Page 18 of Violent Little Thing

Not in the Mood

DELILAH

“ Y our blood pressure is higher than I’d like, Ms. Delilah.” Silas says by way of greeting as he walks into the room. “Have you been under stress lately?”

“Is that a serious question?” I deadpan. Maybe it’s the cryptic nature of Indigo’s text. Maybe it’s because I’m on week four of being kidnapped. Whatever it is has doused both my tongue and mood in acid since I walked into the office.

And it isn’t Silas’ fault, at least that’s what I tell myself.

A sheepish smile stretches across his face as he looks up from my chart. “I apologize. Why don’t we start over?”

Words don’t leave me as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Hi, Delilah. I’m Dr. Silas. It’s nice to see you again.” He tugs a pen out of his white coat. “Why don’t you tell me about your headaches. The frequency, time of day, intensity. Have you pinned down any possible triggers?”

So far, being alive is my trigger . My teeth fight with my bottom lip, caging the retort and rearranging it into something less jarring. “It’s worse when I have to read.”

“Do you read in well-lit spaces?”

“Sometimes, but it’s mostly on my phone.” I shrug again, noting the wrinkle on his forehead.

“I see.” Silas’ cool palms guide my head forward, so I’m focused on a single point straight ahead. Then he pulls something out of his jacket. “Keep your eyes straight ahead for me.”

Fighting a shiver from the icy chill of the room, I do as I’m told, my fingers clamped around the edge of the examination table to subdue my nerves.

“Interesting,” Silas intones, slipping the tool back in his pocket. “I’m gonna give you a referral to an ophthalmologist. My colleague should be able to get you in later this afternoon. Does that work for you?”

Nodding, I trace his movement until he takes a seat on the stool and peers up at me.

“How’s your sleep, Delilah?”

“Okay, I guess.”

A smile softens his already friendly features. “Any history of panic disorders or sleepwalking? Waking up more tired than you went to sleep?”

The nurse asked me the same thing before he showed up, so I give him a similar shrug. I know he’s just doing his job, but I don’t know what I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve been to a doctor in my adult life, and the reality of that sits on my chest, heavy and stinging.

What does it say about my father that the man who kidnapped me wants me to get medical care after knowing me for a month when my parent had all my life to make sure I was good?

Not only that, Marcellus went out of his way to make sure I wasn’t while he and Weston had a doctor who made house calls for them.

My vision blurs as a pit forms in my stomach.

“Delilah?”

Papers shuffle and I can hear wheels rolling over tile, but I can’t make myself focus on anything but the ringing in my ears.

“ Delilah …”

A firm touch weighs down my shoulder and the clean smell of hand soap snaps my focus back to Silas.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

His smile is missing as he watches me. “Does that happen often?”

“No.” It’s somewhere between a lie and the truth.

“Can you tell me more about your sleep? Do you wake up rested?”

“Yes.”

He slips in his next question smoothly, “Ever wake up with bruises or snapshots of memories you can’t explain?”

Between Victor’s greeting this morning, Adonis’ less than cold demeanor and this, it’s starting to feel like everybody knows something I don’t. As if I forgot something pivotal that’s cemented in everyone else’s mind.

“Sometimes,” I finally muster.

He nods and turns to write something down.

“So, how long have you had the headaches?”

My reply comes out as more of a question. “A little over a year now?”

Silence.

Followed up by more silence.

So much silence I can hear Victor clear his throat outside the consultation room .

His proximity comforts me as I wait for Silas to speak again.

“You’ve had a headache every day for a year, and you’ve never gone to the doctor for it?”

“Didn’t really have the money,” I point out. I’d been focused on other things. Like rent and all the basics I needed to buy now that I was on my own.

Besides, I’d kind of accepted it as the tradeoff for my freedom. I could tolerate a headache if it meant I was free…

Clearing my throat, I meet Silas’ confounded stare.

“What? Is this the part where you tell me I have a brain tumor or something?”

Worry and alarm eclipse his easygoing demeanor and dread sets in, fast and heavy at the pit of my stomach.

Fuck, that was a joke.

“Let’s get you scheduled for some more tests before we start catastrophizing.”

He screens me for another hour, talking the whole time.

I don’t know if I’m more impressed at how thorough he is or that he doesn’t run out of things to say.

Fifteen minutes in, he turned off the overhead light when he saw me squinting repeatedly and relied on the natural light streaming in through the windows to finish his assessment.

When he’s done, he sends me to another room to have my blood drawn.

“Take my number so you can contact me if anything else comes up.”

A few blinks turn into a full moment of silence before Silas cocks his head and extends his hand.

“Your phone, Delilah.”

I reach into my bag and give it to him. “Does Adonis know you’re doing that?”

His fingers hover over my screen. “ Trust me, you wouldn’t be in my office if Adonis didn’t want you contacting me.”

Is that supposed to be comforting? Am I supposed to feel relieved that I got taken by a man who cares about my physical wellbeing? I don’t know, and Silas’ face gives nothing away. So, I swallow my line of questioning and shoot him an awkward smile.

“I’m going to write you a script for a pain reliever. I want you to get it filled after you see Dr. Thomas about your eyes.”

A tingling sensation pricks my nose, and I avert my eyes, trying to hide any possible sheen.

“Hey, it’s okay if this is overwhelming. We’re just trying to make sure you’re well taken care of.”

“Not overwhelming.” Just…new.

Adonis is not my savior.

One kind gesture doesn’t erase the totality of who he is, but it’s hard convincing myself of that when the sum total of all my emotions right now converges on how grateful I am.

My thoughts are still fuzzy a while later when Victor opens the door for me to climb into the truck.

Once inside, I pull my phone out and type in my passcode, ignoring the extra weight of the device thanks to the tracker on the back.

Over and over, I swipe my thumb over my phone screen to clear my earlier fingerprints and hover over the message Silas sent himself from my phone.

Aside from Indigo, I don’t text anyone, so seeing the addition to my message threads tugs at the tender muscle in my chest.

Exiting out of Silas’ message, my fingers guide me to the last thing Indigo messaged me.

The neatly torn open envelope with my name scrolled across in cursive.

And the letter inside isn’t a letter at all, just a string of ten numbers I assume is a phone number.

But who? The only people who know where I live are Weston and Adonis.

I can’t think of another soul who would be trying to get in touch with me, let alone so cryptically?

My eyes trace the number I memorized after reading it the third time.

704-555-8851

I could type the number into my phone and send them a message. In fact, I almost do, but when Victor calls out to me, I scramble to press the button on the side of my phone until the screen is black.

“Are you okay, Ms. Delilah?”

Genuine concern coats his question, and I smile at him in the rear-view mirror. A real smile despite the thunderous thumping in my chest.

“I’m okay.”