Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Dr. Perry unclipped his glasses from the pocket of his white coat, sliding them up his cheeks. “Can you take off your hat, glasses, and mask?”
I held in a breath, certain Sebastian would refuse him. A moment of intense silence passed before Seb offered the slightest nod. He crept the hat off first, followed by his glasses, keeping a snail’s pace.
He paused a few more seconds. I watched, tense as he sucked in a breath, gathering the courage to remove his mask.
Holy shit.
He did it.
He showed his face to someone new. The second person in less than two months. I didn’t care what Seb thought. This was progress.
Dr. Perry studied Seb’s face without recoiling or wincing, no doubt used to seeing plenty of trauma patients. I’d specifically selected him for his trauma expertise.
Sebastian fidgeted in his seat, peering around, doing his best to ignore the pair of eyes digging holes into his face. Finally, he stared the doctor head on. “Do you want a picture or something?”
“Yes.” Dr. Perry gestured out the door, in the general direction of the studio room we’d passed on our way in. “From every angle. And I would also like to see you making facial expressions, so I can assess your range of motion.”
Sebastian huffed but didn’t refuse his request. It struck me that, deep down, he wanted this. Wanted something as close to normal as he could get.
“May I ask, Mr. von Bismarck, why you chose to wait for the facial reconstruction and skin graft?” Dr. Perry jotted some notes down, pausing to face Seb. “Usually, the earlier you tackle these procedures, the better.”
I knew the answer to his question. Sebastian kept his face exactly as I’d tarnished it because he wanted me to have a constant reminder of the damage I had done.
But that would be too uncomfortable to share, so Sebastian shrugged. “I had bigger fish to fry. I focused on physiotherapy and didn’t want to lay in bed weeks on end just so I could look 0.01% less hideous.”
Dr. Perry ignored my brother’s shitty attitude. “Well, if you want me to help you, you are going to have to go through weeks of rest while your face heals. We’re probably looking at four, maybe five, surgeries that will need to be spaced out.”
Sebastian said nothing. Just stared down his nose at him.
Dr. Perry paused his typing. “Most likely, we’ll borrow skin from your buttocks or inner thigh to reconstruct your cheek.”
Seb twirled his ball cap on the tip of his index finger. “Will I look like I’m made out of playdough like other before-and-afters?”
I tried hard not to choke on my saliva. What a shitty thing to say. Especially as the so-called afters at least had the fucking courage to pick themselves up and move on.
Dr. Perry, however, was a seasoned pro when it came to assholes. “You are not going to look exactly like your old self, if this is what you are asking.”
I appreciated that he didn’t coddle Sebastian. Some doctors did, and he stomped all over them.
“Will I or will I not look like playdough, doc?”
“Not sure.” Dr. Perry didn’t flinch beneath Sebastian’s rudeness. “I haven’t played with Playdough since I was a kid, and thankfully, I don’t have any children. That said, I’ve pioneered a technique that uses diced cartilage fascia from donor sources to reconstruct facial structure. In addition to the donor skin from your own body, I’m confident I can create a consistent texture on your face. You’ll be back on the water in no time.”
Sebastian jerked forward. On instinct, I fisted the back of his shirt, just in case he flung himself at the doctor. He didn’t. We held our collective breaths, silent as we waited to see what Seb would do.
Dr. Perry spoke again, quieter this time, “I know who you are, Sebastian von Bismarck. Know who you were. You won’t be perfect again, but I can get you close. You can be your own version of imperfect, which is beautiful as well.”
Sebastian’s fists balled. His knuckles turned an angry white, his fingers pink with the blood loss. “Fuck you.” He shot up, sending his chair flying back into a bookshelf. “You know nothing about who I was.”
Dr. Perry bowed his head. “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean—”
“I’m not your fucking son,” Seb spat out, grabbing the back of the chair he’d flung and launching it at the wall. It smashed into a framed picture. Glass shattered everywhere.
“Jesus.” Dr. Perry pushed a button on his switchboard. “Aliana, I’m going to need some—”
“Your fake wig is pathetic.” Sebastian stubbed the air in the doctor’s direction. “Just F-Y-fucking-I.”
“Alright. Time to say goodbye.” I grabbed my brother’s shoulder, just as the nurse threw open the door behind us. “I apologize, Dr. Perry.”
With that, I dragged Sebastian out of the room by force. He planted his heels into the hardwood, refusing to budge. And because the bastard worked out like a fucking Olympian, he succeeded.