Page 39 of Change

I watched her from under my eyelashes. I’ve always wondered, but never asked. “How often have you done that to me without asking?”

Doubt flashing across her deep brown eyes, and, for a moment, she looked regretful. “Not often,” she replied slowly. “It was mostly when you were younger. We were trying to figure out the best way to help you. I never have once you grew older until you let me a few weeks ago.”

“Okay.” I bit my lip, fighting back my doubt. She had no reason to lie to me now.

“Afterwards, I still might need to ask questions,” she warned. “You’ll need to talk to me if you want help.”

I nodded, my vision returning to the floor.

She sucked in a low breath. “Do you want them to leave?” she asked, referring to the boys.

I shook my head.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “What if I need to examine you?”

I shook my head harder, this time meeting her eyes. “No. I won’t do it.”

There would be no examination.

“Bianca…” she sighed, and I knew what she was thinking. I was thinking the same thing.

What was wrong with me? Why was I making such a big deal of this? Why couldn’t I just be normal? But still, even though I knew I was being ridiculous, I couldn’t.

“No,” I repeated, grasping Julian’s hand. He moved to my side at once, and Titus stood straighter in his corner.

“Not yet,” Dr. Kohler conceded, half-shrugging as she removed one of the gloves she’d just put on. “Let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”

But it was difficult to think, because what if she found something terrible? If I refused a checkup, I might never know what was wrong.

I wasn’t sure what was scarier—never knowing, or the thought of a physical. Right now, they were pretty darn close.

“I’m going to touch your arm.” Dr. Kohler’s warning rang through my head as she pushed up my sleeve. She hovered her hand to my bare forearm. Close, but not quite touching. Her eyes met mine as she waited for my acknowledgement. “Is that okay?”

What if things were worse than I thought? Since my mouth was dry with fear, I shrugged.

Her fingers brushed gently over my skin, palm pressed warmly against my arm, and her eyes closed as she sucked in a slow breath. Julian was holding my other hand and a low, nervous tension radiated from him while Titus remained still as a statue across the room.

It seemed like everyone was still, waiting for Dr. Kohler’s feedback.

It took longer than expected—almost an eternity before the doctor finally opened her eyes and pulled back from me. When she straightened, brushing at her jacket, her serious expression never lightened.

“Bianca,” she said cautiously, “I’m going tohaveto examine you.”

It was difficult to breathe and the hair on my arms stood up. Titus moved from his position, flanking at my other side, and Julian’s trepidation grew stronger as his hand tightened on mine. What had she found that was so terrible?

“Why?” And even more importantly, why couldn’t she tell without seeing me first?

“Because thisisn’tnormal,” she replied. “And I can’t make a diagnosis without checking you physically. How long has this been going on?”

What was she asking about? The sharp, stabbing pain so much where I could hardly breathe? The irregularity? Or was it the fact that I just wanted to sleep until it was over?

“Can’t you just start treatment without an exam?” Julian cut in. “Until she’s ready?”

“You know I can’t.” Dr. Kohler shook her head, expression serious. “There are a number of things it could be. If I misdiagnose this, I could be doing more harm than good. We need to be sure first.”

“What could it be?” I asked. I’d searched the internet, of course, but who knew how accurate my results might have been.

“Fibroids, endometriosis—” she began, counting off with her fingers.