Page 67 of Cashmere Cruelty
“Is the child showing signs of fetal distress?” I ask innocently.
Dr. Assface looks taken aback.What, you thought this peasant couldn’t speak your language?“No.”
“Is the child podalic?” I press, pulling out every term I’ve ever learned from Dr. Allan in the past nine months.
“Well, no?—”
“Is the child affected by fetal macrosomia?” I insist, blinking two big doe eyes at Ratched and wishing they could shoot lasers.
“… No,” Dr. Assface admits quietly.
“Then I don’t see the reason,” I conclude with my biggest smile. “With my family history, it’s all perfectly normal.”
“Your family history?”
“Yes,” I say with the fakest surprise I can muster. “Surely you’ve read my file before coming here, Doctor. Haven’t you?”
I hear a snort from beyond the privacy screen, quickly covered up by a cough.
I hop down the examination table and put myself back together without waiting for a dismissal. In fact,Idismissthem.“Well then!”
My cheerful demeanor leaves no room for argument. Stunned into silence, the team begins to pack up. Dr. Assface hands Matvey a quickly put-together folder.
Matvey inclines his head. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be in touch.”
That’s another clear dismissal. The three leave without a word.
When I see Matvey heading for the door as well, I call, “Wait.”
Matvey turns. He’s clearly got somewhere to be, tapping his fingers against each other like he’s losing a million dollars for every second wasted with me.
I don’t care if it’s a goddamn billion. He can wait and he can fucking listen.
Once the doctors’ steps have faded, I finally speak my mind. “What the hell, Matvey?”
Evidently, Matvey wasn’t expecting that. “Come again?”
“Sure,” I answer, unfazed. “I said,What the hell?”
Matvey’s eyebrow shoots up. Like, way up. “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone, April.”
“Oh, you’re not ‘sure’ if you ‘appreciate’ my ‘tone’?” I take an aggressive step forward. I’m all up in his face right now, but I don’t care. I’mfuming.“Well, let me tell you whatIdon’t appreciate: being woken up at the ass crack of dawn, being forced tostripin front of strangers, beinggroped everywhereby said strangers?—”
“They’re doctors, April,” Matvey growls back, a familiar vein pulsing at his temple. “That’s their job.”
“Ihavea doctor!” I yell, too far gone for politeness. I used up all my reserve to keep my fists to myself earlier; I don’t have any to spare. “A perfectly good doctor whom I trust, who’s already scheduled our appointments for the monthwith my consent. A foreign concept to you, I’m sure.”
His face goes dark. “I don’t remember ever having to force you, Ms. Flowers.”
Now, I’ve done it. He only calls meMs. Flowerswhen he’s mad or teasing. And right now, I think it’s safe to guess which one it is.
But again: don’t care.
He takes a step towards me, too. Like this, we’re close enough to touch. His comment makes the memories spark in my mind: the changing room, the tie.
Everything.
All the sins that brought us here.