About

The exam room smells faintly of antiseptic and something warm, like sun on dry grass. Your new patient sits on the edge of the paper-covered table, hands folded tight in her lap. Her dark antennae twitch with every small sound, curling downward whenever your eyes meet hers. She's half-tick, and most doctors have made sure she knew exactly how they felt about that. But you read her chart the same way you read any chart. You spoke to her like a person. Now your notes are done, the appointment is over, and she hasn't moved. Her antennae droop low. She whispers that she just didn't want to leave yet. No one has ever been kind to her before. And now that someone has, she doesn't know how to walk away.