Released (Caged #3)(4)

“Dr. Baynor won’t be in until nine o’clock,” the chick at the desk informed me. She eyed me up and down, and I realized I wasn’t even wearing a shirt—just some drawstring pants and my boots. “His office hours are posted on—”

“Where’s his office?” I asked.

“Are you a patient of Dr. Baynor?”

“Yeah,” I said as I tilted my head and turned sideways. “Want to see the scar?”

She ignored my comment but did at least tell me where his office was. I found my way to an elevator and then down the hall to a door with his name on it. I knocked just in case, but no one answered. I twisted the knob and found it unlocked.

The inside of Dr. Baynor’s office looked more like a study or a den in someone’s house than anything else. There was a big wooden desk and a couple of plush chairs on the near side of it and some matching end tables. The desk chair was tall, leather, and presidential looking. The walls were covered in books, and my first thought was that Tria would love it.

“Fuck me,” I muttered as I dropped down in one of the plush chairs and leaned my head back. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the creepy-crawly feeling invading my skin or think about how if I just ran back home really quick to shoot up, I could probably be back here by the time Dr. Baynor came in. This shit would all be a lot easier if I did that first.

I might have gone, too, but my head was still pounding, and every time I moved, I felt nauseated. There was that little voice in my head again, reminding me that if I had been binging for a few days, I would have made myself get up and go back for more.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t really eaten anything since breakfast before I went to the gym that day. I wasn’t even sure how many days ago that had been. Three? Four? Fuck, it could have been a week for all I knew.

“You look like shit.” Dr. Baynor’s voice came from my side, startling me. As I looked up at him, his eyes softened. “You f*cked up, didn’t you?”

“Big time,” I replied.

“She left?”

I could only nod.

“Dare I ask what you did?”

“She’s…um…she’s pregnant.” I shuffled my feet around on the floor a little. “It’s not like we weren’t careful or anything—there were bad pills, I guess.”

I dropped my head into my hands and felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I swallowed a couple of times to keep myself from puking.

“There was a recall,” he confirmed.

“It doesn’t matter how it happened,” I said. “It happened.”

“When did she tell you?” he asked. He leaned back in his desk chair and tapped his fingers rhythmically on the arms.

“Um…a few days ago, I guess,” I said, realizing I had no f*cking idea what day it was or how long ago she had told me. “I got home from working out on Monday, which is when the clinic called her. She’d already taken a test.”

Maybe it was the most recent Monday; maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t seem to be making any big deal out of it, at least. I stopped and let out a long breath.

“How did you react?” he asked, and I let out a short, harsh laugh.

“I wanted her to get rid of it,” I admitted.

“I’m going to assume your presence here indicates she didn’t agree with that approach.”

“She said she was going to have it,” I told him.

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.” After a moment of silence, I glanced up to see his jaw set and his look grim. I licked my dry lips. “I just walked out.”

“What have you been doing since then?”

“I…uh…I got arrested for assault,” I told him, “but they dropped the charges. I wrecked my apartment, but it’s not like there’s anyone there who cares. I bought some smack, but I only used it once. I didn’t bang the second needle.”

The lie came so easily.

“Is this your way of telling me it could be worse?” he asked.

I rubbed at the back of my head as I glanced up at him a little sheepishly.

“Maybe?” I cleared my throat, rubbed at my eyes, and sat up a little straighter. “I f*cked up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “you did. “Are you clean now?”

I rubbed the spot on my inner arm.

“Last night,” I said, and my throat and chest seized up on me. “I think. I only did the one dose—really. I was going to do another one when I woke up, but I came here instead.”

He stood up and came around the desk, grabbed my wrist, and then flipped my arm over to look at the bruises from the multiple punctures. His fingers covered my wrist, and he looked at his watch for a few seconds. He flashed one of those lights in my eyes and generally checked me out. Without a word, he grabbed an alcohol swab and cleaned off the spot on my inner arm.

“You dosed a hell of a lot more than once.” His eyes bore into me.

“I guess it’s been a few days.” My stomach lurched a little. “I’m not really sure how many.”

“You still have the stuff at your apartment?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

Dr. Baynor picked up the phone and told whoever was on the other end to cancel his appointments or move them all to another doctor. He grabbed his keys out of his jacket pocket and motioned toward the door.