AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Alek wasn’t sure if he was more turned on or annoyed that Ian was stalking him in his own home.
“Alek!” she scolded. “Even four hours is excessive in your condition. Doesn’t it make your fingers sore? Your arm? The muscles in your back?”
Alek didn’t mind the pain. It was a delicious distraction from the guilt and self-loathing that took up all the space in his head now that he didn’t have music.
Dr. Modorovic reached across the table, grabbed his unbroken hand, and pulled it towards her. Alek flinched and gasped at the pain that lit through his hand and up the tendons in his wrist.
Ian sucked in a sharp breath.
For obvious reasons, Alek hadn’t mentioned the pain he’d been dealing with.
“There’s swelling here.” She clucked her tongue, her eyes narrowed hawkishly as she prodded the palm of his hand and flipped it over to inspect the other side. “It’s very likely you’re developing a repetitive stress injury.” She released his hand and shook her head. “You could end up with two hands that don’t work as well as they should.”
Alek doubted that. He could play through the pain.
Ian’s face was grim, his voice gritty as he asked, “How many hours can he safely play?”
“At this point, complete rest would be ideal—not forever—just until the injury heals.” Her eyes softened. “I know how important the piano is to you, Alek, but we’re talking about more than just pain here. You could lose grip strength, finger agility, precision. You’ll start dropping things without meaning to. Your joints will slowly stiffen from chronic inflammation until you can hardly move them. How will you play then?”
Her diagnosis seemed rather dramatic. His hands weren’t going to ossify like petrified wood. Underneath the ringing of his ears, Dr. Modorovic explained where they could purchase a wrist brace and how to use it.
“I’ll make a referral to a hand and wrist surgeon to have a closer look. They’ll be able to determine if permanent damage has been done.”
Ian looked crestfallen. “I didn’t realize the piano could hurt him…”
“You can’t be expected to know everything. The only reason I know is because my job requires my hands to be in perfect working order.”
“There will be no more piano,” Ian declared. “Right, Alek?”
Alek feigned surprise, his eyes wide and the tips of his fingers splayed on his chest. “Oh? I didn’t realize you wanted my opinion. I thought this was a conversation reserved for those with all their mental faculties intact.”
“I apologize. Would you like to speak privately?” In Bulgarian, she said, “You and I can talk like this if you wish or I could ask Ian to step out.”
“No,” Alek said in English. “Are we just about finished here or are there more lifelong passions that you’d like to ruin for me?”
Ian leaned over and growled in Alek’s ear, “Stop being an asshole. She’s trying to do her job.”
That was true. He should direct his anger at the source: Ian. He couldn’t wait until they were alone.
“I have a few more questions, if you’ll bear with me,” Dr. Modorovic said. “Have you ever seen things no one else could see? Heard things that no one else could hear? Before the accident, or after?”
Alek turned to Ian. “You told her about the fox?”
Ian winced. “I’m not saying the fox isn’t real. It’s just… I haven’t seen it. Animal control didn’t find it. I thought she should know.”
“It’s a fox, not a dog. It doesn’t come when it’s called.”
The doctor cleared her throat. “Foxes aside, there are very real issues here. Ian said you’ve mentioned suicide.”
“It. Was. A. Joke.”
“So if I ask if you’ve had thoughts of hurting yourself, even fleetingly, the answer would be no?”
“Resoundingly,” Alek said.
Not that he would admit it if he was. Confessing suicidal ideation was a one-way ticket to a psych ward, and that was a place he would never find himself in.
“Good. If that should change, you must tell someone. Mental illness is exactly that. An illness. When the brain is sick, it lies. It tells us to give up when we should do anything but.”
