The Gender Lie(51)

I ran a hand over my face. Tim’s condition made him physically hurt when anyone touched him. Apparently it was called synesthesia, a genetic disorder that confused the senses, and in Tim’s case, made touch cause physical pain. I could just imagine what had happened to Tim, and how confused it would make him when he woke up.

Dr. Tierney had assured me I had a few hours before that happened, which was why I was making my way back upstairs. I needed something positive at the moment, and there was only one face in the world that could make me feel better—even if it was attached to a dry sense of humor and a surly disposition.

I stepped through the door on the top level and saw Dr. Tierney closing the door to one of the patient’s rooms. I raised my hand —the left one, not the right because it still hurt—and approached her. “Hey Doc. How is everyone?”

Dr. Tierney mustered up a smile. “Everyone’s going to be okay,” she said. Her eyes moved to where I was awkwardly cradling my shoulder. “How are you?”

I gave her a half shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you. I think it’s fine—it doesn’t feel dislocated.”

Her eyebrow arched and she looked impressed. “You’ve dislocated a limb before?” she inquired.

“Once, during a sparring match. My opponent slammed me against a wall to try to get me off her back. At one point… my body went left, shoulder right.”

She made a face at that, and then gestured for me to follow her into one of the empty side rooms. I sat down on the gurney as she pulled her handheld out of one pocket and a small medical scanning ring out of the other. She ran the scanning ring over my shoulder, and then looked at her handheld for the results.

“How’s Amber?” I asked, remembering that I had meant to inquire about her this morning.

Dr. Tierney nodded without taking her eyes off the digital image the scan had produced. “She’s much better today. Was able to keep down some food. I’ll have her walking in a few days.”

“And Viggo? How did his physical therapy go?”

Dr. Tierney frowned and lowered her handheld. “Violet,” she said, and then hesitated.

I widened my eyes. “What is it? Is the scan okay?”

She fidgeted back and forth a few seconds and then sighed in irritation. “Mr. Croft asked me to ask you if you would stay away from his physical therapy sessions.”

I suddenly felt very small and extremely confused.

“What?” I asked, needing her to repeat it.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Before you jump off the deep end, you need to understand a few things, okay?”

“Like what?”

“Mr. Croft is… well… he’s feeling pretty poorly about himself right now. He’s embarrassed about all of his physical therapy, and he’s—wait, where are you going?”

I had jumped off the table and was halfway to the door when she asked the question. I grabbed the door knob and threw open the door. “I’m going to get it from the source!” I shouted as I walked the short distance to Viggo’s door. I threw it open and strode inside, determined to get to the bottom of this.

“What the hell, Viggo?” I exploded.

Viggo fixed his gaze on the blanket, his jaw twitching in irritation. I folded my arms over my chest and waited.

“Violet, please…” said Dr. Tierney as she arrived at the door.

Viggo shot her a glance so vicious, if he’d had any form of telepathic power, she would have died immediately.

“Oh no, don’t blame her!” I said. “You put her in the middle of this. So explain to me why you don’t want me to come see you while you’re here!”

Viggo cleared his throat at the sound of my shouting resounding off the walls. “Could you close the door, please?” he asked, his tone tight.

Gritting my teeth, I turned around and calmly closed the door in Dr. Tierney’s face. I took the moment to collect myself, taking hold of the hurt I was feeling and gently pulling it back, one deep breath at a time.

As I swung back around, I met his eyes. “I’m sorry I shouted,” I said after a moment. I’m just under a lot of stress right now.

Viggo nodded slowly, accepting my apology. I waited for him to say something, but he was stubbornly staring at his blanket again.

“Viggo, c’mon. What is going on?”

He hesitated. “I can’t have you here,” he said quietly. “Not during this.”

“But why?” I asked, exasperated. “I only want to help you. Support you.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said, his voice rising as he met my gaze, his green eyes iced over.