th Avenue, and they never got through the list of walk-ins before closing. More often than not, they had to prioritize the worst cases and send the rest away. Whoever wrote these questions were wildly out of touch.
“A past primary care?—”
I didn’t let him finish his stupid question this time.
“Look, I had a pediatrician way back in the day. My last appointment was right before I turned eighteen. It was at Seattle Pediatrics. I’m sure they still have info on me.” I wondered what my old doctor and nurse would think if some random lab tech suddenly called asking about a Tessa Fortune. Would they still have my records? I wasn’t an active patient anymore. Would they be curious about how I was? About where I was living? Would they care?
“Fantastic, I’ll be able to use your records release permission from the initial form for that.” he wrote that down quickly and then set the pen down sharply against the clipboard.
I really should have read that stupid form. I had zero idea what I'dagreed to. I’d just initialed, checked boxes, and signed as quickly as possible.So monstrously stupid.
“Well, I have everything we need,” Beta love continued. “Doctor Swann should be here any minute. Do you feel hydrated?”
“I had a sparkling water earlier,” I shrugged. My mouth was parched, but I wasn’t thirsty. I certainly didn’t want to drink anything he offered me.
“Good, but just in case.” He stood up—clipboard still firmly gripped with the pen trapped beneath his fingers—and strode over to a mini fridge. He swung open the door and deftly plucked out a small bottle. When he brought it over to me, I peered at the label. Electrolyte Tonic, Omega recipe. The company name Eros with a sleek arrow beneath that.
“What’s in it?” I took it from Beta Love reluctantly, turning it over in one hand and finding no ingredients list.
“Your basic electrolytes, as it says, with a propriety blend of herbs formulated for Omega recovery. When you check out today, they’ll send you with a few. It will help jumpstart reclaiming your physical health in case…” He stopped speaking abruptly, as if he was saying too much.
“In case?” I poked, but he was ignoring me now, setting his clipboard down on sleek, stainless rolling table with an inch lip around its top.
He rolled the table slowly over to a large white cabinet nearby, which he opened and began plucking items from within. Blood collection tubes, two lavender, two yellow, four red. Butterfly needles with cannulas. A large, terrifying syringe came next. The end of it was outfitted with a sort of two circle metal pull for the internal plunger. Just seeing it made me queasy.
“Why do we need so much stuff?” My voice cracked when I asked the question. He didn’t answer. His bedside manner positively sucked. Josie was awake now, alert and checking out the room. She began kneading at the robe I wore, clawing gently at the material, scrunching it up and then releasing, over and over again.
Beta Love didn’t answer me. He was at a computer now, typing quickly. Seconds later, a compact printer began spitting out labels. He slowly, methodicallylabeled the tubes he’d retrieved.
Josie stood up and stretched. I tried to make her sit back down, but her little legs locked into place and though I pushed her down insistently, she refused to comply. “Sit down,” I fussed. She looked at me dead square and, I swore, gave a little shrug of her kitten shoulders.
That’s when Beta Love rolled the cart back over, his eyes locked on our struggle.
“Miss fortune, please keep your cat under control. The doctor doesn’t appreciate distractions. If the process is stunted, in any manner, by the animal, it will be removed.”
Before I could respond, he turned and marched out of the room. The door whooshed into place behind him.
“You can remove her over my dead Omega body,” I growled at him. It was easy to play tough when you were alone.
