Page 87 of Sinful Beauty

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Oh, nothing much. You see this?” He holds the gelled plastic piece. “I’m going to place it between your legs and get a sonogram. Later on in the pregnancy, I won’t need to be so intrusive. We can simply scan from your belly. But we’re estimating you’re early on and I’ll need to do it this way. My goal is to confirm there’s a baby. It might still be too early. You took a pregnancy test?”

He says it like he knows I did. Damn, Tristan. He saw the pregnancy stick.

“An over the counter. Just yesterday. Could it be wrong?”

“Any other symptoms?”

“My breasts are sore. Nausea.”

“Test is most likely accurate. When was the date of your last period?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“We’ll probably see something then.” He brightens like this is good news, and that a man standing to his right wielding a shiny blade is inconsequential.

My cheeks heat as both men stare at me, waiting. He can’t really expect me to remove my clothes, can he? There’s nothing to even confirm this man is a medical professional. Anyone can put on a white lab coat.

“You can remove your clothes, or he can. I have places I need to be. Decide.”

If it were only the older man, I’d fight. I’d claw my way out of this room. But the man at the foot of the bed has two guns and a knife. And he has the look of a man who might kill me with that knife and then use the blade to pick food from his teeth.

Thankfully, I’m wearing a dress. I bunch the dress around my hips and tug at my undergarment, which is a pair of warm black tights. I slide them off without getting off the bed, then maneuver myself into the position requested by the self-proclaimed doctor.

I shudder when his hand touches my knee and he spreads my thigh wider, opening my sex up to him. Shame heats my skin. The wheel on the cart squeaks as he drags it closer.

What kind of monster would do this to me?

My mother sent me to another country to avoid monsters, yet somehow they found me. I waffle between staring at the ceiling and the silent man. Given I am compliant, he sheathes his blade. The long, thin end of his assault rifle extends beyond his shoulder, a reminder he carries force.

A cold object prods at my entrance. I glance down and the man isn’t wearing gloves. My gynecologist always wore gloves. But from what I can tell, only the instrument is inside me. The coolness has warmed, and he’s moving it around within me while looking at a device on the cart. He hits the cart and I jump.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. “This thing isn’t working.” He pushes it higher and this time, I feel his fingers at my entrance. Bile rises and I swallow it down, shutting my eyes.

Do. Not. Vomit.

“Nothing. Either it’s broken or you’re too early.” The device slides out of my vagina. “Tried to tell him,” he grumbles, mostly to himself. “I’m going to leave you some pre-natal vitamins. You’ll need to take them each day.” He glances at the armed man. “Someone will ensure you take them.”

“I might not…I haven’t even decided what I’m going to do.” I scramble back against the headboard, pulling the dress down over my knees until it covers my toes.

“You’re here, in this room, and you believe you have a choice?” He wipes his hands off on the white coat, then removes it and folds it on the cart. He takes a cloth and cleans the device that he put inside me.

“But, you can tell Tristan I might not…this might not be an issue. He said he wanted to talk to me. Tell him I’m here. I’ll talk to him. If he feels this strongly, I won’t--”

“You don’t have a choice. You won’t be having a baby.”

“I won’t…but why am I here, then? Just give me a pill and I’ll take it and leave.”

Something crosses the old man’s face. Pity? Annoyance? “You’ll be out of here soon enough. But you will not be having this child.” He sighs and pats the bed near my leg. “I only tell you so you don’t hope.”

He blinks and nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with this bizarre explanation, and then shuffles away, pushing the cart.

The man with a gun steps to the door, opening it for the old man.

I’m so confused. What the hell, Tristan?

Or is this Tristan? Because this is not at all like him. We were going to talk. But who else would it be?

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