Ava: Dr. Ellison's Disregard
I brace myself as the rude doctor turns his attention fully on me. His eyes are cold, assessing, and I feel stripped bare under his clinical gaze.
"Ava Grey," he says, no longer even pretending to look at my chart. His tone is cold. He's a frigid man of ice, and I want to take a pickaxe to chip him into tiny little ice pieces that I throw into the toilet.
I straighten my back as best I can around the pain, lifting my chin as high as it can go with the bandages and pain. I refuse to be looked down on by some asshole with a superiority complex.
I had that enough from my own pack!
His lip curls into a slight sneer. "Let's get one thing straight—you're getting far more care and attention than you deserve, but you're stable, and you'll be on your way to recovery soon enough. You can thank me for that later."
I shoot Vanessa an incredulous glance, and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
Yeah. That's what I thought.