I wrap my arms around her. “Never.”
She fights harder, clinging to me while crying out over and over, “Don’t leave me.”
“Tatiana, I’ve got you.”
I hold her close and mutter words of comfort in her hair, but no matter what I say, she grows more hysterical by the second.
The doctor approaches with a hypodermic needle. “Hold her steady.”
“No,” she screams, clawing to get closer to me even though she can’t get any closer. “Don’t. Dante, please.”
Holding her in place while she fights like a wild animal and begs me not to do this to her is like flogging myself with barbed wire. It hurts me like nothing ever has when the doctor sticks that needle into her bicep.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head as she puts up a futile fight before going slack again. “I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her eyes turn hazy, and then they close, her body slumped in my arms.
“Lie her down,” the doctor says, spreading one of the bathroom towels out over the bed.
It takes superhuman willpower to lay her down on the towel. I want to hold her against my chest and never let her go.
“What the fuck happened to her?” I ask myself more than the doctor.
“I think it’s safe to say she’s been through a traumatic experience, which will explain her reaction. Can you please stand aside for a moment?”
I only manage to tear myself away from her because the logical part of my brain realizes she needs help.
Not bothering with undressing her, the doctor cuts the dress open from the top to the bottom, leaving her in a modest bra and panties while I remove her stockings and shoes.
A single string of pearls fits snugly around her neck. Matching pearl earrings, the chain with the cross that belonged to her mother, and her engagement and wedding rings are her only other jewelry. The Rolex I gave her is gone.
The doctor confirms that her vitals are stable and does a more thorough examination, checking for fractures and abdominal bruises that could indicate internal bleeding.
He straightens when he’s done. “I’ve given her a tranquilizer, so she’ll be out for a while. Her heart rate and blood pressure are normal, and she doesn’t have a fever, but her pupils are dilated. I’d like to run a blood test.” He continues when I’ve nodded my consent. “I’ll give her a local anesthetic and stitch up the cut. Her knees and palms are badly scraped, and it looks as if some gravel may be stuck behind the scabs. I’ll have to clean the scrapes properly to ensure infection doesn’t set in. I can hook her up to a drip with electrolytes to help with the dehydration. I can have everything here in,” he checks his watch, “about an hour.”
“Will she be all right?”
“Physically, yes.” Pinning me with a look, he says with meaning, “But I suggest you get her to talk to someone.”
“A psychiatrist, you mean.”
“She needs trauma treatment.” He packs away his stethoscope and blood pressure gauge. “I can give you a referral.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll text you the number.”
There’s a knock on the door.
I cover Tatiana’s body with a sheet before I answer the door.
Emily enters with a big bowl of water balancing on the stack of towels in her arms. “Where do you want these?”
I motion at the bench. “Leave everything there.”
Shaking the doctor’s hand, I say, “Emily will see you out.”
As soon as they’re gone, I get a sponge and soap from the bathroom. I follow the doctor’s example, cutting through the bra in the front with a flip knife and doing the same with the elastic on the sides of the panties. Then I carefully pull the dress out from under her.
