Chapter 25: The Last Door On The Right
Kaya
I finally allow Ron to examine me, and to my surprise, he barely lays a hand on me. His touch, when necessary, is light and clinical—more careful than I expected. Yet, despite his professionalism, I don’t miss the flicker of curiosity in his deep-set eyes as they trace the countless scars marring my skin.
Every time his gaze lingers a little too long, I instinctively flinch. And he notices. I know he does, because the moment our eyes meet, he offers me a small, reassuring smile and withdraws, putting distance between us.
"Well, there are no external injuries," he says, peeling off his gloves. "And I don’t see any immediate signs of internal damage either."
I exhale softly, but my relief is short-lived.
Ron reaches into his canvas bag again, pulling out a set of syringes and test tubes. "I need to take a blood sample to run some tests."
The moment I see the gleam of the needle, a shudder rips through me. My body tightens, curling in on itself as if I can make myself disappear. My arms wrap around my legs, drawing my knees to my chest like a desperate shield.
"Why?" My voice is barely audible, yet sharp with fear. "What are you going to do with my blood?"
Memories come rushing back, thick and suffocating. Needles piercing my skin. Cold, sterile hands restraining me. The distant hum of voices analyzing, dissecting, treating me like an experiment rather than a person.
Please, Goddess, don’t let it happen again.
Ron hesitates. His hands lower slightly, subtly tucking the syringes out of sight, as if I’m a frightened child spooked by a doctor’s visit. His hazel eyes lock onto mine, studying me with quiet intensity, and I can practically feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing against me.
It’s a good thing I don’t have a mind link. If I did, I’d probably break under it.