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“You haven’t even told me your name,” I say, trying my hand at light conversation as I lie down stiffly.
“You don’t need to know my name,” he snaps.
There’s a knock on the door and he turns to see the doctor. “Mr. Morozov,” the doctor greets, bowing his head slightly, and I smirk at the name drop despite the man’s scowl. “The usual tests?” he asks, stepping into the room and placing a bag on the bedside table. He doesn’t acknowledge me as he opens it and begins to take out equipment.
“Yes.” The man takes a seat by the window.
“You’re not staying,” I blurt out.
“Why do you need privacy?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Every woman likes privacy when it comes to this sort of thing,” I snap.
“Tone,” he says in warning. “And if you thought my doctor would help you out of here, you thought wrong. He works for me.”
I narrow my eyes and stare up at the ceiling while the doctor proceeds to take swabs from down below. “Age?” he asks me as he pops a small stick into an empty tube. I ignore his question, so Mr. Morozov answers instead. “Twenty-five.”
“Sexual partners?” he continues, and I scoff. As if I’m going to tell him that.
“She’s a street rat, probably lost count,” Mr. Morozov mutters.
“Two,” I snap, “and, yes, I used protection. No, I don’t have any children and, yes, I’m clear of HIV and all other STDs. They have free clinics for street rats like me.”
The doctor exchanges an amused smirk with the man before pulling off his gloves. “I’ll rush them through, Mr. Morozov. How long until she’s moved?”
“Undecided,” he answers.
“I should have the results by this evening.”
IVAN
I wait until the doctor leaves before moving from the seat to the end of the bed. Grace stiffens. “Two?” I repeat, referring to her sexual partners. It’s rare to find a woman of her age with so little experience.
“Please let me go,” she whispers, pulling the bed sheet over her naked body.
I tug it away again. “I haven’t told you to cover yourself,” I say coldly. “Why are you living on the streets?”
“Because I am.”
I’m tired of her smart mouth. “Grace, we’ve been here before. Don’t make me force answers from you.”
“I just want to leave. I won’t tell anyone about this or about Danny—”
“Danny?” I repeat. “The dead boyfriend?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“The thief.”
“I told you, we were hungry. He was looking after me.”
“Yet I offer you food for free and you refuse to eat.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Just your freedom.”
She nods. “Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”
