Chapter 38 Scarlett #3
I nodded, glancing down at my stomach, at how pale it was.
Flat, pale, laced in scars. The newest ones from Thomas I had gotten weeks ago, and others that were years old, including the long line from that day I had been at that man’s house for two weeks.
It was the highest I had ever looked at myself.
Even now. Even after the training with Azrael, I still couldn’t find it in me to look at myself in the mirror.
I wasn’t sure why. I always just felt an overwhelming tightness in my chest, like the air had left the room.
My heart started racing, and I thought it just better I don’t do it.
I didn’t need to know what I looked like anyway.
It didn’t matter to me. I still had all of Azrael’s attention despite what I saw or didn’t see, so why did I need to know what I looked like?
The doctor held the bottle above my stomach and gently squeezed some of the clear blue jelly on my skin.
My stomach contracted, the chill shocking even though I had expected it. He then replaced the bottle with a stick that was attached to the screen.
My eyes found that screen. I had never seen one before. The screen was thin. Almost as thin as my index finger. The picture on it was all black and blue, grainy. He placed the stick into the pile of jelly and started smearing it around, the pictures changing.
I felt my brows furrow and I pointed at the screen, turning back to Azrael. That’s what the inside of a person looked like? Black and blue and grainy? I thought we were filled with blood. Every time I had been lashed, there had been blood. It had been bright red, nothing like that.
“It doesn’t see blood, it only sees the shape of organs,” he explained. “This is not how it looks inside of us, it’s just an outline.”
An outline?
I turned back to the screen, watching the pictures move, feeling the stick go lower, near the line that cut across from hip to hip.
After another few moments, the doctor stopped moving it.
“There’s the uterus,” he said, his voice serious.
He shifted the stick a little. “Scar tissue, and this…is where the right ovary is supposed to sit.”
I tried to see what they were seeing, but it was just a mass of blue to me. Could they really discern a picture? Did I need glasses?
He shifted the stick. “Similar on the other side. Whoever did this barely knew what they were doing. Lots of scar tissue, lots of damage. Even if you wanted to do invitro in the future, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Fine. Nothing else is missing?”
“No,” the doctor asked, removing the stick. He wiped the jelly off my stomach. “You did good, Scarlett,” he told me with a smile. “You may sit up.”
Was scar tissue bad?
I slowly pushed myself up, letting my dress fall around me after Azrael lifted his jacket. “Bad?” I signed.
He shook his head. “Scar tissue happens whenever you are cut, no matter where that may be. When performing surgeries, there is either a lot or a little, but there is never none. There was a lot for what they did, meaning they made a lot of mistakes while they were in there.”
That didn’t sound good, but he said it wasn’t bad, so I believed him. I still wondered what it meant for me. Would it be something that affected me in the future? Or was it not bad in the sense that I would never have to worry about it again?
“Lastly, drawing blood.”
I turned back to the doctor. I was excited to draw, but I had never drawn a picture with another person before. How would that work? Did we both get—my eyes widening when he picked up not a pencil but a large needle.
Fear slammed through me, and I scrambled back onto the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them tightly. No. No. No. I didn’t want that thing anywhere near me. What were they going to do with it? Where were they going to put it? It looked painful and inhumane.
“It’s all right,” the doctor said. “It won’t hurt more than a little prick.”
I’d rather slice my hand like Azrael had than have that thing anywhere near me. No.
“Scarlett,” Azrael spoke calmly. “Eyes.”
My fingers dug into my arms, my heart pounding. Fear. I felt fear for that thing, but I couldn’t ignore him.
My eyes lifted to his, albeit, flicking back to the needle every half a second.
“Sit up, roll up your sleeve, and let him take it. They lied to you; this is the only way to prove that.”
But it looked so big. How could it just be a little prick? It looked like it was going to go right through my arm. All the way through. I would see the tip on the other side, I was sure.
“Perhaps if you held her hand,” the doctor suggested.
Azrael’s shoulders tensed, his hands flexing, his jaw working. I noticed it the first time he touched me. He didn’t like touch, but he had done it. Twice now.
“Sit up,” he ordered me tightly.
I searched his eyes for another moment before forcing myself to uncurl, trying not to look at that needle this time. I didn’t want anything more to do with it.
I scooted to the edge of the table, leaning away from him.
“Roll up your sleeve,” Azrael demanded.
I did as he said, staring across the room unblinkingly. It was so long. How would it not damage some part of me?
The doctor glanced at Azrael and back as he stepped forward. “Hold out your arm like this,” he told me, showing me what to do.
I saw it out of the corner of my eye, unable to look away from the spot on the counter I had chosen to stare at.
Just breathe. This was just like what they did in the Back Hall.
Putting something inside of you that you don’t like, but this time, it was for my wellbeing.
To prove that I was right, that the church was lying.
But a moment later, I felt his hand slide through mine, warmth flooding over my skin, my eyes shooting towards our hands.
His hand was so big, it nearly surrounded mine completely. Warm, strong, steady. His ring was gone. The ring I had seen two years ago. I could see where he wore it though. A slightly paler spot on his ring finger. Why had he taken it off?
I felt a painful prick and my hand tightened around his, my nails digging into his skin, tears burning my eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much. It wasn’t just a prick. It felt like my life was being pulled from my skin.
“Almost done,” I heard the doctor say distantly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my lips together. Almost done. Almost done. Almost done.
Seconds felt like hours when he finally announced that he was done.
I looked over, watching as he put a cap on the thing now filled with my blood, and set it on the tray. He put a white cotton ball on the small speck of blood on my inner arm and put a piece of tape over it.
“I’ll get this tested right away, and call you when the results come in.”
“Good. We’re done here?”
My eyes lifted to his old lips. “We’re done,” he answered. “You did well, Scarlett.”
I quickly wiped the tears from my cheeks. No more needles ever again. Ever.
I turned to Azrael. I wanted to leave. Could we leave now?
He gave me an almost imperceptible nod. “Let’s go.”