Page 129 of The Ecstasy of Sin
Sitting behind it, composed and focused, is an older woman with steel-grey hair pinned into a perfect bun. She looks up over the rim of her glasses as we walk in. “Mr. Kael and Ms. Holloway, I presume?”
Dominic nods once. “Nice to finally meet you, Dr. Everly.”
Dr. Everly rises from behind the desk. She’s dressed in a sharp navy skirt suit, her black heels clicking against the floor as she walks toward us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
I instinctively take a step back, arms wrapping tightly around myself. A wave of insecurity hits me hard and fast.
Dominic immediately steps in front of me, blocking my view of her with his body. His gaze narrows with concern as he lifts his hands to rub soothing circles into my upper arms.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t know what to say. It’s not her. It’s not him. It’s just… everything. All of this is overwhelming. The care, the attention, and the fact that this facility was built for me. I close my eyes and draw a slow and steady breath.
I can do this. I’m worthy of help from a man that loves me.
When I open my eyes again, I lift my chin. “I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. Just… a little anxious.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing happens unless you want it to.”
I stare into his eyes, feeling the anchor of him pulling me back from the edge. Then Dr. Everly’s voice cuts through the haze.
“Ms. Holloway, you have nothing to worry about. I’m only here to help.”
Dominic shifts to stand beside me again, his hand finding mine and threading our fingers together.
I nod at her, and she offers me a warm, professional smile.
“Please,” she says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the seating area behind the exam table. “Join me. We’ll just sit and chat about your medical history.”
We follow her to the sleek leather couches. Once we’re seated, she retrieves a clipboard from the exam table and settles across from us.
“Alright, Wren. Let’s get started. I’ve read your medical history, but now I want to hear it from you. Tell me about your condition,” Dr. Everly says, clicking her pen.
I talk, and talk some more. What feels like at least an hour is really only thirty minutes, but it stretches across my entire life.
I tell her when my migraines began, and how they first presented. I explain the way they’ve evolved over the years, and worsened. I talk about the symptoms that never go away, even when I’m not in the middle of an attack. The aura, the fatigue, the pain, and the isolation. I open the flood gates and give her every detail.
She nods the whole time, jotting notes, and never interrupting. Dominic is also quiet, his gaze focused on me as I tell my story. His presence is a comfort unlike anything I’ve ever known.
It’s like no matter what happens, I know that Dominic will be there with me every step of the way. The realization that I’m truly no longer alone has emotion clawing up my throat.
When I finally finish, Dr. Everly sighs and lowers the clipboard to her lap.
“I’ve studied migraines for over twenty-five years, Wren,” she explains. “And I can say without a shadow of a doubt, your condition is severe. And you deserve a better quality of life.”
Her validation hits harder than I expected it to, leaving me overwhelmed by emotion.
I look down at my hands where they fidget in my lap, as something warm brushes down my cheeks. I lift a hand to my face and realize that I’m crying.
I can hear my mother’s voice in my head, and then, like a riptide pulling me under, a memory crashes in.
“You deserve better, my sweet girl. We’ll figure this out, and find the right medication so you don’t have to suffer so much,” Mom says, her soft voice filling my head as she wraps me in her arms outside the neurology clinic.
We’d just left another appointment, the third in two months. The neurologist had confirmed the severity of my migraines, and warned us we’d have to trial medication after medication to find something that worked.
The first two medications had failed, and the latest one was making things worse. I could barely stay awake, and was falling asleep in class every single day.
“You’re a difficult case to treat, Wren, but we’ll try our best,” the neurologist had said.
