Wildest Dreams - A Taylor Swift Adoption Fanfiction

Chapter 11: Not a Kid

Author's note: Next chapter is scheduled for tomorrow -I've been hyperfixating on this story haha

A sharp knock brings me back to reality. Taylor's already moving to open the door and in walks in Dr. Smith herself. Tree's behind her.

"Thought you might need backup," Tree announces, settling into an armchair with her ever present phone.

"I'm not dying," I mutter. "It's just a fucked up knee."

"Language," Dr. Smith says mildly, setting her bag down.

I roll my eyes, "Oh good, another adult who thinks they can police my vocabulary. Exactly what I needed today."

Tree snorts while Taylor tries to hide a smile. Dr. Smith just raises an eyebrow.

"Attitude noted. May I look at your knee?"

"Do I have a choice?" I shoot back, leaning back on the couch with arms crossed.

"Yes," she says simply. "You always have a choice."

"Oh."

"I'm going to sit here," she gestures to the coffee table. "And explain everything before I do it. You can stop me at any time. And I'd like to hear your version of what happened before I do anything."

"My version?" I narrow my eyes. "As opposed to whose?"

"Yours is the only one I'm interested in." She settles into the chair, making no move to come closer. "So. The knee?"

I glance at Taylor, who nods encouragingly.

"Ran into Taylor. Fell. Concrete. The end."

"Mm." Dr. Smith pulls out a notepad. "And the previous injuries? The ones that didn't heal quite right?"

My whole body goes stiff. "I don't.."

"You favor your left side," she continues calmly when I don't say anything else. "Old rib injury, probably. And your right wrist shows signs of multiple breaks that weren't set properly."

"You got all that from sitting there?" I nervously look at Taylor, my anger bubbling up.

"I've been doing this a long time." She makes a note. "I'm also noting signs of long-term malnutrition and vitamin D deficiency. Basement?"

"Fuck you," I spit out, but my voice shakes. I scoot back, ready to get hit.

"Not a question you have to answer." She looks up, unfazed. "None of them are. But I can't help if I don't know what I'm dealing with."

"I don't need..."

"The knee's infected," she cuts in. "I can see the swelling from here. That, at least, needs attention."

"Whatever." I shift uncomfortably. "Just... no weird shit."

"Define weird shit," she says, echoing Taylor's earlier question.

I take a deep breath. "You know, the usual doctor crap. Telling me how blessed I am to be alive, how God has a plan, how if I'd just prayed harder-"

"Mandy," Taylor interrupts softly.

"What? She asked."

Dr. Smith's face remains neutral but her eyes sharpen. "No religious commentary, understood. May I remove the bandage?"

"Knock yourself out. Just... not me."

"Planning for you to stay conscious the whole time," she says dryly. "Though your blood pressure might need some attention."

"My blood pressure's fine."

"Really? You got a medical degree I don't know about?" Dr. Smith gives me that look. The look adults give when I instantly know I lost.