Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Hey, Nyx?” he called, his voice soft, coaxing me to open my eyes again. “I just want you to know that this is a safe space. If you want me to call the police for you, I can. If someone close to you is—“
“I’m not battered,” I cut him off, but was touched by the concern in his voice, in his kind eyes.
He was nothing like the holier-than-thou doctor I dealt with for my aunt and her declining mental state, a man who seemed to think “doctor” and “god” were synonyms for each other.
Dr. Price was the kind of guy who went into healthcare because he genuinely gave a shit. With looks like his, he could have been a model. Or played a heartthrob doctor on some primetime medicine drama. But he chose to slog away in medical school, then residency, only to settle in some nowhere town where he didn’t get all the tail he would get in a big city somewhere.
Though, objectively, small towns were good for bachelors. All the older ladies brought him dinner and dessert, tried to set him up with their daughters or granddaughters. He was fawned over in a way that must have been nice.
“It wouldn’t be your fault if you were,” he said carefully.
“No, really. I’m not. I just… got involved with the wrong kind of people, I guess,” I said, shrugging.
To that, his eyes darkened a little, knowing it was a gray, dangerous area. Even if he wanted to press, he couldn’t.
“Okay. But if you ever need a safe place to be, I’m always here. There are rooms you can stay in until you can figure out your next move.”
“Thank you. Really. I am going to get it all sorted,” I said. I even did it with some conviction. Though, at that moment, I had no idea how I was going to do that.
All I knew was that I couldn’t be getting attacked in my own home, beaten so badly that I needed stitches. That was not a reality I was willing to keep living in.
“Alright,” he said a few minutes later after the local got a chance to kick in. “Let’s get this started,” he said.
I let my eyes flutter closed as he worked, figuring it would be less terrible if I didn’t know exactly what was going on as he did it.
In my head, my mind could only seem to focus on one thing.
The tiny, minute details of the attack.
I thought, maybe, if I went over it in painstaking detail, fleshing it out, making the images clearer around the corners, I might be able to get a face.
In the end, though, all there seemed to be was a dark hood that shadowed a face.
The best description I could come up with was maybe someone who was five-eleven. Not small, size-wise, but not hefty or ripped either. Just… average.
Strong, though.
And fast.
I had barely been able to react, let alone try to fight back or even defend myself.
Though, I guess I could count myself really lucky that he hadn’t done worse to me. Sure, I had a migraine. Bruises. Stitches getting sewn into my head. But I didn’t have busted ribs or broken bones. He hadn’t raped me.
It was a sad day when you were counting only being slightly beaten a blessing. But this was my new reality, it seemed.
“Okay. You can open your eyes,” Dr. Price said, scooting his stool away to clean and dispose of his supplies. “How about I prescribe you a couple of pain pills to help you with that headache?” he asked, tone careful.
Because aside from maybe Dell, Dr. Price was the only person who knew about my mother and the depths of her addiction. Partly because I’d mentioned once that addiction ran in my family. And partly because he’d once pumped my mother’s stomach when she’d, somehow, gotten alcohol poisoning despite being a lifelong drinker.
“I know you want to object,” he said, turning to face me and letting out a breath. “I am just suggesting it because that headache might get better after some sleep, or it might get worse. It might give you some peace knowing you will have something to use if you can’t take it anymore.”
“Okay,” I agreed, nodding. The pharmacy wouldn’t be open until the morning anyway. If the pain was better, I could just toss the script.
“In the meantime, the gas station carries ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and over-the-counter migraine meds. You can try that. Cool compress. But don’t touch the stitches. And those come out in ten to fourteen days. You don’t need to schedule an appointment. You can just drop in whenever you have time.”
“Thank you. Really. I’m sorry I had to drag you out of bed like this.”
“Part of the job,” he said, shrugging. “Between me and you, I would prefer a little stitching rather than a projectile-vomiting kid with the stomach bug,” he told me, giving me a small smile.