“Yes,” he whimpers.
“Tell me what you understand.”
“I need to be a better person, or you’re going to kill me.”
“This better be a lesson you learn well and trust that I will find you no matter where you run.”
He nods again. He’s lucky I’ve pulled the knife back, or he’d have truly felt how incredibly sharp my blade is. There’s no resistance against his skin. It’s that sharp. As it is, I’m already leaving him with a reminder. One in which he’ll see every single time he looks into the mirror.
11
HUNTLEY
I’m getting usedto sleeping in. If anything convinces me to take Oxley up on not working, it’ll be the promise of not having to wake up to an alarm clock ever again. I’m going to be truly spoiled by the time I’m able to walk again.
Opening my eyes, I find I’m alone in bed. I assume he’s in the bathroom, but when I turn to look at the door, I find it ajar and dark inside. Okay, not in there.
My crutches are right beside the bed. Mark dropped them off a couple days ago, giving me the go-ahead to begin using them for short trips, like taking a piss. Needless to say, I haven’t used them yet. Oxley’s always right there.
But he’s not right now. Smirking, I sit up and stretch my back. I’ve never used crutches. Time to see if I can figure them out based on Mark’s demonstration.
I’m as quiet as I can possibly be as I slip from the bed to the floor, careful not to put any weight on my leg. I need to. I know that. It’s time to start working on my muscles again. The bullet tore through them. Mark mentioned reconstruction surgery. To me, that sounds like it’s a really bad wound.
However, he took out the sutures, and it looks… okay, it looks awful. Gross. I hate looking at my leg. Not only because of the wound but because it’s a reminder that I could have died. I was shot just because I like guys.
How weak does someone have to be to find that a threat? I’m such a threat to their fragile sexuality and feeble confidence that they have tocommit acts of fucking violenceagainst me. It speaks far more about their pathetically frail intelligence that their only answer is to hurt those around them.
Those unarmed. Those simply walking down the street. How big and bad are you really to take a gun to a vulnerable person?
Anyway.
Now that I’m on my feet and trying to situate the crutch under me, I slowly hobble my way toward the bathroom, using the crutch instead of my hurt leg. That’s probably the point of the crutch, right? Someone designed this thing well. I can walk without hurting more than the throb from gravity pulling on my leg.
It feels good to have this little bit of independence back. I know I need to get back to work, and that’s motivation enough to begin PT, but being able to do this little thing on my own again is seriously the biggest incentive.
Ilovehow Oxley takes care of me, but when such a little thing, like going to the bathroom on my own, feels like scaling a mountain and fills me with pride? Yeah, it’s time to get back on my feet.
However, right now, I take my time in the bathroom. Peeing. Washing. Brushing my teeth. Shaving. All the things I haven’t done on my own in a couple of weeks.
By the time I head back into the bedroom, I’m surprised Oxley isn’t back. He always seems to appear within minutes of mywaking up. As if there’s an alarm in the room notifying him I’ve opened my eyes.
He’s not here, though.
Anxiety makes my heart stutter. Is he okay? Has he changed his mind and needs a break from me? Is he?—
I hold my breath when I think I hear his voice. Shifting my body so I’m facing the door, as if looking at it will help me hear, I concentrate on what I thought I heard.
Nothing. Silence.
I move to the bed and grab the second crutch, so I’m using two now, and head for the door. Within a foot of the door, I begin to hear the voice again. Pausing, I listen because… that’s not Oxley. I know Oxley’s voice.
This one is deeper. Filled with a sneer. Angry.
Frowning, I move forward a little more. I’ve never left the bedroom. I realize this as soon as I look down the hall toward the voice.
“You’re always so fucking special. Always with special treatment. You wanted this fucking city, so do your damn job, Oxley. I’m so tired of you doing shit your own way instead of per protocol and not having any consequences. You’re such a spoiled shit.”
I slowly hobble my way out of the bedroom toward the nasty voice.
