Page 8 of Always You

The light glinted on the metal again, a flash of brightness I stared at. I closed my eyes and listened to the doctor.

“… breathe…”

The doctor touched my arm.

The door was right there.

I clutched my bag.

“… can I just help you before you leave…”

I stopped shuffling, shook off his hand, and breathed.

I was breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Slow, measured breaths. Silence.

“Okay, Jazz, can I just check you over? Help you? Get you some meds if you need them, yeah? And your hands, they’re bleeding. Will you let me help you?” He stepped back from me. I couldn’t see Alex, and with each step he took further into Guardian Hall, I was drawn to follow him, as easy as if he’d tied a rope to my hand and was tugging me along.

As we reached what I assumed was a medical room, my gaze flickered over various elements, each piece distracting me from the tight knot of anxiety in my chest. The room was bright and airy, not like the sterile, clinical environments I’d come to associate with medical facilities.

To one side, a sleek, modern examination table sat under a large, adjustable lamp, its light dimmed to a soft glow. Nearby, a rolling stool and a small workstation held medical supplies—bandages, gloves, a blood pressure cuff—this was a real doctor, and maybe that was what I needed.

Or I could run.

The room also featured a comfortable-looking recliner beside a low table stacked with health magazines and a small, vibrant plant, adding a touch of life and color. This unexpected hominess in a medical setting eased the tension in my shoulders.

Also, open space was just steps away, contrasting with the enclosed feeling tightening around me.

Knowing there was an immediate path back to that open air, seeing those doors helped stabilize the dizziness and fear. The courtyard, with my clothes still out there, somehow represented a thread of something real.

“Do you want me to open the outside door, Jazz?” Doc asked, standing away from me as I leaned against the wall.

No. It’s freezing out there. It’s snowing. Why would you open a door?

“It’s okay,” I think I said. I reached blindly for the door I’d come in through, closing it shut against the world.

Against Alex.

The doc leaned back against the table.

“My name is Dr. Marcus Stirling,” he began. “Please call me Marcus, or Doc, or whatever you feel comfortable with.”

I wasn’t comfortable about any of this, but Doc’s voice was steady, a calm anchor to the here and now.

“Doc,” I murmured and glanced at the door, flicking the lock, then worrying I’d crossed a line—maybe the doctor didn’t want to be locked in here with some stranger off the street. He straightened and smiled at me—a sweet, unassuming smile.

“Can you maybe take off some of your layers so I can listen to your heart?” he asked, his tone professional yet infused with a gentle concern that made the request seem less daunting.

I hesitated for a moment. I was taking clothes with me, and as I removed the first layer of my defenses—my coat—I shoved it under my backpack and turned the chair so no one could take it without my noticing. Then, I stuffed each subsequent layer into my bag.

I needed these things to stop me from dying.

In this medical room, the request didn’t seem as invasive as it was when I’d been asked to strip in the hospital, with only a thin curtain separating me from the ER’s chaos. If anything, all the physical barriers against the cold outside felt suffocating as heat prickled my skin.

The room was warm, starkly contrasting the chill that had seeped into my bones over the past weeks. With each item of clothing removed, I felt more exposed, but it gave me the timeand space I needed to comply with his request. Once I was in a simple T-shirt on top of thermal underwear, still in the jeans I’d taken, and with my boots tied in case I needed to leave, Doc gestured for me to sit on the edge of the examination table.

“Okay?” he asked, and showed me the stethoscope, probably trying to reassure me he was here to help.

I knew that.

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