Lovers

Ch. 20: feel something

feel something- Bea Miller

"I don't wanna die, but I don't wanna live like this."

--

Jake P.O.V.

The waiting room smelt like an expired air freshener and the air vents were not helping with the stuffed dust bunnies circulating the ceiling.

It was too cold, even in the summer. The AC has to be at fifty-five degrees in here. Dawn wasn't wearing a jacket. Rookie mistake. All doctor offices, whether it's for the mind, body, or soul, the building always sucks the life out of you.

Her teeth begin to chatter, but she holds herself close. Goosebumps are taking over her entire body.

"You want mine?" I begin to pull off my jacket.

"No, no, no," she shrieks. I stare at her confusingly before relaxing in my seat once more.

"Well, your fucking freezing," I scold.

"No," she says firmly once more, glaring at me. "If I wear it, your scent will be on me for the rest of the day."

"And we can't have that." I tease, and she scoffs in response. "Can I at least warm your hands?"

She stares at me for a moment before looking back to her hands, examining the lack of color in them, before gesturing. I take them willingly; her icy hands begin to heat up with just one touch. I massage them between my palms, and her eyes rest. Slowly I stretch her hands out and start cracking her thumbs for her. She sighs, nodding at the sound. I used to do this a lot with her. Playing her hands, her fingers. I usually would do this when she was cold, nervous, or if I was bored because somehow, this is entertaining. It was never meant to be romantic or any of the sort, but holding someone's hand a moment too long, just for your comfort, can always become sentimental. That's why when stares at me, I don't falter my grasp, even when her hands begin to produce moisture, whether it's because she's getting warm or if I'm causing it.

"Jake Dennings, Dr. Ross is ready for you," I hear someone say, but I'm too busy gazing at Dawn.

"Come with me," I ask her softly, careful of prideful ears to listen.

"Jake?" Dawn furrows her brows.

"Just so I can be settled in, and then you can go out here in the waiting room."

She pauses for a moment before pulling one of her hands out of my hold. The one between my fingertips grasps at its opposite, "Come on," she meekly says. She then stands from her seat and pulls me to her side.

"Room 111," says the attendant before we enter through a hallway. Not a sound in sight. She strings me along, holding my hand tightly as if I would run away. I could and never return.

"I'll be right outside," Dawn assures me once more, but I don't believe her. Why this sudden deny that she cares about me? Maybe because she is forcing me to do something that I don't want to do.

My mind enjoys the static that enters my brain. It's a numbness that holds me still, but with one look to Dawn's soft smile, I relent all the tension within me. I open the door, the room hitting me with coffee beans and spoiled peppermints—the same as the one in the waiting room. I glance one last time at Dawn before she shuts the door for me.

"Come in, come in," a peppy voice says across the room. A man in his middle ages sits behind a high computer chair, his nose in his computer, "Sit down if you like, I'll be with you one second."

I don't move where I stand. He realizes that after a minute, dropping his pencil between his fingers, and he finally looks at me.

"Hello," Dr. Ross greets, standing from his chair, as he comes from behind his desk. "If you're going to shake my hand, I'm a germaphobe," I lie. I don't want to touch the guy. "No worries," he almost trips on the air, sitting back down on his seat, "You could sit if you'd like. Well, I'd prefer you to sit," he says adamantly now, and I clench my jaw. Without making things more awkward, I walk across the room to the opposing seats. "Well, I'm Dr. Ross. And you're..."