Page 44 of Knot A Trace: Part Two

“Good afternoon, Miss Bloom,” she says, her dark eyes kind. “How are you feeling?”

She has a clipboard in her hand, and she jots down notes as she watches me. “Much better than I was,” I reply. “Thank you for asking.”

The doctor nods. “You suffered blood loss, dehydration, and severe suppressant withdrawal,” she says, frowning slightly. “You weren’t in great shape when you came here. You were out for a while.”

“How long?” I ask, my stomach flipping nervously.

“Around three days,” she says. “And in that time, you had several blood transfusions.”

“Three days,” I repeat slowly. “That long?”

“Yes. You have a lot of people that care for you,” she adds, nodding towards the table. “Your room was almost never empty. Your pack was here most of the time.”

Pack?

“My what?” I mumble, tilting my head.

The doctor catches herself. “Oh. I thought…never mind. You’re just lucky, Miss Bloom. To have that many people come to visit.”

My pack.

Did she think that Vincent was part of my pack?—

“And we’ve run all your bloodwork for any diseases. All results are negative.”

I grimace and glance at the bandages that cover the inside of my arm. Shame colors my face, and the doctor must notice.

“It could have been a lot worse with those needles,” she adds gently.

I nod, biting my lip.

“We’re going to monitor you for a few more days, and if everything appears fine, I can send you home,” she continues. “But you will likely experience a violent Heat. I can prescribe you certain materials to use, or if you do engage in activity, make sure that your partners know what to expect.”

Oh.

“What do you mean by…violent?” I ask.

“Painful arousal, moments of delirium, and excessive slick,” she says. “Make sure you’re in a safe environment, and your partners are aware of what could happen.”

My eyes widen. “Delirium?” I repeat.

The doctor nods, her expression softening. “I’ll send you home with some more information and a special brand of suppressants. There are certain mattress covers that also work well for these situations, made especially for excessive slick.”

“Bedlite,” I murmur. “I have it.”

“You’ll be fine, then,” she adds. “Also, if you’d like, I can send in our trauma counselor to speak with you. Or I can make you a referral for another time.”

I think over her offer. I’m not ready to talk to anyone just yet.

But I know, deep down, I will have to eventually.

But I can’t go there. Not when I can still smell that fake-pheromone cologne belonging to a crazed Beta.

“I’ll take the referral,” I say. “Thank you.”

She nods. “The nurse will be back in a few hours to check on you, Miss Bloom. After what you’ve been through, I’d say you’re a hell of a survivor.”

I should be proud. I try to return her small smile, but I can’t.

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