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How could she know?
But then again, her comment, coupled with Snow’s attempted drowning, feel like too much of a coincidence to ignore.
Pushing those thoughts to the side, I pull myself up onto my feet, and then promptly collapse down onto the toilet. I don’t even want to think about the sticky mess between my thighs, I just want to get cleaned up, without having to climb into the bath to take a shower.
By the time I’m done, I’m completely spent and just about able to drag my ass into my, thankfully, freshly made bed.
Fuck facing the real world today, if that’s what it’s like. I’d rather stay in bed and lick my wounds a little longer, refusing to let my brain dwell on what Snow took from me when it wasn’t on offer to him in the first place.
* * *
I enter the ’hospital wing’with a sense of unease gnawing at my insides. I hope this works. I’m not exactly here under false pretences; I am feeling weak and lightheaded because meals stopped being delivered to my room, and I’ll admit I’ve been too paranoid to eat what little packet food is in my cupboards.
Dr. Carraway raises her eyes from a cluttered desk when I step inside.
“Kayla? How can I help you?” she inquires, her voice warm and professional. My head throbs with exhaustion, and I find it challenging to put my thoughts into words.
“I’m worried I have an infection,” I finally manage to say.
She arches an inquisitive eyebrow, her expression one of genuine concern. “What sort of infection?”
I hesitate, conflicted. “Well, actually, maybe two?”
“You think you have two infections?” Her response holds a hint of scepticism, though she strives to maintain her composure.
“Yeah,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “I’ve sustained some… injuries, and I think one or two might be infected.”
Dr. Carraway leans in, urging me to continue. “And the other?” she asks gently.
“Further south,” I tell her with a pointed chin nod down towards my lady garden.
Which, when you think about it, is a stupid name for someone who shaves. I’m smoother than an ice rink down there. Maybe I should call it that instead. Hmmm. I might try it out.
Confusion crosses the doctor’s face as she processes my words. “Oh, I see. Have you been engaging in sexual intercourse without protection?”
“I think being sterilised is protection enough, don’t you?” I retort, my tone tinged with bitterness. It’s not her fault, but I can’t help the rage that bubbles up whenthatparticular topic of consent comes up.
“Ummm, what?” She blinks, her gaze fixed on me with a puzzled expression.
I clarify, “I was told that all the patients are sterilised upon arrival.”
“Kayla… I don’t think that’s true,” she murmurs, her lip caught between her teeth. “And even if it were, it wouldn’t protect you from catching an STD.”
“Are you saying I’m diseased?” I ask, feeling a surge of anxiety. Fucking Snow! I’ll kill him.
“What? No. I mean, we don’tknow. Yet.”
“Well, can you find out? The last thing I want is my lady rink drying up and becoming unusable in here. Have you seen how hot the other psychos are?”
Dr. Carraway raises an eyebrow at my choice of words. “Rink? Never mind.” She shakes her head and then seems to focus on the other part of what I said. Her smile becomes strained and her tone takes on a reproachful edge. “We don’t call the residents that here, Kayla.”
“Why not? It’s a badge we wear with honour,” I quip, attempting to lighten the mood.
“Let’s get you looked at, shall we?” She swiftly changes the subject.
“You want to examine my hoo-haa?” I joke, though my anxiety still simmers beneath the surface.
“Umm, no. The other injuries?” She gestures towards an examination table. It looks a lot less inviting than the hospital bed I was given last time. “You can pee in a cup to determine if you have a UTI or similar. But I really need to examine your surface wounds.”
