Not to mention, when he went all serious and foreboding after our rather… unexpected conversation, his stoicness was almost pleasant.
Scratch that. My idiotic heart fluttered with the deluded prospect that he was being protective of me. Add that to the fact that he washolding me to his chest like I was special and not a piece of rotten meat to discard; my ovaries were having a party. The part about Kiervan is believable, the rest of the things he said to mehasto be a blatant lie, but I’m just getting all giddy about it because I hit my head, and it felt scarily nice to be in his arms.
I’m not entertaining the touch starved theory to my reaction, because that issue can be bought and fulfilled by exchanging one thing for another.
Kohen carried me without expecting me to spread for him by the end of it. But Irefuseto believe he did it out of the kindness of his heart. He’s going to retaliate over the fire somehow, and I just have to be ready for it when it happens—which, right now, would be a very inconvenient time for it to happen. Not to sound dramatic or anything, but I think my ankle might be broken.
Dislocated, maybe.
Or a bad sprain—twistedsounds too mundane, but substantially more accurate than the other two. I think.
I’m no doctor, but if I can still move my foot around it’s not broken, right? Who the fuck knows. Even if a bone is sticking out, the nurse will probably slap a Band-Aid on it and kick me out. I want to say this is the life of a woman going to the doctor, but I think this is more a me issue.
Seraphic Hills’s selling point to parents is the school's one-stop-shop aspect. It might be situated hours away from a town with a population of over one thousand and in the middle of a fucking forest, but life still continues for the students because everything we could possibly need is right here. There’s a semiretired doctor on retainer who lives close by and drives over if there are any cases beyond Dr. Van der Merwe’s skills, as well as a helipad to fly peopleout for any significant issues.
I’ve never been to this part of the medical wing. I knew this place had an examination room; I just didn’t think it was this nice. Clean white walls, gray floors, LED lights, random health and anatomy posters around the room, and various plastic organs and bones along the shelves. There seems to be everything in here, even a portable ultrasound, defibrillator, and a blood-test-checker-machine thingy. I’m honestly not sure what type of qualifications a psychiatrist and a retired general practitioner must have to operate all this machinery.
Oh, and I can’t forget about the lovely ECT a couple rooms over.
The side of my face prickles; it has ever since the nurse directed Kohen to lower me onto the bed and left us both to wait while my good friend Dr. Van der Merwe finishes his meeting.
Earlier, as the nurse rummaged around the drawer for anti-inflammatories, Dr. Kohen Osman stepped in and R.I.C.E’d the fuck out of me. I was on my back with an ice pack on my elevated foot faster than I could figure out what every word in the acronym stands for.
Internally sighing, I swallow my pride and say the words usually only reserved for customer service. “Thank you.” Then add, “For bringing me here.”
Yuck. It even tastes gross. If I have to admit that I’m wrong about something or apologize, I’m going to throw up.
His lips part, eyes widening in shock.
Nope. That expression has to go. “But you can leave.”
Good one, Blaze. Friendly, swift, to the point. Then I can go back to plotting how to ruin Kohen’s psyche while simultaneously avoiding Elijah.
I’m going to need to get better at my uppercuts if that hopped-up fucker tries jumping me again. Or wait… guys love a damsel in distress—case in point, Kohen. Although, I thought he’d be inclined to add to my distress. There’s still time for that to change.
Kohen takes this exact moment to decide that he does, in fact, want to add to my daily stresses. He gets all up in my business, placing his arms on either side of my body to cage me against the bed—not like I was planning to go anywhere with my broken foot and all.
And it’s not like I can breathe with him this close. Or think. Or be any kind of functioning member of society.
Patchouli and mint smell even better in a sterile room. I should be a little more haunted by the fact that the place the doc tortured me in is nearby, but none of that seems to matter when I can feel his breath on my face… his lips are so close, and his hands areright there, so close to my—
No.
No.
I’m mad at him. Ihatehim. I amnotthinking about those strong fingers brushing along my core. And I am most definitely not dreaming about mounting him for trying to stop the fight and then acting so attentively afterward.
God, I need to figure out how to get someone to smuggle a vibrator into this place. A Kohen-sized dildo would be a good alternative.
“Try to kick me out, and I’ll tell the nurse about the…” His hand skates up the side of my thigh, and I’m ashamed to admit that my legs fall apart ever so slightly. Then, in a move that disappoints me more than it should, he reaches into my pocket and pulls out the strip of tablets I nicked when I thought no one was looking.
He blinks. Stares at the pills. “Laxatives? Really?”
Is that what those things were? I mean, you can’t put a price on afunctioning stomach.
I snatch the medication from him and tuck it back into my pocket. “I have IBS.”
“No, you don’t.”
