Page 40 of Heart Sick

“But this heart allows you that, and so much more. The blockage is no longer in your heart. It’s now in your head and I want to help you. I want to help you finish that masterpiece you’ve been working on.”

Well, fuck me.

I don’t want to accept what she’s saying, but it makes more sense than a donor heart being the reason for this creative clam-up.

She watches me closely, allowing me to process what she just shared. But I don’t want to. If what she’s saying is true, am I really just unhinged then?

She stands cautiously like she would if approaching a rabid animal. I suppose I am.

The space between us suddenly fills with something electric. I don’t know what it is.

“I only want to help. I want to show you that it’s all in your mind.”

Before I know what she’s doing, she reaches around my shoulders and commences untying the string from my gown. I would ask, but curiosity, as well as shock, has rendered me speechless. I can only watch as she finishes unfastening my gown, before sliding it off my shoulders.

Thankfully, I’m wearing boxers because standing in her office naked is fucking weird. Yes, she’s my doctor, but something about this feels like we’ve crossed a line. We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto, when she places her hand against my chest.

But not before toying with the crucifix around my neck.

She notices me purposely avoiding looking down at the scar. “Look at it. I want you to see what this is.”

When I turn my cheek, she grips my chin and coaxes me to look.

For a moment, I simply stare at it, not knowing what to think. I just feel numb.

It’s not as hideous as I thought it would be. In my head, I envisioned a red, raw mess. But it looks like any other scar would. I’m slightly disappointed.

“See?” Dr. Norton says, reading my thoughts. “It’s just flesh.”

To accentuate her point, she runs her finger along the jagged scar.

“There is nothing supernatural about this. Or what’s inside.”

Her touch doesn’t feel unpleasant, but it also feels out of place. Unlike Luna, who was able to set me on fire.

Dr. Norton’s fingers begin to dance over my chest and as her lips part, I know we are venturing into dangerous territory. “I want what you want—I want to hear you play again.”

“When did you see me play?” I ask as I had no idea she ever saw me play.

“It was the June Meriweather forum recital at Juilliard. The hospital was a sponsor.”

That makes sense, but what doesn’t is why she never told me she came.

“You were unlike anyone I’ve ever heard before,” she says in a faraway voice, her fingers continuing to explore my skin. “La Campanella is one of my favorites.”

I arch a brow, confused. “I didn’t play Liszt at that recital. It was Bach. Are you sure it was me?”

My question snaps her from wherever she just went.

She shakes her head and removes her hand from my chest so abruptly she almost falls on her ass. “Oh, sorry. I got the names mixed up. Sometimes, I like to think I’m a classical music expert.”

Her fingers tremble when she brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. A surgeon’s hand should never tremble and the perfect scar down my chest is proof of that.

Something is wrong…but I don’t know what that is.

Her doctor persona slips back into place as she bends low to gather my gown. She offers it to me with her face turned, and suddenly, this feels awfully sordid.

I’m in no hurry to dress, but Dr. Norton seems to be desperate to flee as she stuffs her leather briefcase with her belongings. “Give some thought about what we spoke about today. There’s no harm in talking to another doctor.”

---