Page 91 of Deal with the Devil
But then I went still and listened to the sound and realized who it belonged to.
I left the desk and strode down the hall straight for the guest bedroom. The room was dark, but the light from the hall flooded in and revealed the blood everywhere.
It was like some murder scene.
A primal, protective sense I wasn’t aware of having beat to life inside me as I looked from the bloody sheets in Portia’s bed to the trail on the floor, then the bathroom.
I rushed over, shoving the door open to find her collapsed on the floor, thighs streaked red, fingertips painted in it.
I’ve decapitated men and stepped over corpses without blinking, but that image disturbed me in a way I wasn’t aware I could be disturbed.
Not when I pride myself on being cold, cruel, and emotionless.
It seems that is the case in every situation except where she is concerned. Where she is concerned, I’m once again unable to shut down those types of responses. I’m reacting likehewould finding her passed out in her own blood on the floor?—
The door finally opens.
Dr. Delfino appears in the doorway looking unsurprised to find me in the hall. He’s tall and slim, with gray hair up top and on his beard, his eyes the same shade.
“You can come in now if you’d like,” he says.
“It’s about fucking time,” I snap, jaw clenched. I stride in past him like he has reason to fear me—and he might if I don’t like his prognosis.
Portia’s propped up in bed under clean bedsheets, looking significantly better than the last time I saw her. That alone fills me with relief.
Her eyes are open and she’s alert. She’s no longer drenched in sweat and blood and shaking from intense pain, though I can tell she’s still not herself.
Delfino’s likely got her on some powerful pain medications.
For a brief moment, the urge to walk over and stroke her hair strikes me. I even take half a step in the direction of her bed, then stop myself.
My hands push into my pockets and I stride toward the window instead, pretending to look out at the glittering city streets below.
“I’m glad to see you’re still among the living,” I say noncommittally.
“Surprised is more like it. I felt like someone was taking a meat grinder to my uterus.”
I look accusatorially at Dr. Delfino as he closes the door and steps toward the foot of Portia’s bed. “Well?” I demand. “What’s wrong with her? What happened? Why would she have collapsed the way she did? What are you doing to fix it?”
Dr. Delfino adjusts his glasses, keeping his calm even as a mafia boss asks him interrogation-style questions. “She’s experiencing a severe flare-up of endometriosis, likely compounded by acute stress and a disruption in her hormonal treatment. From what I’ve gathered, she hasn’t been consistent with her prescribed medications for some time now, which would’ve helped regulate both the inflammation and the bleeding. That kind of lapse, combined with what I assume is sustained psychological distress, creates a perfect storm. The pain alone could’ve triggered vasovagal syncope.”
“Triggered a what?” I snap. “Speak fucking English!”
“Fainting brought on by the body’s response to extreme discomfort. The blood loss didn’t help,” he explains. “We’ve stabilized her for now. I’ve administered fluids and pain relief, but she’s severely anemic and dehydrated. Her vitals are being monitored. What she needs moving forward is rest, consistent medication, and a stable environment—not more shocks to her system.”
“I’ve been providing her a stable environment,” I say, then glance over at her as if guilty.
Portia merely stares back, her expression unreadable.
…definitely guilty.
The pang hits me as I meet her gaze, realizing the situation I’ve put her in was likely a direct factor in her flare-up.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. And her medications? You’ve prescribed plenty of those?”
“I’ve written her prescriptions for hormonal therapy—norethindrone acetate to suppress endometrial growth and minimize future bleeding episodes. I’ve also included an anti-inflammatory for pain management. Her anemia is concerning, so I’ve ordered a high-dose iron supplement and started her on IV fluids with electrolytes to stabilize her in the meantime.”
He steps toward the dresser, where the collection of items is perched. “In addition to medication, I’ve arranged for a portable heating pad to be brought in. Gentle heat over the pelvis can help with cramping. She should avoid cold environments for the next few days; cold can cause the uterine muscles to contract more aggressively. Light movement will help circulation once she’s stable, but she shouldn’t be on her feet too long. If anything worsens, feel free to give me a call right away.”
