Chapter 6 - The First Touch
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The medical room Victor had installed in the east wing looked like a high-end physical therapy clinic. Sunlight poured through the reinforced glass windows, illuminating the treatment table and the array of specialized equipment.
Aliyah stood by the table, snapping a pair of blue nitrile gloves onto her hands. Victor walked into the room wearing a black t-shirt and loose athletic pants. Without the suit, he looked dangerously predatory, his muscles coiled tight with tension.
"We're going to start simple," Aliyah said, her voice dropping into the calm, authoritative tone she used during clinical rotations. "I need to check your baseline vitals and assess the scar tissue on your left arm."
Victor swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He sat on the edge of the treatment table, his hands resting rigidly on his knees. "Do what you must."
Aliyah stepped between his knees. The sheer proximity made the air in the room feel heavy and charged. She could see a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. His haphephobia was real, and it was screaming at him to run.
"I'm going to place my fingers on your wrist to take your pulse," Aliyah narrated softly, ensuring there were no sudden movements. "Okay?"
He gave a stiff nod.
Slowly, deliberately, Aliyah reached out. The moment her gloved fingertips made contact with the pulse point on his wrist, Victor violently flinched. His entire body jerked backward, his chest heaving as if the air had suddenly been sucked from the room.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists. "I can't. The fire—"
"Victor, look at me," Aliyah commanded gently but firmly.
He forced his eyes open.
"Take the gloves off," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The rubber... it smells like the paramedics. Please."
Aliyah didn't hesitate. She peeled the blue gloves off, tossing them into the trash bin. She held her bare hands up, showing him her palms.
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"Just me," she said softly.
She reached out again, her warm, bare skin pressing against the cold, scarred skin of his wrist. Victor’s breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. The frantic, racing beat of his pulse beneath her fingers slowly began to steady, anchoring itself to the rhythm of her touch.
