Page 46 of Salvaged Heart
“Anderson Carmichael?” An older female nurse wearing obnoxiously bright pink scrubs announced from the door leading to the back offices. This was it, the moment I'd been avoiding for what felt like forever. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, my limbs feeling paralyzed, unable to get me to stand. Beck rose to his feet, tugging me up with him.
“This way.” She motioned to Beck.
With a gentle nudge, he pushed me forward. “He’s a little nervous.”
She gave me a reassuring smile. “That is completely normal, but there is no reason to be concerned. Looks like we are just having a chat today and taking a few vials of blood. Is that correct?” She checked her chart. “You’ll like Dr. White, everyone does. Will your…friend be joining us?”
“Partner.” Beck corrected, and my head snapped in his direction. Did he just say what I thought he did? “Did you want me to come back with you, babe?” He added, this time to me.
What was he playing at?
“Yep,” I squeaked, grabbing his hand and pulling him after me as we followed the woman down the hall.
She took my weight, height, and blood pressure before ushering us into a private room and closed the door behind her on the way out. The room was barely more than a box, ten by ten at most. An examination chair was shoved in one corner, next to a small desk with a laptop and files arranged in neat piles over its top. The walls were covered with a mixture of posters showing the insides of various body parts and warnings regarding the horrific effects of smoking. The anticipation was making me nauseous.
I'd never been good with doctors. As a child, I sobbed just at the mention of a visit, and my limited experience with them as an adult hadn’t been much better. The few times I'd ventured to one in recent years had been to feign some injury, requesting painkillers. They’d caught on to me quickly. I’m sure I was on a list somewhere. The doctor was probably reviewing a warning about me as we waited.
“It will be okay.” Beck’s hand squeezed my shoulder. He hovered over where I sat propped on the edge of the chair, the vinyl cover squeaking horribly as I wriggled about. “Whatever the outcome, yeah?”
A knock came at the door before I could answer, and the doctor wandered in. He was a younger guy, maybe in his early to mid-thirties at most. He was clean-shaven, handsome, and wearing a white coat over his own set of hot pink scrubs.Did they buy them in bulk?He sanitized his hands before offering one to me to shake. I took it hesitantly.
“Anderson Carmichael?”
“The one and only.” The slight quiver in my voice made my false bravado transparent as hell. “Most people just call me Anders.”
“Nice to meet you, Anders.” He had a kind smile. “My name is Dr. Nicolas White.”
He took Beck’s hand next before pulling a tiny wheeled stool out from under the desk and sitting on it. He slid all the way up until he was practically between my knees. His proximity was entirely too close for comfort. I did my best to lean away from him, but the back of the examination chair kept me in place. Seeming to pick up on my sudden discomfort, he moved back a few inches.
“What brings you in today, Anders? It looks like this is your first visit to my practice.”
I nodded, suddenly finding I didn’t know how to string a sentence together. My cheeks heated as I pondered the right words to use. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. Beckham had coached me over breakfast that morning that none of this had been my fault. The doctor’s job was to make sure I was healthy, not judge me. But still, my tongue felt four sizes too big, and the room was a thousand degrees.
Beck’s finger brushed a curl behind my ear before returning to my shoulder. “You got this.”
“Urm, I need to get tested…for er… STIs.”
The doctor didn’t bat an eye. “Well, we can take care of that for you today. Do you have any reason to believe you may have contracted one? Any concerning symptoms? Unprotected sex?” He leaned behind him, pulling a pair of latex gloves from a box fixed to the wall. “Is it okay if I take some vitals while I ask you questions?”
I nodded again.“Yes, no, and yes. In that order.”
“Can you be more specific?”
I looked at Beckham, trying to urge him to stop the line of questioning, but he just grinned back at me, making me feel itchy all over.
“I am, well was, an addict for nine years. When I was high, being safe wasn’t as important as it should have been.”
He nodded in understanding, clipping a small black device to my finger. “And what substances were you primarily using?”
“Opiates, mainly, Vicodin specifically, but I’ve tried pretty much everything at least once.”
“Shared needles or used any non-sterile needles?”
“Not that I remember.”
He slowly brought his gloved hands up to my neck, waiting for me to nod permission, and pressed his fingers along various points on my neck before replacing the hand with his stethoscope. He asked me to breathe in and out as he placed it on different parts of my chest and back. Scribbling illegible notes as he went on the notepad on his knee.
“And are you currently clean? Sober?” The small machine on my finger beeped, and he plucked it off.
