Page 75 of Savage

I don’t expect anything at all. As long as I can see her.

I don’t quite run, but I’m definitely rushing as I make my way through the hospital to Stef’s room. It’s small but private, and I’m grateful for that.

There’s a nurse checking Stef’s vitals, and she glances at me when I enter. “Doctor… Savage, right?”

“Yes,” I answer. Everybody seems to know me around here, even though I don’t know any of them. “I was told I could see her now.”

“Well, Ms. Smith isn’t in critical condition anymore, but she’ll be under observation for a while.” There’s a somewhat suspicious look in her eye. “Do you know why she was naked when it happened?”

I stare at her and shake my head. “She didn’t want to get her clothes wet?”

Or because she had no clothes at all, and was sleeping on the floor, and I was treating her like a dog.

The nurse sighs. “Yeah. A lot of patients do the strangest thing, like they don’t want to inconvenience anybody so they choose to… anyway.” Her expression softens. “I’m sorry that this happened, and it’s good you found her when you did. You’ll have to support her through the next few days. Months. Depression can be a lifelong thing.”

I don’t know what she expects from me. I don’t answer, and after a while, she coughs awkwardly and heads to the door. “You know the drill. Ring that buzzer if you need a nurse.”

Once she’s gone and the door is shut, I pull one of the chairs closer and sit down at Stef’s side.

Her hair is matted, her skin is still pale, the hospital gown looks terrible on her… but she’s alive and breathing. That really is all that matters.

I reach out to touch her jaw, and I’m gratified by the warmth I feel.

I’m sorry, I think.

I rub my eyes against the impending headache. Fuck.

What do I do now?

I get no answers, and my phone buzzes again. I fumble to check the messages just to have something to do. I need to cancel my patients for tomorrow anyway.

There’s a new anonymous email.

Did u know there’s a mole on the inside of Stef’s thighs, right next to her cunt?

I do know that. But how the fuck does this person know?

No, that’s a dumb question. There have been many, many men who have seen Stef in various states of undress. Hundreds of clients who have passed through Ntimacy, watching Stef awkwardly dance, watching her cry.

Anger clutches my chest, and I welcome it. Anger is better than that feeling of helplessness that’s overwhelmed me these past few hours.

I dial Giulio’s number, and I’m not surprised when he responds with that distinct quality of being on speaker.

“What’s up, doc? Good of you to call, I actually wanted to schedule an appointment anyway, so—”

“What’s Stef’s last name?” I ask, interrupting whatever inanity he was about to spew.

Giulio pauses. “Her… last name? Does it matter?”

No, except it suddenly feels like the most important thing in the world. I know nothing about Stef. I don’t know her last name, I don’t know where she’s from, I don’t even know if Stef is her real name.

“Just tell me,” I bark out.

“Uh… Damien, do you know?” Giulio calls out. Damien Rossi is his consigliere, the one who does a lot of the day-to-day management for Giulio.

“No. We probably have her old wallet somewhere, but I don’t remember. Her family were nobodies though.” Damien’s voice gets closer. “Dr. Savage, we need to make an appointment for Vanessa. She’s pregnant—”

“Probably pregnant, judging by how she puked up her fancy dinner and made two lines appear on a stick.”

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