Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Savina
I’VE BEEN AVOIDING Dimitri for almost a week, and it’s been working.
Well, for the most part. I did respond to a few of his texts out of courtesy alone, but I’ve been successfully keeping my distance from him.
I’m hoping that the more time we spend separated, the easier it will be.
But what if time apart actually does make the heart grow fonder? God, I hope not.
Truth be told, I don’t actually believe that Dimitri is capable of love.
At least not with me. He’s always hated me to a certain extent, and the feeling has been mutual.
I still can’t forgive him for what he did in the past, and I need to keep those deep-rooted feelings on the surface and not let them die.
Because if we end up falling for each other, it will only end in disaster.
I’m wallowing in self-pity when I receive a text from my father early on a Tuesday morning.
Papà: You have a medical exam to attend at eleven today. A car will pick you up half an hour before your appointment time.
With no other details given, I can’t help but wonder what kind of medical exam I’ll be having.
Is this being requested by Dimitri’s father to make sure that I’m in good health for his son?
The whole thing sounds kind of archaic to me, but so does an arranged marriage, so perhaps nothing should surprise me at this point.
I shower, put on minimal makeup and blow-dry my hair. I dress comfortably in joggers and a t-shirt with a zip-up hoodie over it. I’m slipping on socks and a pair of sneakers when I hear a car horn sounding from the street below.
I grab my purse and phone and hightail it out of the building and to the familiar, awaiting car parked out front. The driver gives me a wave through the window when I get close, and I smile. It’s Reggie, one of my father’s favorite drivers.
“Good morning, Miss Savina,” he says when I climb into the back.
“Good morning, Reggie.”
“Doctor’s appointment?” he questions, his warm brown eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“I guess so,” I say solemnly.
“Alright then,” he says before pulling the car out into moving traffic.
It takes about thirty minutes before we reach the building. It’s in the seedy part of the city, and the office looks worse for wear with a crumbling facade and faded signs.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I question Reggie.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says before rattling off the address. “This is where they told me to drop you off.”
“Oh-kay,” I drawl out, not wanting to get out of the car. I have a bad feeling, but I will myself to just get this over with. “I’ll be back soon,” I tell him before opening the door.
“I’ll be waiting,” he assures me, and I find some semblance of comfort in his words.
I walk through the front door of the doctor’s office, and the inside somehow manages to look worse than the outside.
The old wallpaper is yellow and peeling off the walls; there are brown spots all over the ceiling from numerous water leaks, and there is a stench of mold and cigarettes lingering in the air.
“Hello,” the receptionist, an older woman with white hair and huge metal-rimmed glasses, says to me from behind a desk that looks like it was salvaged from a dumpster.
The top is covered in scratches and red marker, and it sits off kilter as if one of the legs is shorter than the other three.
“What’s your name?” she asks impatiently.
“Savina Cipriano,” I answer nervously.
“You can go back to room number one. The doctor will be with you shortly,” she informs me.
“Thank you,” I mutter before walking back the hall. I find the room and go inside. I’m a ball of nerves, my hands trembling as I take a seat on the worn examination table. I sit on the very edge, the cracked vinyl squeaking underneath me as I try to get remotely comfortable.
A few moments later, a nurse comes in and gives me a gown to change into. “Put it on backwards and leave it open in the front,” she instructs me before leaving and closing the door.
Confused, I change out of my clothes, neatly folding them and putting them on a rusty metal chair beside the table before putting on the gown. I put it on backwards, like she told me, but I tie all three of the strings, effectively closing myself off.
I take a seat on the exam table once more, my knee bouncing nervously as I wait. It’s cold in here, and I hate the fact that my nipples are so hard they could cut glass right now. I fold my arms in front of me, hoping to at least hide them from the doctor.
It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock on the door and an older man in a lab coat enters the room.
He’s tall with salt and pepper hair and eyes so dark they almost look black.
“Good morning, Savina. I’m Dr. Pershick.
How are you?” he asks with a smile that shows off his yellow and broken teeth.
“I’m okay…I guess,” I tell him. I’m so nervous, I’m sweating.
“I just need to do a vaginal exam for the marriage contract. It’s required.”
I frown at his words. “A vaginal exam?” I squeak out. I thought I was just here to get some blood work done or something. You know, something normal.
“Oh, I know it sounds scary, but trust me, it’s routine. Very routine,” he stresses. The fact that he repeated the routine part does not make me feel any better. “Lay back, please,” he instructs.
Reluctantly, I lay back but keep an eye on him. I wait for him to at least put on a pair of gloves or prep in some other way, but he doesn’t.
Frowning, I try to position myself to get a better look at what he’s doing, but he clucks his tongue at me and says, “Stay on your back. This won’t take long.” And then he instructs, “Please, open your legs for me.”
My body is full of tension, and I have to force myself to spread them a little. Then, his large hands are on my knees, forcing them apart, spreading me wide open on the table.
I stare at the ceiling, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. My entire body is shaking, and I know it’s not from the temperature in the room. This all feels…wrong.
When I feel his fingers touch my outer lips, I jump, and he chuckles. “Relax,” he tells me.
Relax? How can I possibly relax?!
I feel as if I’m disassociating when I feel him prodding around my most private areas. And when I feel his finger graze against my clit, I’ve had enough. I sit up quickly, and he looks at me with a sheepish grin.
“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, but I don’t believe him. I know deep down he did that on purpose.
I’m trembling uncontrollably as I close my legs. “Are we d-d-done?” I ask, my teeth chattering.
“Not yet. Get on your hands and knees. I need to take some pictures.”
“P-p-pictures? Why?” I stammer.
My question seems to piss him off because he huffs in frustration, his face morphing with anger. “This is all routine, Savina. Now, please. Hands and knees,” he says impatiently.
Slowly, I get into position, my stomach dropping as I hear him behind me as he gently lifts my gown to expose my body.
It feels like my head is below water and I’m slowly drowning.
None of this seems normal or routine to me.
I feel like I’m being exploited. But why would the Sokolovs send me to a doctor who would take advantage of me?
What would they have to gain? Nothing, I suppose.
So, I keep my mouth shut and do as he says.
I hear a clicking noise on his phone, alerting me to the fact that he’s taking not one but several pictures of me. I even hear his feet shuffling around as he takes different angles. What the hell?
I quickly hop off the table, my cheeks heating by the blush burning over my face and neck. Before I can even move, the doctor unties the top of my gown and says, “Hold still.” And then he proceeds to grab my right breast, fondling me as tears fill my eyes. “Very nice,” he mutters.
He continues to take pictures with his phone as he molests me. When he reaches out to pinch my nipple, I gasp and step away from him. I hurriedly cinch the gown around me. “We’re done here, doctor,” I sneer, stressing the last word and wondering if he is even legit.
“Okay, that should be good enough for the Sokolovs,” he says, his thin lips stretching into a smile.
And in that moment, he doesn’t look like a doctor at all but like a big, creepy sleazeball. And I suddenly feel dirty. So dirty.
“I’d like to get d-d-dressed now and g-go.” I try to keep my voice calm and steady, but it comes out watery. My chest rises and falls rapidly, and I realize I’m on the verge of having a panic attack or a full-blown meltdown.
“Of course,” he finally says, placing his phone in his pocket, the very phone which now contains numerous nude pictures of me, and walks out of the room.
He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him.
Fuming, I walk over and slam it shut. My mind races as I go back over the past fifteen minutes in this room.
This isn’t right. Something is not right here.
This can’t be what the Sokolovs requested, is it?
Did they do this on purpose just to humiliate me?
Did Dimitri somehow set this up as some kind of cruel prank or joke because I’ve been ignoring him?
A million different scenarios swim through my mind as a painful headache blooms behind my eyes and my vision blurs from the tears threatening to fall.
I angrily wipe them away and instead focus on getting dressed faster than I ever have before in my entire life.
I’m pretty sure my shirt is on backwards and my shoes are on the wrong feet as I bolt out of the room and then out of that horrible office.
Once I’m secured in the back of the awaiting car, a rivulet of tears stream down my face, and I crumble against the leather seat as I sob uncontrollably.
Reggie asks me what’s wrong, but I can barely hear him.
It feels like my head is full of cotton and everything around me is muffled.
I’m too shaken up to answer him anyway, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.
I just know that I feel so damn violated.
I don’t care if the Sokolovs hired that doctor. Everything that happened in that office was wrong. I can feel it in my gut.