Wild (5 page)

“What’s wrong?” His voice suddenly sounded concerned, all doctor-like again. “Does your head hurt? Are you feeling dizzy?”

He approached the bed and sat down next to me. He took my wrist to feel my pulse and I let him. His touch was gentle. My skin felt like burning under his touch. I gazed at his face while he checked his wrist watch to determine my pulse. He was handsome in a very primal kind of way and looking at him made me feel like I was in heat. I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl who immediately threw herself at any guy with a pulse, despite the fact that I dated a lot, but the kind of lust his presence awakened in me was entirely new to me. My heart started beating faster, much faster.

He abruptly let go of my wrist. Had he caught me staring at him again?

“Your pulse it irregular. Do you have a history of heart problems?”

Does right now count as a heart problem?

“No, never.”

“Hmh.” He seemed uneasy. “Do you mind if I listen to it?” He took the stethoscope from the bedside table.

“No, no, sure, please,” I babbled. My heart was already racing again. I had to slow it down somehow before he thought there was something wrong with me.

As he placed the stethoscope’s listening device on my chest, I was only too aware of his knuckles brushing against my breast and remaining there. I could feel the warmth of his hand stream through me. I was sure he didn’t even notice. He probably did this all day long. Would he notice that I had shifted slightly so that I could feel his hand against by breast even more intensely? I relished in the sensation of his little finger suddenly making a small involuntary movement against my breast as if stroking me.

I closed my eyes to concentrate on something else, something boring: Des Moines, the monotonous life at my aunt’s home, the long winters and the endlessly repeating conversations. It helped. I could feel how my heart beat slower, but I didn’t dare open my eyes until he removed the stethoscope and his hand from my chest.

“It’s fine now. But I’d like to keep an eye on it.”

You may keep an eye on anything you want to.

“Ok.”

I desperately had to splash some cold water on my face to cool down. I was sure my face was flushed.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. Wait, don’t move, I’m going to carry you.”

“No, that’s ok,” I protested automatically.

“Sorry, doctor’s orders.”

Judging by the throbbing pain my thigh was sending my way, he was probably right, and who was I to refuse a handsome man who wanted to carry me in his arms?

“Wait just a second.” He got up and walked toward the bathroom and I lost sight of him again. I heard some noises in the bathroom and shortly later he was back.

He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom. It reminded me of my dream when I had felt like floating on a magic carpet all wrapped in cotton wool. His masculine scent drifted into my nose and I soaked it in hoping he wouldn’t notice how deeply I inhaled to grasp as much of him as I could. In the bathroom he placed me onto a stool. All of a sudden not feeling his body heat anymore, made me shiver. I knew that my nipples suddenly hardened, but I was sure he didn’t notice this potentially embarrassing detail as he pointed to the wheels on the bottom of the stool.

“You’ll be able to roll yourself around between the toilet and the sink.” He walked to the door. “Call me when you’re done.” He was about to close the door, when I stopped him.

“Wait!”

He looked at me, surprised.

“What do I call you?”

“Oh.” He smiled and showed me a full set of brilliantly white teeth. “Call me Vince.”

Vince
. The name was a little old fashioned, but it suited him.

I reached to lock the door, but noticed there was no lock. I shrugged my shoulders. If he hadn’t raped me during the night while I had been completely defenseless, there was no reason to believe he would just barge into the bathroom.

I looked down at my body to check. Well, I did have some black and blue spots which were likely caused by my assailant, but I felt no pain in my groin area and was pretty sure he hadn’t touched me.

Would he do so later?

I rolled myself to the sink and saw he had put out a towel and a selection of toiletries. It was a very thoughtful gesture.

As I brushed my teeth I tried to piece together what I knew. On my way to the bus I had been attacked and Vince had found me and brought me here. He had taken care of my injuries.

I now knew the
how
, but I didn’t know the
why.
He could have just brought me to the hospital himself and left me there. I knew I had told him I had no insurance, but that was
after
he had already treated me, so that wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t brought me to the hospital.

He was a mystery to me. I looked at the huge shower behind me. The thought that he had stood in the shower completely naked only a short while ago caused me to have hot flashes.

Stop it!

He was too good looking to ever be interested in me anyway. He probably had a girlfriend. How could I find out?

Listen to me!

What was I doing? Here I was in the home of a stranger whose motives I didn’t know and who I had let inject me with God-knows-what. I was practically incapacitated and only half-dressed, and all I could think about was whether he had a girlfriend?

Why didn’t my normal instincts kick in? Shouldn’t I be worried and try to leave as soon as I could?

“Vince!” I called out. I heard a short knock at the door a few seconds later.

“May I come in?” he called from the other side.

“Yes.”

The door opened instantaneously.

“Ready?”

“Actually, I was wondering if somebody could help me take a shower.”

He looked at me with an almost shocked expression.

“I meant, since I can’t stand up and all, do you think you could maybe call … your girlfriend to help me?” I swallowed and waited for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Sorry, but I have no girlfriend.” He sounded apologetic.

“A female friend maybe?” I tested.

He shook his head.

“Female relative?”

He shook his head again.

“Sorry to disappoint you. But I’ll try to think of something so you can take a shower later. Okay?” His forehead was wrinkled as if he was thinking hard.

“Okay. Oh, do you know where my jeans are?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked guilty. “I’m afraid they are in shreds. I had to cut them off you to treat your injury.”

“Oh … I had a few things in my pockets.”

“I still have them down in the lab. I’ll get them for you.” He was about to turn around to leave, but stopped. “But let me carry you into the living room first.”

He scooped me up into his arms again and carried me to the large sofa. He set me down gently and then spread a blanket over me. I smiled at him gratefully. His manners were impeccable.

When he left the room to go downstairs, my eyes followed him.

The lab?

I guessed it was where I had been when he had treated my injuries. Why would he have a lab in his home? Was he a workaholic and took his work home with him?

He was back in a flash. He was right: there wasn’t much left of my jeans, they were in shreds.

“Here you go. I also brought you your trainers, but I suppose you won’t need them for a little while?” His voice sounded a little unsure.

I pointed at my leg. “I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think I’ll be walking anywhere soon.”

“Right,” he said and I couldn’t interpret his facial expression. He turned his attention to my leg. “I think it’s time to change the dressing.” He dropped rolls of gauze and other medical items onto the table.

I dropped my jeans to the ground, but not before I had checked the pockets and pulled out the contents: four twenty dollar bills, a key and an appointment card. I dropped everything onto the coffee table.

 Vince pulled the blanket to the side to reveal my injured leg. He started taking the dressing off. His fingers seemed to stroke my skin as he held up my leg to unwrap the bandage. My skin tingled under his soft touch. It felt as if his hands caressed me with every movement, but of course I was just fantasizing. He was a doctor. It was what he did for a living. Touching somebody else didn’t mean the same for him as it did for me.

“It will hurt a little when I pull the last bit away,” he warned me.

I looked at it and could see blood had encrusted somewhat on the last layer of the gauze. I understood what he meant. I could also see the discoloration of my skin around the wound. The sight made me feel nauseous all of a sudden.

He looked at me and understood instantly. Immediately he turned his body to obstruct my view so I could no longer see the wound.

“Are you ready?” His voice was but a whisper.

“Ok.” My voice sounded less than sure.

The tear was painful, but the pain disappeared almost instantly. I could feel him touching the skin around my wound and applying some cool-feeling ointment. He applied the gauze and dressed it. It was all over very quickly, far too quickly. I wanted him to touch me longer.

He gently placed my leg onto the couch.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, we’re not quite done.”

I looked over his shoulder. It looked done to me.

“You have another injury,” he claimed. “On your other leg. Let me turn you around so I can get to it.”

He lifted me up and reversed my position on the couch. I looked at my other leg and saw what he meant. It was another spot covered in gauze and I remembered the spot. It was exactly where I had received the injection for the clinical trial.

“Oh. What happened?” I didn’t think the attacker had stabbed me a second time. I was pretty sure of that.

“I was hoping you could explain that to me.”

“I’m not the doctor. You are.” I didn’t understand what he was getting at. “You are a doctor, aren’t you?” I was suddenly filled with doubts.

He smiled only briefly. “Yes, I am. But I can’t explain this. Maybe you can.”

I took a small item from the table. It was in a small plastic bag. I looked at it. It was an oblong item not larger than a quarter of an inch if that much. I shook my head.

“What is it?”

“I found it in your thigh. Right here.” He pointed to my second injury then looked intently at me. His eyes were probing and he seemed anxious.

“I needed some money…“

He waited.

“So I went to the hospital and took part in a clinical trial. They said it was some kind of contrast liquid they were testing.”

“Which clinic?” he asked urgently.

What did it matter? “UCSF.”

“Which clinic at UCSF?” His eyes felt like they wanted to penetrate me.

“I don’t remember.” I could feel his impatience. “But I have a card from them.” I bent over to the coffee table and fished out the card I had taken out of my jeans.

He took it from me and looked at it. When he looked up, I saw pain in his eyes.

“At what time did they inject you?” His voice sounded strained.

“Around four o’clock yesterday.”

His eyes shot to the clock over the TV and he seemed to calculate. The look on his face worried me. He didn’t say anything, but got up and walked to the door.

“What is it?” He didn’t turn. “Vince, tell me what it is!”

“Stay here.” His voice was harsher than I had heard it before. He stopped, but didn’t turn. “Please,” he added, his voice beseeching now.

I was frightened. Something in his demeanor told me he was terrified. He was the doctor. He shouldn’t be scared. He should be the one telling me I was ok. Why was he not doing that?

What was wrong? The stab wound was much bigger and I was sure I had lost a lot of blood, but he wasn’t too worried about that. So why was he getting so angry about the little injection? Did he not approve of people getting paid for clinical trials?

Where the hell was he? What was he doing so long?

I listened and could hear him cursing and slamming doors, dropping things to the ground. I got a little scared. No wonder he had no girlfriend if he threw temper tantrums like that!

I waited for what felt like an eternity until I finally heard his footsteps on the stairs. I heard him pause before he came in. He carried a stainless steel tray with medical instruments, but I wasn’t interested in that. I looked at his face trying to read him.

He walked toward the couch, but stopped when he saw my apprehensive look.

“Annette.” It was only the second time he had called me by my name. His voice was so tender again, and against my better judgment my fear and caution started melting away. I didn’t say anything, but just looked at him.

Slowly he moved closer, checking my expression constantly. As he stood in front of the couch he finally spoke again.

“I owe you an explanation.”

I nodded.

Yes, you do, buddy.

I was unable to speak, afraid my voice would crack. My emotions were all muddled. I was afraid of what he had to tell me, but I wasn’t afraid of him. The look in his eyes told me I did not have to fear him.

He sat the tray down onto the coffee table. His movements were slow and careful as if he was trying not to scare me. His eyes were fixed at me and were seeking approval to sit down. He surprised me when instead of sitting down on the couch he sat down on the floor right in front of me, facing me.

I could feel instantly he had chosen this position because it was completely non-threatening. He looked up at me and gave me a faint smile.

“I’m sorry, Annette. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he started quietly.

I wanted to say something.

“Please, let me explain,” he begged. “I know a lot about clinical trials, believe me.”

I did.

“I recognized the name of the doctor whose trial you participated in. And I know what kind of research he does.” He stopped to look at my reaction.

“I won’t bore you with medical jargon, but last night when this little time bomb …” he pointed to the item he had removed from my thigh, “… went off, your vital signs went off the charts. I’d thought I’d found it in time and was able to remove most of the serum before it entered your blood stream. But with your uneven heartbeat, your flushed face and all the other symptoms you have, I’m not so sure now. I can’t risk that there’s anything left in your blood.”