Page 4 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
“How are you so calm?” she repeated, unable to believe my lack of trepidation.
I shrugged but didn’t say it was because she was sitting beside me, her knee bumping my own, her warmth soothing my panic.
The door, an omen of our lives about to change, creaked open, and a woman flashed us a smile not quite reaching her eyes. Her lips were streaked in pink, not like Alora’s cheeks, drained of color from the fear digging her nails into the meat of her palms.
“So, girls, I’ve heard you bled for the first time a few months ago,” she said. A white lab coat flowed around her lipstick-pink blouse and loose ivory pants—all of it spotless. Everything in here was pristine enough to make you uncomfortable.
I tracked her as she walked over to the shining white table with a matching stool under it and picked up a couple of light brown folders, our names probably in them. Not just our names, but the rest of our lives.
“My name is Lamia. I’m the doctor here at your school and will take care of you girls today.” She flashed her teeth again. It was probably supposed to comfort us, but it resembled a warning of a hunt about to begin.
Neither of us said anything—we hadn’t been told what would await us.
Fingers curled around my wrist, their strength crushing my joint, and I found Alora’s knuckles utterly bleached, in stark contrast with the usual shade of red. Her limbs were always cold.
The doctor noticed that too. “There is nothing to be afraid of. I will ask you a few questions and do a couple of simple tests. That’s all.”
Dread rippled from Alora, so I gave her thigh a short squeeze, reassuring her I was there. I’d never leave her alone.
“How old are you?” Lamia asked, a blue pen hovering above the open folders she had spread on the table before her.
“Thirteen.” Alora’s grip on me increased in strength, and she shifted closer to me.
“Alora, right?” the doctor asked, that same smile plastered on her face, like a sculpture, unable to change her expression.
“Y— Yes,” she whispered, dropping her gaze.
Hoping it would soothe her, I clutched her thigh.
“She is.” I straightened my back and said as blandly as I could, “I’m Kali. Also thirteen.” I was not waiting for her to question me. Why was she asking what she already knew?
She looked me up and down, that sickly smile not faltering. “Perfect. Why don’t you wait in the hallway while I check up on your friend here? I think you will feel more comfortable completing the tests on your own.”
Alora’s eyes widened in a plea not to leave her.
“It’s all going to be okay,” Rising from my seat, I whispered to her, “We’ll be okay.”
I could feel the doctor observing me as I walked out, measuring me up, determining my value, my future.
I slumped on the plastic with metal legs chair, the first in the row lining the wall, and scraped at the speck of red between my legs. Was it someone’s blood? Never mind. It flaked off without a trace, as if it’d never marred the white surface to begin with.
Which was why I was here. To finish what I’d decided on.
I’d be fine afterward. The test results didn’t matter.
A lie. That was a lie.
The results mattered. I knew they did.
With my forearms resting on my thighs, my head hanging, I willed my heart to cease its attempts to jump out of my chest and curled my pinkie in a count.
One. Alora had a guy interested in her who worked in a lab. In exchange for being with him, he’d said he’d mark her test sample as negative—not fertile—even if the results came back positive.
Two. He’d told her she needed to know her sample’s number. They didn’t put names on them for a reason, so no one in the lab would know who the samples belonged to.
Three. I’d promised Alora I’d find out her sample’s number if she wouldn’t be able to do it herself. I owed her. I’d owed her for the last year.
Four. As Alora went in first, she’d create a distraction later to get the doctor out of the room. It was my responsibility to find her sample and memorize the numbers.
