Anne's POV
This was the same man who dropped me in front of my hostel and tried to put money in my hand. I had taken it as an attempt to pay me off and keep me quiet, even though he tried to convince me otherwise.
The moment I saw the money, I made up my mind about him. That was enough for me not to trust him.
He was walking toward me now with his face buried in the chart, the same one I had seen the nurse holding earlier.
If it were not for everything between us, I would have gawked at him. The urge was still there, but I kept forcing it down.
"Good day, Miss Scott, I'm Doctor Vincent Sawyer. I hear you had quite an adventure today," he said, looking up.
Our eyes met.
And I saw him stiffen.
He recognised me. Of course he did.
"Yes, doctor. A great adventure. One I can actually talk about." I replied coldly, with a deliberate, condescending emphasis on every word.
It was a low blow, I know. It was also the only thing I could produce while trying to ignore his face.
He briefly paused and stared at me, then looked back at the chart.
"A few scratches and bruises, nothing serious. How are you feeling?"
"Fine.”
“Any headache, dizziness?”
I'm completely fine. When can I leave?" I asked flatly.
He did not flinch. He just scribbled off on the chart.
"Soon, Miss Scott. I need to check your vitals," he said calmly.
He removed the stethoscope from around his neck, placed it in his ears and came closer.
"Could you open a few buttons, please," he said, gesturing at my button-up shirt.
I looked from his face to my shirt, then slowly complied. I had spent a few seconds trying to think of a reason not to, and found nothing. Deep down I knew he would not do anything improper.
He placed the stethoscope against my chest. When he moved it to a different spot, his fingers grazed lightly against my skin.
The contact was brief. He probably didn’t notice, but I did.
I noticed it.
Something completely unwelcome fluttered through my stomach. I kept my eyes forward and told myself it was nothing. Nerves, maybe, or probably the aftershock of a terrible afternoon.
My face heated up anyway.
I must be going crazy.
I had every reason not to feel anything good in this room, surrounded by everything that reminded me of the last few weeks. And yet here I was, sitting in a hospital bed with butterflies, which was honestly the most insulting thing my body had done to me recently.
After listening to my heartbeat, he placed two fingers on my lower eyelid and drew it down gently, then did the same to the other eye.
As his hand left my face, his fingers brushed lightly against my lips.
"I’m sorry," he said calmly, going about his business.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. That kind of incidental contact happened all the time during a close examination. It meant nothing. But the way I was reacting to it was something else entirely.
"A nurse will come shortly with your prescription and discharge you. Good day, Miss Scott," he said and walked out without a second glance.
I sat there.
I genuinely did not know what to do with myself. I was glad the strange warmth in my body faded after he left. At the same time it bothered me that he had shown absolutely nothing. He had been perfectly, infuriatingly professional.
My thoughts went back to that moment in the hospital corridor, to the way he had held me. He had seemed… different then. But judging by his behavior now, it was all for his brother. He was just apologizing for his brother's mess, probably trying to soften things so I wouldn’t go talking. Part of the whole bribing routine, no doubt. He probably didn’t give a damn about me.
The door opened almost immediately, and he stepped back in.
My breath hitched.
“Miss Scott," he began, briefly shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as if deciding whether whatever he wanted to say was worth it. “How have you been faring?” he finally said.
“Peachy, doc. I’ll live,” I said, letting my sarcasm drip.
He gave a slow nod, lingering a bit before turning to leave.
I exhaled. That was it. As if that one question was supposed to mean he cared.
‘But why do you care if he does?’ my brain prodded.
I don't.
A little later, the nurse came in with my prescription and after every other routine was done, I was discharged. I pushed the thoughts of the doctor and my strange reactions aside, then headed off to find Pamela.
I was nearly at the hospital exit when the door flew open and hit me squarely on the head, sending me flat on my backside with an oomph!
"Aww! Not again!"
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. Are you alright? Here, let me help you up," the owner of the voice said, and without waiting for an answer, rushed around me, held my shoulders and pulled me upright.
"It's alright, I'm fine..."
I froze.
‘You have got to be kidding me again,’ I thought, glancing up at the ceiling.
He had frozen too, still holding my shoulders.
"Excuse me," I said finally, wriggling out of his grip.
"Oh, sorry!" He pulled his hands back like he had touched something hot.
"Thank you," I said, with every drop of sarcasm I had available.
I had decided somewhere between Vincent's examination room and this door that they both deserved whatever dry, cutting response I could produce. I was on a very limited emotional budget and I intended to spend it wisely.
I moved past him and stepped outside. I already knew he would follow because he had not moved an inch in his original direction.
"Wait, please!" he called from behind.
I ignored him.
“Miss…”
I stopped and turned. "What?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. His eyes roamed around my face going down to my right arm where I had visible bruises.
“Are you okay?”
I turned and walked off.
‘You’re the one to ask.’
“Please wait, I've been looking all over campus for you…”
“That's not my problem.” I continued walking.
“Please, just…just hear me out.”
“I'm not obliged to listen to you.”
“Please…I just wanted to say that I am truly sorry…"
"Don't," I said, stopping abruptly and turning to face him squarely.
He screeched to a stop just inches away from me.
"Don't.” I looked him dead in the eye. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. Whatever you need to say to sleep at night, find someone else to say it to."
"Please, just let me…"
"No." I turned and walked away.
He followed.
I kept walking.
The footsteps kept coming. Every step he took toward me felt like a physical intrusion, digging up a memory I'd rather keep locked.
I spun around. "Why are you following me?"
"I just need 10 minutes, please, I…"
"I said no. Stop following me! Go back inside. Go home. Go wherever it is people like you go. Just leave me alone."
He stopped, taking a step back like he had been stung.
I felt a pang in my chest. That was pretty harsh. But what do I care? I turned back around and kept walking. The footsteps did not come this time.
I made it about twenty steps before I slowed down. Then stopped.
I stood there for a moment, staring into space, trying to think up reasons why I shouldn't hear him out. What does he have to explain that’ll justify his stupid actions?
Do I really need this today?
I stood there a little longer, arguing with myself before finally giving in and turning around.
He was still standing where I had left him, looking like a lost puppy. I walked back slowly.
He looked up when he heard my footsteps returning, and I could visibly see him inhale sharply, adjusting his stance as if getting ready for the confrontation.
"Five minutes," I said. "Open place. You don't touch me. The moment I want to leave, I leave. No arguments."
He nodded quickly. "Yes. Of course. I promise."
"And whatever you need to say, say it once. I'm not a confessional."
"Thank you," he said, beaming, then his face contorted into a frown.
“What?”
“Are you okay, though?”
“Do you want to talk or not?”
“I do… I do.”
I turned around and walked ahead of him.