Page 65 of He Should Be Mine
The possessiveness coils in my chest, hot and sharp. Because hedidreach for me. He let me bring him here. He let me hold his hand and touch his hair and carry him out of the dark.
“The abrasions in his throat are severely infected. It’s possible he had a mild infection before being injured.”
My jaw is clenching. My fists are curling even tighter.
“Mr.Smith.“ Her emphasis is just enough to let me know she knows the name I have given is false. “Do you have a piercing on your penis?”
I blink.
“Check it for rough edges, and clean it thoroughly. In the future, consider not wearing it for certain activities.”
Her eyes are cold. I still can’t speak, but what would I say anyway.
The silence stretches. It seems the lecture is over. She has nothing more to say to me.
“Is he awake?” I ask.
“Not yet. We’ll let you know.” Her tone is clipped now. All business. She’s written me off as another man with too much money and a pretty thing on his arm. She probably expects Molly to lie for me. Or stay silent.
And he will. Because he has to.
I leave without another word.
When I step back into the waiting room, the tension doesn’t leave me, but it shifts.
Molly isn’t mine. Despite what everyone here is thinking. But God, I want him to be.
I go sit back in the too-small chair with my knees spread wide, elbows on my thighs, fingers steepled in front of my mouth.
People come and go. An orderly wheels a kid past in a blanket burrito. A couple argue softly in the corner. Someone’s crying behind a vending machine. I barely hear any of it.
All I can hear is my heartbeat. Loud. Stubborn. Pounding behind my eyes.
Eventually, someone calls my name again. A different nurse again, as if they are taking turns in having to deal with me. This one is younger. Friendlier. She doesn’t flinch when she sees me.
“Matthew’s stable,” she says. “They’ve given him fluids and something for the fever. His temperature’s still high, so he’ll be monitored overnight.”
I nod, trying to keep my voice level. “Can I see him?”
She hesitates. “He’s still asleep.”
That’s not a no. But it isn’t a yes either.
Then, in a tone that’s supposed to be casual, she adds, “Someone from our safeguarding team will check in with him once he’s awake.”
Safeguarding. It lands in my gut like a brick. It’s a powerful word. An indictment of all the ways I have failed him.
She gives me a tight smile. “We just want to make sure he’s safe.”
My jaw ticks. I nod again, slowly. “Right. Of course.”
Because they still think I did it. That I’m the man who drags his sick, bruised boyfriend into a hospital and lies about how it happened. That Molly is another pretty thing who keeps his mouth shut and his stories vague.
And I know Molly. Iknowhim.
He’ll smile at them with that sugar-sweet mouth and say,oh, I’m just clumsy, orit’s fine, I get sick all the time, or something worse. He’ll lie without blinking if it means avoiding trouble. He’s too used to surviving by pretending everything’s fine. He knows he is caught in Riccardo’s web and the more he struggles, the tighter he’ll be bound.
So he will lie when they ask him if he’s safe. If he feels safe withme.
