Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"Thank you," I mumble instead of sharing that with him.
A sharp tap on the door makes me jump.
"Está bien. Estoy aquí," Octavio reminds me, reaching out to touch my wrist before he calls for the doctor to come in.
The doctor is short and balding, with bushy brows and a kind smile. He's barely any taller than I am. "You must be, Ms. Donovan," he says, looking up from my chart to smile at me. He doesn't try to shake my hand though, which I appreciate. "I'm Dr. Patterson. And who did you bring with you today?"
"I'm Octavio Hernandez," Octavio says in his deep growl.
"Boyfriend?" Dr. Patterson asks, looking between the two of us.
"Caretaker," Octavio corrects, but doesn't explain further.
Dr. Patterson nods before turning to me again. "I understand you've had a rough time lately, Ms. Donovan. If you're okay with it, I'm going to remove the stitches from your hands today and draw some blood to see how everything else looks. The nurse weighed you already. You've gained seven pounds, which is excellent news. How is your appetite?"
"It's okay."
"What are you eating?"
"She likes fruit and chocolate, but doesn't eat very much meat or bread," Octavio says, taking me by surprise. I didn't realize he paid that close attention to what I ate. But maybe I should have expected it. He seems to pay attention to everything.
"I like chicken and shrimp."
"Those are good choices," Dr. Patterson says, jotting notes in my chart. "Adding some red meat and whole grains to your diet certainly wouldn't hurt, but so long as you're gaining weight and your bloodwork looks okay, I don't think there's any reason to force it on you." He glances up from my chart. "Keep an eye on the sugar intake though. Gaining weight is important, but we don't want to overload your system with too much sugar. It could cause problems down the line."
"Okay," I agree.
Octavio grunts like he doesn't agree, but he doesn't say anything.
"If you'll hop up on the table, I'll take a look at your hands and get those stitches out."
I glance nervously at Octavio, my heart fluttering like the wings of a bird against my ribcage.
"She doesn't like to be touched," he tells Dr. Patterson, placing his big body between the two of us to prevent the much smaller man from approaching me. "Can one of your nurses remove the stitches?"
"Y-yes, of course," Dr. Patterson mumbles, clearly caught off guard by the request that sounds more like a command than an actual question. "But I still need to examine her."
Octavio tenses like he's going to argue.
"It's okay," I whisper, placing my hand on his back. "I'll be okay."
He turns to face me, a question in his eyes. "You sure, conejita?"
I nod and then bite my lip and look at Dr. Patterson. "He can stay in here with me, right?"
"That's fine," Dr. Patterson says, smiling at me in patient understanding. "Hop up on the table and we'll get started."
Octavio helps me climb up onto the little examination table covered with paper. Once I'm settled, he wedges his big body between my left thigh and the wall, placing a steadying hand on my arm. He stays right there, hovering over me like a bodyguard while Dr. Patterson checks me over, looking in my ears and my mouth and then listening to my lungs and testing my reflexes. He touches me as little as possible and makes sure to explain everything he's going to do before he does it. It's not exactly comfortable, but it's better than I expected. The doctor in the emergency room didn't explain anything.
"Everything looks good," Dr. Patterson says when he's done examining me. He jots another couple of notes in my chart and then glances up at me, his expression serious. "But I understand that you've been through some pretty serious trauma. Have you thought about seeing anyone about what you went through?"
"She's seeing one of the psychologists we employ."
"We?"
"LAPD."
"Ah." Dr. Patterson glances between the two of us again. "You're a police officer?"
"Detective."
Dr. Patterson nods and jots another couple notes before flipping through my chart. He frowns, looking up at me again. "We don't seem to have any of your family history or previous medical records, Ms. Donovan."
"There aren't any," I whisper, my cheeks burning with humiliation.
"Excuse me?"
"Her father died when she was six. Her mother was physically abusive. To her knowledge, she hasn't seen a doctor since she lived with her father," Octavio tells him, his voice brusque and businesslike. He stands upright, looming over the smaller man like a dangerous animal even as he squeezes my arm gently. "St. Francis ran a battery of tests on her while she was hospitalized. You should have those results."
"Yes, I have those here." Dr. Patterson flips through the file again, swallowing hard like Octavio makes him nervous. He glances at me and then at Octavio again, seeming to decide something. His expression firms, his spine straightening. "Can I be frank?"