Page 753 of The Tempted
I wondered if it was her father that took away the shine like I had taken away Adrianna’s.
Probably not.
“I’m Dr. Gazelle,” she introduced herself, pulling up a stool and rolling closer. “Mr. Pastore—”
“Call me Victor,” I hiss before glancing down at the floor again at the object that held my attention before she walked into the room.
“It says here you’re not in the greatest of health, Mr. Pastore, I mean, Victor,” she says and I tear my eyes away from the floor to glance around the room. The guard was fidgeting again, pacing back and forth before he bumps into the metal tray and sends it rolling right toward us.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s my first day and I’m kind of nervous,” he admits when Dr. Gazelle turns around abruptly.
“We’ve all been there,” she soothes, pushing the metal tray aside so it rests between us. The tray is lined immaculately with instruments you’d likely see in an emergency room, a small pair of scissors, a pair of tweezers and lastly a needle and thread.
“I’m sorry, as I was saying, you’re pretty sick, Mr. Pastore,” she continues, frowning deeply as she flips the pages of my chart.
“How old are you, Dr. Gazelle?”
She closes my chart, rests it on top of her lap before she folds her hands neatly and lifts her sorrowful eyes. I wait for her to answer but she keeps her lips closed in a tight line, studying me with the same intensity she did my medical records.
I take a deep breath, the biggest one my lungs will allow and force a smile.
“Twenty-nine,” she finally replies.
“I have two daughters, both in their twenties,” I tell her. “I saw them a few days ago and though their faces are fresh in my memory, I can’t help miss them like crazy.”
I brought my closed fist to my mouth and coughed uncontrollably. My chest ached as I abused what was left of my lungs. Dr. Gazelle stood quickly, turning around to the guard.
“Go get him a glass of water,” she ordered.
“But—” he stammers.
“Or you can stay and we can both watch him choke to death. How’s that for a first day on the job story?” she chastises, pointing her finger toward the door. “Water. Now.”
I continue to choke and gasp for air as the guard disappears from his post and the sweet young doctor grabs an oxygen mask. She fits the strap over my head and covers my mouth and nose with the mask.
“Try to relax, Mr. Pastore,” she instructs, turning up the dial on the oxygen tank. “That’s it, nice and easy breaths,” she whispers, holding the mask with one hand as she moves a strand of hair behind her ear.
I stared at her bare ear, the cough easing up as I brush her hand away and lower the mask from my face.
“Your earring,” I rasp.
She lifts her hand to her ear, feeling around for the diamond hoop I had spotted on the floor before she walked into the room.
“Oh, no,” she whispers, moving her hand to check for its mate. “They were a present from my father before he passed last year,” she explains as she frantically pats down her clothes in search of the earring.
And they say history doesn’t repeat itself—fools.
I lifted the mask off my face and point to the floor behind her.
“Is that it over there?”
She turns, following my finger as I lift the mask back to my face and casually rest my other hand on the metal tray.
“Where? Oh! There is its,” she murmurs, as my hand closes around the pair of scissors resting on the tray. I continue to breathe in the oxygen as she bends down to lift the earring from the floor. With a quick glance back toward the door I shove the scissors into the waistband of my pants, untucking my shirt and pulling the hem over my pants to conceal my weapon.
Dr. Gazelle stands, fitting the earring back to her ear as the guard walks in carrying a Styrofoam cup of water. I drop the mask onto my lap and reach for the cup he offered, smiling weakly at both of them.
“God bless you both,” I whisper before taking a gulp of the water, letting the liquid relieve the rawness of my throat.
