He laughed. “It’s nature. They can’t help themselves.”
She stared at the jar, having no idea what to make of it.
Carmine stood after a few minutes, brushing the grass from his pants. “We should head inside before we get caught. You can bring the bugs with you.”
Shaking her head, she unscrewed the lid. “They should be free,” she said quietly, watching as the fireflies flew away.
Carmine grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet, and her fingertips tingled from his touch. The sensation alarmed her. It was like electricity under her skin, running through her veins and jolting her heart. Her pulse raced as she averted her gaze, not daring to look him in the eyes.
His eyes—green, like the grass and the trees.
Haven felt like she, too, was suddenly glowing.
6
Evasion became a way of life for Haven again during the next few weeks, but deep down she knew it couldn’t last. As she headed downstairs one Friday to do her work, she heard the television playing in the family room, although everyone should have been gone for the day. Her pulse quickened. Every weekday she had been left alone until three o’clock. She didn’t like her routine being disrupted.
Quietly, she walked to the family room and saw Dr. DeMarco sitting on the couch. He addressed her without even looking up. “Good morning, child.”
Bewildered, she mumbled, “Good morning, Master.”
Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “Calling me that is unnecessary. It makes me feel like you place me on the same level as Antonelli, and I like to think of myself as a better man than that.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“No need to apologize. Call me Vincent, if you’d like.”
She was shocked he would ask her to use his first name. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I was waiting for you. I’ve been putting it off, but your checkup needs to be done today.”
Her eyes widened.
“It shouldn’t take long,” he said, finally looking at her. “And on the bright side, you get to leave the house for a bit. You haven’t been outside since you’ve gotten here.”
Not true, but she didn’t dare correct him.
* * *
He drove her to a small brick building about ten minutes away, a white sign reading DURANTE CLINIC adorning the front above the main entrance. Unlike the busy hospital, which could be seen from the parking lot, the clinic was dark and vacant, not a soul anywhere.
“They’re closed today, so we shouldn’t have any interruptions,” Dr. DeMarco said as he unlocked the front door.
“What will we be doing?” she asked.
“Just the basics.”
Haven didn’t know what the basics were, and Dr. DeMarco didn’t take the time to explain.
He ushered her into the building, her nerves growing with each step. They went straight to an exam room with a brown cushioned table, and Dr. DeMarco flicked on a single light. She stood in place as he explored the room, pulling out supplies and turning on machines. He grabbed her arm, wordlessly stabbing a needle into her vein. She continued to stand still while he filled vial after vial with her blood, every second that passed making her woozier.
She grew so light-headed she nearly fainted.
Dr. DeMarco weighed and measured her next before leading her to the exam table. “You’re going to have to take off your clothes.” She stared at him, fear coursing through her, and he sighed with frustration at her terrified expression. “It’s going to happen whether you cooperate or not, and I’d prefer it be on good terms than from me forcing you.”
Dr. DeMarco strolled over to the window as Haven carefully stripped and climbed up on the table. Her feet hung off the side, nowhere close to reaching the floor as she shielded herself with a flimsy paper gown, clinging to it as if it could protect her.
Dr. DeMarco spoke without turning around. “Lie back and scoot to the end of the table. Place your feet in the metal stirrups and try to relax.”
She did as she was told, closing her eyes as the sound of his footsteps slowly neared.
“You’re going to feel something cold down below,” he explained, pulling a stool closer and sitting down as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “It’ll be uncomfortable, but it’ll be over quick.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter when he touched her, a tear slipping through and falling down her nose. She counted in her head, trying to distract herself, and as soon as she reached ten he let go.
“You appear fine, as far as I can tell,” he said, disposing of his gloves. Her vision blurred from the tears when she opened her eyes, but she could see Dr. DeMarco beside her. He injected her with a few syringes, some stinging worse than others, before he headed for the door. “Put your clothes on so we can leave. I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
Standing, she held on to the table as her legs shook, and redressed.
* * *
Haven lay in bed that night, listening to the soft music drifting in from the library. It was the same melody as every other time, one that usually lulled her to sleep, but tonight she couldn’t relax. Her skin felt taut, her muscles strained and tensed as anger and disgust crept through her. Despite scrubbing and scrubbing in the shower, she still felt dirty.
She’d never been so confused before.
She’d kept her distance from Carmine, wanting the strange feelings for him to stop. She didn’t get why her chest felt like it would burst when he spoke, why her skin got prickly whenever he came near, or why she felt dizzy when she heard his light laughter. She barely knew him—she’d made a point not to—but it didn’t make a difference, because the feelings came anyway.
Grabbing some paper, Haven sketched a picture of Carmine, every detail of his face etched in her memory: the shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the arch of his eyebrows, and the angle of his nose. She remembered his eyes, the way they sparkled in the light. He had some freckles on his nose and cheeks, and a small blemish on the right side of his bottom lip.
As she lay there, she found herself wondering how she’d noticed all of those things.