Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
This morning when Antonia comes, she unlocks the closet door and chooses clothes for me, a pair of jeans and an oversized lilac sweater that feels luxuriously soft against my skin, especially after spending so much time naked. So much time feeling cold and alone, both in the cellar and in this room.
I eat my breakfast because she tells me the therapist Santiago hired is already here, but I’ll only be allowed to see him if I eat. I will add blackmail to Santiago’s crimes against me. I wonder if it was Mercedes who did it. Who got him to call someone. The look on her face when she got me into the bathroom and saw the bruises was one of shock. She asked me if her brother had done it. Her voice had sounded strange. I didn’t answer her. I let her have a good look instead and come up with her own answers. He’s a monster. But so is she. A moment of softness won’t dispel what I know. She is an ice queen.
“I’m ready,” I say to Antonia when I finish the last bite of toast. I wipe my mouth with the napkin, anxious to get out of my prison.
She smiles, pleased at the empty plate. “I’ll send someone in to clean this up. Let’s go see Dr. Hendrickson.”
I nod and follow her out, almost bouncing on my heels. I’m so excited to be free. I never want to enter that room again.
My balance is off, and I have to be more careful than usual on the stairs, so I don’t let go of the banister. Antonia leads me to a room I’ve not been in before. It’s large and sparsely furnished and, most importantly, it’s bright. Sunlight pours in from the clear-glass windows.
“Oh,” I start, my spirits lifting already at the brightness. I don’t even see the man sitting on the couch until he clears his throat, and I hear the sound of a cup placed on its saucer.
I turn to him, that smile fading. I don’t know this man, and the last IVI doctor I dealt with, Dr. Chambers, left me with a bad taste in my mouth.
“Good morning,” he says, smiling warmly and coming toward me. He’s middle-aged and dressed impeccably in an expensive suit. He’s wearing a gold wedding band, and I can see a Rolex watch peeking out from beneath his sleeve when he extends his arm once he’s a few feet from me. “I’m Dr. Hendrickson. You must be Ivy.”
I look at his hand in surprise. He's offering it to shake mine like we’re equals.
“Ivy,” Antonia urges when an awkward moment passes.
“Oh. Sorry. Yes. I’m Ivy,” I say, shaking his hand. What have those weeks in my prison done to me? Have I already forgotten how to be normal?
The doctor momentarily focuses on my right eye but then smiles at me. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Can I bring you more coffee, Doctor?”
“Oh, no thank you, Antonia,” he says, eyes still on me. “I’d like to get started.”
“All right. Ivy, can I bring you something?”
I turn to Antonia. “Um. No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” With that, Antonia is gone, and I’m left alone with the doctor.
“Are you with IVI?” I ask first thing.
“IVI?” He raises his eyebrows.
“The Society.”
He pauses. “No, I’m not with any society,” he says, looking rather confused. He reaches into his pocket to take out a business card and hands it to me. “Your husband actually flew me in from California. I have my own practice there. I’m an otolaryngologist.”
I study the card, then look back up at him.
He must see my confusion now because he smiles. “Ear, nose, and throat and I specialize in vestibular disorders. Your husband called my office and explained things. He’s a bit worried about you.”
At that, I feel my eyebrows go up. “Santiago?”
“Yes.”
“Is worried about me?”
He nods, again looking confused.
“Hm.” I remember his words to me last night. How cold they were. He’s not doing this for me. He’s doing it to ensure the safety of his children should I ever become pregnant with any.
“Shall we get started?”
“Okay.”
He gestures for me to sit on the sofa and resumes the seat he’d just vacated. From inside his briefcase, he pulls out a folder and opens it, and I get a glimpse of my name on the first sheet of paper.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Some of your medical records. Mr. De La Rosa was kind enough to send them along. I haven’t had a chance to read them completely yet as this was rather short notice, but from what I’ve read, it doesn’t look like you’ve had any treatment for the disorder?”
I shift my gaze from the papers to him. I guess I’m not surprised Santiago has my medical records.
“Just a diagnosis when I was young.” My mother had decided treatment wasn’t necessary. I just had to “get over it.” Her exact words. Because treatment would make the condition public, and she couldn’t have that. I was flawed enough. My dad argued about it with her but ultimately gave in.