Page 10 of Sacred Blood

I shuddered at the thought. Punishment at his hands could take on a whole new meaning if this was personal.

With another breath of frustration, I blew a strand of hair from my face, as Mr. Serious took a seat behind his desk. With the hair still in my way, I swatted at it, and of course, hit my face instead of the hair. And, completely losing myself in a swirl of irritation, dumped my head forward and ripped out the elastic holding it in a messy bun. Swinging my head up, I was so dizzy I almost fell over, but covered my fragile condition by plopping down into the chair opposite his desk. It was a cushy chair, but I couldn’t get comfortable. My feet didn’t touch the floor, the seat was far too broad for me. I was used to feeling a little undersized for the world around me, but not like this. I felt like a child in Papa’s study, only this Papa wouldn’t give me a distracted scold and a hug and send me back out to play.

Dr. Vitale watched me with a look I couldn’t decipher. I assumed the man was assessing my mental health and I was coming up wanting.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

The silence stretched between us.

I hated silence.

Silence left too much room for thinking.

Too much room for remembering.

Too much room for fear.

My pulse throbbed behind my eyes.

I hadn't slept properly in days. Hadn't eaten anything more substantial than vending machine snacks and coffee. So much coffee.

The office blurred for a second and I blinked hard.

Not now.

Please, not now.

I could not afford to fall apart.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

Not when every mistake I'd made over the last four days was lined up in my head like witnesses waiting to testify against me.

The ruined surgical tray.

The delayed procedure.

Falling asleep standing up.

The constant fear that someone would look too closely at my employment records and discover I wasn't who I claimed to be.

That Gaby Cala wasn't real.

That Gabriella Bellini had never truly disappeared.

A knot formed in my throat.

For one terrifying moment, I thought I might cry.

The realization horrified me.

I wasn't a crier.

I was a survivor.

Survivors adapted.