Page 5 of Bloodlust

"I'm aware, but this is an emergency," I say through my teeth but ensure my tone is warm. Zoey always says you attract more bees with honey than vinegar. Then again, she says a lot of stupid shit. "I need to be seen right away." I force a smile, my fingertips pulsing. "Please?"

"Dr. Malcolm just stepped into the office," she explains, apologetic undertones in her phoney smile. "He usually needs about an hour to settle in." Heather leans down and opens a cabinet door under her desk, a familiar squeak filling the white walls of the minimally decorated practice. She pulls out a stack of paper, attaching the forms to a clipboard. "But you can fill out these documents while you wait. It's standard for new patients. They’re a bit long so you can take a seat."

"Fine." I swallow away the budding impatience as my gaze flicks to the open cabinet, the corner of a shitty chew toy poking out. "You have a dog?" I ask, taking the clipboard from her hands. If I were to stab her right now, there'd be no one to take care of Pinto. Can't have that.

Saved by a canine. Count your blessings, Heather.

"Oh my God!" Heather lights up. "I do! How did you know?"

"I'm psychic," I joke flatly, eliciting an almost frightening expression from poor Heather. I sigh, rolling my eyes as I nod toward the cabinet. "The toy."

"Oh!" She laughs, pulling out a purple alien chew toy.Christ. Another uneducated dog owner."Isn't it adorable? My little bubs is going to love it!"

"Adorable andtoxic," I state, shaking my head in disgust. "That toy was recently recalled. I would research brands prior to purchase if I were you, Heather. Unless you hate your pet, that is."

Heather blinks, examining the plushy. "Toxic?"

"Mhmm. Look it up." I grab a pen and flip through the intake forms.

Fuck’s sake, somany pages.

Name.Real.Birthday.Real.Address.Lie.Contact information.Lie.Employment history.Lie.Academic history.Real.Reason for your visit.Real.

Psychiatric and medical history.How intense is your emotional distress? Lie.Please list all the mental and physical problems you've been diagnosed with.Lie.Name of family doctor.Lie.Have you ever been hospitalized?Lie.

Current habits.

Smoking.Lie.Gambling.Lie.Drinking.Lie.Drug use.Lie.Caffeine intake.Lie.Exercise.Lie.Eating.Lie.Sleeping.Lie.Fun and relaxation.Lie.

All lies. It's better this way.

"Oh my God," Heather mumbles, clacking away on her keyboard as I reach the bottom of the form. "This is horrible."

Guess she decided to do some research.

"Here." I hand her back the clipboard. "I'm done."

"Thank you," she whispers, still distraught. Yeah, I'd be freaked out too if I were slowly killing my dog. She scans the form, eyebrow perking up. "Oh, you forgot to write down an emergency contact."

"I know," I state, expression hardening. "It says it's optional."

"Are you sure you don't want to jot down a name?" Heather asks innocently. "Maybe a relative? A parent?"

"My parents live abroad," I explain, a bitter taste in my mouth.Deserters."And everyone else is dead."

"Oh, okay," she hums awkwardly, nodding. "What about, umm...a close friend? Just someone we can call in case anything happens."

My jaw tenses. Enough niceties.

"I'm done," I say, grabbing my clutch off of the counter. Turning on my heel, I head toward the closed office doors. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh! Miss Bian—shoot!" Heather begins to call out but the phone rings. "Thank you for calling Dr. Malcolm's office, how may I help you?"

I tried to do this Zoey's way. I really did. But it's not my style. At all. My way is much more efficient. My way gets shit done. This was supposed to be a simple in and out. No more playing ball. I came here for one thing, and one thing only.

My fingers curl around the handle and I open the door to the office, mind blanking as my eyes land on the scarred sculpted back of Dr. Hayden Malcolm.

Oh, fuck me.