Page 70 of Born Reckless

"You've got to be in some pain," he says as he crosses to a cupboard and pulls it open. He begins to set some supplies on a metal tray. "Do you want anything for it? Human drugs don't do a lot for vampires, but I've created my own blend that seems to help our kind."

I shake my head. "I've seen too many addicts to feel comfortable taking much of anything. I'll survive this."

Sebastian just nods and slides the cart over next to me. Gently, he encourages me to sit in the chair. "Something about pain makes you feel alive, doesn't it?"

I stare at him with my eyes slightly too wide. Because he's right. I've always felt that way. It's one of the reasons why I've always gone looking for trouble. Because it makes me feel like I'm actually alive. "Yeah," I say quietly.

He puts some alcohol on a cotton swab and starts cleaning off my wounds. It stings, but not near as much as it would have when I was human. "Before I came to Chicago, before I went to medical school, I was in a dark place. I made my money by fighting in underground boxing rings."

This shocks me. Dr. Vincent, organized and punctual member of the Night Council, once upon a time fought in illegal fights? "When did you Resurrect? Before or after you went to medical school?"

"Way before," he answers. He threads a needle and with skilled hands, he begins to close up some of the cuts on my face. "I lurked around some pretty shady parts of Brooklyn for a few years when I first Resurrected. Got into some trouble. Should've died more than once. I was in self-destruct mode. But sometimes we hit a turning point, you know? One day I realized that I was squandering an opportunity. I was this new, exceptional being. And I had forever in front of me. So, I took a few years to figure out who I wanted to be. And slowly, I started making my way through medical school."

I cringe as he continues digging the needle through my flesh. I wonder how many of these will turn into permanent scars. Great. More of those are exactly what I need. "How old are you?" I ask.

Sebastian chuckles, a smile on his face. "I'm the oldest one on the Night Council. Compared to me, all the others are babies."

"You didn't answer the question," I point out. He snips the thread and starts in on the next set.

"I just turned one hundred and nineteen this year," he answers. His tone sounds a little grim at the number.

"Shut up," I say as my jaw drops just slightly.

Sebastian chuckles and finishes up another set of stitches. "It's true. There's a reason why I hesitated in telling you. Once you get past that eighty-year mark or so, it tends to freak people out. You're a grand total of a few weeks old. I wasn't looking to gross you out and make you think I'm a petrified mummy."

"Good thing we all stop aging," I say. Because even though I've had my doubts about him, Sebastian Vincent only looks like he's about thirty-three years old. He looks strong and handsome. He looks like the doctor in a soap opera.

Not that I will ever say those words out loud.

He sets the stitching tools aside and gently, he presses his thumbs into my face. "Nothing feels broken. You’re bruising, but those will heal up quickly. You should take a few hours to rest. But soon enough, you'll feel good as new."

I offer him a tight smile. "Thank you," I say. "And I'm sorry. Maybe I judged you too quickly."

Sebastian shakes his head. "It's fine. I understand. When you've had a rough life, it's hard to trust that anyone is good."

I want to know more. I want to know what makes Sebastian say the things he’s saying. Because they all feel familiar. It's almost as if I'm listening to a recording of my own thoughts.

"I'll start my apprenticeship in five days, if that's okay," I say. And for the first time, I feel confident about this. That this is actually a good idea and might work out for the best. "I need a few days to wrap things up, and a day to move into that apartment. But I think it's time to move forward."

It's hard to evaluate the expression on his face. I think there's hope in Sebastian’s eyes. Anticipation. Maybe excitement. "I think that sounds perfect."

I know it’s time to leave. I know now that plans have been made, that I need to get things in motion.

But I was just tortured. I was beaten and battered. And when I walk out of this office, it’s back to people who have never known a day of hardship in their lives.

As I look up at Sebastian, I really want to talk more. I want to ask him what the worst day of his life was because I have a feeling we could compare stories. I want to ask him what the worst thing he ever did was, because I know I’ve done some things I’m not proud of in the name of survival.

Sometimes people surprise you. It’s easy to take one interaction and judge them from there.

I need to leave, but something deep down in me doesn’t want to.

But I nod once, and then I stand. "I think I need to get out of this gown. I look like a walking nightmare."

Sebastian chuckles at that. "Go home, Juliet. Clean up. Get some rest. Here is my number." He reaches for a business card on his desk and grabs a pen. He scrawls something down on the back of it and then hands it to me. "That's my cell phone number. Call me when you're ready to move in. Or for anything. I'm happy to help you get situated."

I look down at his phone number. This life evolves quickly. My second life is certainly exhilarating. And here, I can feel the next stage of it unfolding. "Sounds good. Thank you."

Sebastian simply nods and then pulls the door open.