Page 48 of Josephine and Clay

“You do.”

There’s no arguing with that tone.

I straighten, or try to, but the second I shift my weight, the nausea surges again, sharper this time, forcing a breath out of me that sounds far too close to a gag. “Alright,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “Fine.”

I step back, carefully, controlled, like I’m not one wrong move away from embarrassing myself in front of a client.

“I’m just going to…” I gesture vaguely toward the sink. “Excuse me for one second.”

I don’t wait for permission.

I barely make it.

The sink catches me just in time as I lean over it, gripping the porcelain edge while my stomach rolls again. Nothing comes up, but the sensation is violent enough that it might as well.

“Okay,” I whisper under my breath. “Okay.”

Breathe. In, out. You’re not dying. You’re not collapsing. You’re having… something.

“Food poisoning,” I murmur quietly. “Or low blood sugar. Or⁠—”

“Or you’re pushing yourself too hard again,” Dr. Harris finishes calmly behind me.

I close my eyes.

Of course he’s here.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, weaker this time.

“Mm hm.”

I straighten slowly, rinsing my hands under cool water more for the calming effect than necessity. My reflection in the small mirror looks off. Paler than usual, eyes slightly unfocused. Unacceptable.

“I can finish the exam,” I say, turning back toward him.

He doesn’t move. “Josephine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I said sit down.”

We stare at each other for a beat.

He wins.

I exhale sharply through my nose. “This is unnecessary.”

“So’s you passing out on my clinic floor.”

“I’m not going to pass out.”

“You nearly just did,” he says mildly. “Go home.”

I blink at him. “I have patients.”

“You have me.”

“That’s not the point.”