Page 24 of Brood
“Okay.” I have to force the word out of my throat.
“Good girl.” He returns to his position between my legs, finally retracting and withdrawing the speculum.
It’s not over yet, however. He inserts three fingers inside me, moving them around and curling them up as he presses down with his other hand against my lower belly.
I bite back a whimpering sound as the pressure creates an intense cramping pain.
“Breathe slow and deep, peaches.”
Although I do as he says, I hate every minute of it until he finally finishes the examination, swings the chair upright again, and lets me out of the stirrups and clamps.
* * *
A couple of hours later, I’m trying to focus on adjusting the seasoning in the stir-fried vegetables and ignore the lingering pain between my legs and the numbness of my foot and ankle.
I was hoping the physical exam might assuage my worries about not getting pregnant yet, but I feel so much worse now than I did this morning.
Despite my continued attempts to be less emotional, I’ve felt like crying all afternoon.
Monica has been glaring at me throughout the shift, but I’m used to that now. At least she doesn’t openly lecture me anymore like she did for the first few weeks after Vanessa died.
So I’m surprised when I hear a shrill demand from across the room. “Cadence. Over here, now.”
Frowning, I set down my seasoning mix and walk through the kitchen to where Monica is standing with cold eyes and pursed lips. “There’s someone outside to speak to you. Don’t waste too much time.”
I’m more confused than ever, but I limp out to the hallway. No one pays visits during work shifts. It’s simply not allowed.
I straighten when I see Will leaning against the wall across from the doorway. His thick hair is more wildly rumpled than usual, and he’s got a couple of grease stains on his shirt.
“Will,” I say, something about his familiar stoic face and broad shoulders comforting me for the first time all day. I returned to our quarters after my appointment with the doctor. Will is often there for an hour or so in the afternoon, but he wasn’t today. “What’s going on?”
“There was a maintenance issue with one of the generators that kept me busy all afternoon,” he explains. “How did your appointment go?”
My breath hitches. He pulled me out of my work shift to ask about the examination. “It was okay. He said everything is perfectly healthy, and there are no problems with my hormones or your sperm. It just takes more time.”
“All right.” He’s speaking almost as softly as Dr. Cameron, but Will’s voice is low and gruff and uninflected. It soothes me rather than grates on me. “Then we’ll keep doing what we’re doing.”
I lift my left foot so I can rub at my numb ankle until I realize what I’m doing and set it down again. “That’s what he said we should do.”
Will’s head tilts down more, and his eyes narrow. He uses one of his big hands to lift my face so he can see it better. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Dr. Cameron said everything was fine.”
“That’s not what I mean. You’re too pale, and you look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m not. I’m just tired.”
“Why did you unwrap your ankle?”
“I didn’t. Dr. Cameron did. He gave me a shot.”
Will makes a face, but he doesn’t reply to my explanation with words. He seems very bristly right now, but I don’t think it’s directed toward me.
“I’m really fine,” I tell him, horrified when I hear my voice wobble.
Will isn’t being sweet or reassuring or comforting or loving. He’s acting with his normal terse, unrevealing efficiency. But it’s making me feel better anyway.
He waits, staring at me like he’s expecting me to break down into tears or something.
